“Oh, whatever, you dick.”
“It’s the truth.“
“Keep talking shit to me and I just might have to take my top off and give those gamer buddies of yours a real special show.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” Narrowing my eyes right back at him, I reached for the string behind my neck and said, “I’m told I have perky nipples.”
“You’re such a bitch,” he spat before storming back to the house.
“Takes one to know one, you little pussy,” I called after him and then sighed in contentment, thrilled to have gotten the better of him. “Good one, huh?” I cooed, tickling Spud on his belly. “Yeah, I know you think he’s a dope, too. I don’t need a boy, do I? No, I don’t. I’ll make my own way in life.”
“Aoife Christina Molloy!” my mother called out a few minutes later. Pushing the kitchen window open, she leaned out and shook a wooden spoon at me. “Get into the house and cover yourself up before I come out there and drag you inside.”
“Are you serious?” I growled, giving Spud one final belly rub, before reluctantly climbing to my feet. “He told on me?”
“There are teenage boys in this house, Aoife,” Mam shot back. “And you’re sprawled out in the garden like Pamela fecking Anderson herself. Do you want to be the cause of giving them a turn?”
“I know how old they are, Mam. Most of them are in my year at school.” I laughed. “And you’re afraid I’ll give them a turn? More like a horn —“
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Mam warned, still waving around the wooden spoon like a demented housewife.
“Yeah, well, Dad told me to stay out of his way,” I shot back. “So, guess what I’m doing?”
“Enough of the cheek, young lady. Inside right now, or you’re grounded for the rest of the month. And that also includes having friends over. No phone, either. And no—”
“Jesus, fine,” I huffed, stalking to the back door. “Relax, would you. It’s not that serious.”
“Thank you,” Mam said when I stomped into the kitchen. “Now, go upstairs and throw on some clothes, like a good girl, before your brother has a conniption fit.”
“Is it okay if I get a drink before I’m exiled from the family home for possessing a pair of boobs?” I asked sulkily, as I reached into the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice. “Or is rehydrating a crime now, too?”
“Drama queen.” Rolling her eyes, Mam smirked and turned back to her ironing. “Pour me a glass, too.”
Grabbing two glasses out of the press, I poured a glass of orange juice and quickly gulped it down before refilling my glass and pouring one for Mam.
“Thanks, love.”
“You’re not welcome,” I teased, setting a glass down on the counter beside her.
“Trish, we’ve the bathroom just about done, love. I’m off to the dump with that old bath before they close,” my father called from the front hall. “I won’t be long.”
“I’ll see ya, Trish. Thanks for the sandwich.”
“You’re welcome, Joey, love.”
Resisting the urge to rush out into the hallway and take one last look at Joey Lynch before he left with my dad, I held firm, and took another sip of orange juice instead.
“Make sure you take that old Lino with you, Tony,” Mam called back, not bothering to look up from her ironing board. “And there’s a few bags of rubbish at the side of the house that could do with being cleared out.”
“Already taken care of.”
“Good man yourself.”
“A little heads up that Joey was coming over would’ve been nice,” I said once as the front door closed behind them.
“Ah, he’s a lovely boy, isn’t he? Such a hard little worker,” Mam gushed, smiling into her ironing. “I thought you’d be delighted to see him. The two of you are great little friends at school, isn’t that right?”
“Yeah, we’re buds,” I agreed, suppressing a laugh. “A head’s up would’ve been nice, though.”
“It’s a shame that he and your brother don’t seem to gel,” Mam added with a sigh.
“That’s not on Joey, Mam. Kev doesn’t gel with anyone,” I snorted, resting my hip against the counter. “He’s too stuck-up.”
“Aoife.”
“What?” I threw a hand up. “It’s true.”
“It would do your brother no harm to get off that computer and spend some time at the garage. I’m sure if he gave it a chance, they’d find some common ground.”
“Common ground with who? Dad or Joey? Because, no offense, Mam, but your darling baby boy thinks he’s above the both of them. Kev doesn’t have any intention of getting his hands dirty. He has too high of an opinion of himself to slum it with us normal folk.”
“He does not,” she scolded. “Don’t be mean.”
“So, what’s the story with the new bathroom?” I decided to change the subject by asking, unwilling to give my dope of a brother another second of airtime.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, Mam.”
“Nothing, love.” My mother, who looked a lot like what I presumed the forty-something-year-old version of me would look like, smiled brightly. Too brightly. “It was just time for a change.”
“Mam,” I sighed, reaching over to stroke her leg with my foot. “Are you okay?”
I knew she wasn’t.
Her heart had been broken by my father for what had to be the fourth time in a matter of years – that I was aware of.
“I will be,” she replied, tone forcefully cheerful, as she tucked a blonde wisp of hair behind her ear. “I’m looking forward to a nice hot shower tonight.”
“So, who was it this time?” I asked then, poking the bear. I didn’t really want to know, or at least, I shouldn’t want to know, but I asked her anyway because I was a glutton for punishment. Reaching into her pile of neatly folded ironing that was stacked on the kitchen table, I retrieved a t-shirt and pulled it on. “Was it a one-off, or was it going on for a while?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Aoife,” Mam replied quietly. “And I don’t want you to think badly of him, either. He’s a good man, deep down, and a wonderful father.”
“Yeah, he is a good father,” I agreed, setting my empty glass in the sink. “But he’s a shitty husband, Mam.”
She, on the other hand, was a good wife, and a great mam, but that didn’t change the fact that her constant stream of forgiveness looked an awful lot like weakness in my eyes.
Sure, they seemed to have a decent relationship – when Dad wasn’t letting his wandering eye get in the way. In a weird way, they were pretty stable, and never seemed to let any discourse in their marriage interfere with mine or Kev’s lives.
“He makes a lot of mistakes,” Mam agreed, handing me the denim shorts she had just finished ironing.
“Too many mistakes,” I offered, stepping into my shorts and dragging them up my hips. “Too many times.”