Too busy fielding the never-ending stream of questions that came from Ollie’s wildly imaginative brain, while supplying endless cuddles to the adorable fingers-and-thumb-sucking three-year-old, I didn’t have time to brood or ponder on my problems.
The sheer volume of prepubescent, alpha-male attitude coming off Tadhg in waves was impressive, and, if it wasn’t for the fact that I had a first-class honor’s degree in handling such a snarky little shithead, I might have felt overwhelmed.
However, little alpha proved that he was, indeed, his brother’s double by eventually – and of course reluctantly – succumbing to my irresistible wit and charm. The fact that I could puck a sliotar hadn’t hurt the cause, either.
By the time we made it back to their house a little before one o clock, I was somewhat confident that, in the event of all-out war breaking out, I had earned myself three little allies.
The only thing to put a dampener on the day was that Joey and Shannon hadn’t returned.
I didn’t have any phone credit to contact Joey, and even though Tadhg and Ollie might have been fine on their own for a bit, I could never, in good conscience, leave them to their own devices, with a three-year-old to fend for.
I ended up waiting until half past one before knocking on their next-door neighbor’s door to use her landline to call in sick to work for a shift that I should be starting at 2pm because Joey’s landline could only accept incoming calls. I’d also used Fran’s phone to try Joey’s mobile, but it went straight to voicemail.
At first, it hadn’t worried me too much, but after rummaging around in his room for music to entertain the boys – because their shithead father took their television with him – and realizing that the sweatpants containing that bag of pills was gone, I quickly changed my tune.
Clearly, Joe had thrown them on this morning before leaving the house, which meant that wherever he was now, he was walking around with his own personal ticking time bomb in his pocket.
“I’m a good dancer, huh?” Ollie asked, dragging me from my thoughts, as we bopped around the kitchen to The Bloodhound Gang’s The Ballad of Chasey Lain – curtesy of his older brother’s ridiculously explicit music collection.
Yeah, I was a real stellar babysitter.
“So good, Ols,” I laughed, watching as the little guy threw shapes like no one was watching.
Thankfully, he and Sean seemed blissfully unaware of the meaning of the song, too busy spinning and twirling around the kitchen to take any notice.
Meanwhile, little alpha was cracking up from his perch on top of the kitchen table.
Slugging a can of his brother’s coke, Tadhg almost choked to death on several intervals throughout the course of the song.
“Hold on, I gots a song. I gots one!” Ollie declared when the song ended, running into the sitting room and returning a moment later with a disc. “This is Mammy’s music,” he explained proudly, switching up discs on the small kitchen stereo. “I love it.”
A moment later, Loretta Lynn’s The Pill drifted from the speaker.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Tadhg groaned, slapping the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Really, Ols?”
“Uh-huh.” Singing the song word for word, Ollie bounced around the kitchen with Sean’s small hands in his. “Mammy sings this song to us.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah,” Tadhg replied, giving me a knowing shake of his head. “Most kids, when they’re small, get nursery rhymes.” He shook his head and pointed to the stereo. “We got this.”
“Well, shit.”
“Joe gave her the album for Mother’s Day a few years ago.” He smirked before saying, “I think he might have been trying to tell her something with that song.”
I laughed out loud, even though it was completely inappropriate, not to mention slightly hypocritical.
Grinning wolfishly, Tadhg hopped down from the table and sauntered over to the stereo to switch up discs.
After spending a few minutes flicking through tracks, he settled on Bowling For Soup’s Girl All the Bad Guys Want.
He gave me a cheeky wink and said, “This one’s for you, blondie.”
Well, shit.
I choked out a laugh.
Little alpha had moves.
I’M HERE TO TAKE YOU HOME
JOEY
“Thank Christ, you’re here.” My father greeted me in the hospital corridor.
He was holding a folder overflowing with paperwork in one hand and a plastic bag with what I presumed contained my mother’s clothes in the other, as he closed the space between us.
“I can’t deal with her, Joey, son. I can’t.” He clamped his hand down on my shoulder in a move that I could only presume was a show of relief at my presence, but only made me want to peel the skin from my bones. “I know that she’s upset, but all that crying and carrying on isn’t right.”
“Yeah, well, suck it the fuck up,” I snapped, roughly shrugging his hand off. “Because you’re the one that got her pregnant. She’s your responsibility, Dad. She’s in this position because of you, so man the hell up and take care of her.”
“Don’t get lippy with me, boy,” he warned, tone taking on a menacing lilt. He gave me a look that said you’ll pay for speaking to me like that, but I honestly didn’t care. “It’s easy for you to judge when you don’t know what I’ve been dealing with here.”
“I don’t care what you’ve been dealing with,” I spat, reluctantly following him down the corridor until he stopped outside of a closed door. “Is she in there?”
He nodded. “I’ll let you to it. I’ve a few things that need sorting.”
Meaning, there was a bar stool waiting for him at his local.
“Fine.” I jutted my chin out, unwilling to beg the bastard not to leave me to clean up his mess. Again. “Do whatever you want.”
And then he was gone, and I was left alone, staring at a closed door.
A million different emotions rose up inside of me as I battled to steel my nerves and keep my head.
I didn’t want to be here.
I didn’t want to see what I knew I would see the minute I opened the door I was hovering behind and stepped inside her room.
Inside her turmoil.
Get a fucking handle on yourself, asshole.
With my hood up, and my hands shaking, I forced myself to reach out and knock lightly before opening the door and walking inside.
A pale blue curtain draped around the bed was the first thing my eyes took in, while my ears were immediately assaulted by the sound of low, almost feral keening.
It was a sound that I’d never heard before and never wanted to hear again.
It was the sound of a woman’s heart breaking.
“Mam?”
The crying stopped for a brief moment, and I heard her drag in several gasps of air before she croaked out, “Joey?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, trembling. “It’s me, Mam.”
“Joey,” she cried out hoarsely. “My Joey?”
“Yeah, Mam,” I replied, clearing my throat. “Can I open the curtain and see ya?”
A few moments later, the curtain was pulled back, and I was greeted by the sight of my mother’s tear-stained face, as she staggered off the bed and collapsed in my arms. “Joey!”