Offense taken.
“It’s grand.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “Fourth year isn’t a heavy workload year,” I heard myself add. “Most people in our year have jobs by now.”
“Perhaps, but surely not in pubs?”
I shrugged. “In lots of different places.”
Mr. Rice frowned. “And you wouldn’t consider finding work elsewhere?”
“Where would you suggest?” I bit out, flustered from his interrogation.
“Somewhere more appropriate for a girl of your age,” he offered with a wave of his hand. “Maybe a little babysitting job on Saturdays.”
“I like it at The Dinniman,” I replied, feeling my cheeks burn from the effort it was taking to restrain myself. “I make more money there than any babysitting job would pay.”
“I didn’t think a waitressing job would pay that well?”
Shows what you know, you big posh prick…
“Would you look at her, Dad,” Paul interjected with a chuckle. “She’s an asset to the place.”
“Thanks, Paul.” I beamed, feeling my stomach flip from the compliment. “I appreciate that."
“No problem, babe,” he replied, slinging an arm over the back of my chair. “Besides, one look at her with that little white shirt and short black skirt, and the owners are guaranteed to fill the bar,” Paul continued, clicking his fingers for emphasis. “Of course they’re going to pay well to keep her.”
I take it back, Paul, you big eejit.
Silently seething, I glowered at the side of his handsome side profile.
Swallowing down my discomfort, I smiled and nodded along as the conversation switched to plans of the future.
My future looked drastically different to Paul’s. There would be no University of Limerick for a degree in law on the map for me, that was for sure.
I was more than likely headed to a local further education and training college after secondary school, where I would train in hairdressing or beauty.
At least, hairdressing was the only career piquing my interest at that moment in time.
“I have to say, both of my sons have exquisite taste in the company they keep,” Mr. Rice declared then, holding his tumbler of whiskey up, and gesturing first to me and then to his oldest son Billy’s new girlfriend, Zara.
“Yeah.” I raised my water glass and resisted the urge to gag. “Here, here.”
Meanwhile, Zara smiled sweetly back at him. “Thank you, Mr. Rice.”
Poor innocent fool, I thought to myself, give it time. You’ll learn.
She was just the latest in a long line of beautiful women Billy had brought home to show off.
Paul’s older brother was nineteen and I had counted no less the seven different girlfriends accompany him to these family meals since we had started going out back in first year.
“Quick,” I whisper-hissed in Paul’s ear. “Call my phone and I’ll take it from there. I can’t take another minute of him.”
“What, no.” He balked. “Just wait it out.”
“Paul.”
“Aoife.”
Making a point of looking at my watch, I quickly feign-gasped. “Oh my god, is that the time?”
Lame.
Lame.
Lame.
“Paul.” I turned to look at my boyfriend, all wide-eyed and full of crap. “My dad wanted me home an hour ago.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes,” I replied, giving him a look that said go with it or I’ll cut your dick off.
Turning back to his family, I offered them an apologetic smile, as I stood. “I am so sorry about this.” Smiling brightly, I added, “hopefully, we can do it again soon,” while knowing on the inside that I would never allow myself to get roped into another one of these my-dick-is-bigger-than-your-dick dinners.
Hell to the no.
SPECIAL_IMAGE-images/svgimg0003.svg-REPLACE_ME
“That was beyond fucking rude, Aoife,” Paul admonished, as I power-walked away from the restaurant, and he hurried to keep up with me. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that you duped me into having dinner, again, with people I have nothing in common with, again.”
“They’re not people, they’re my parents.”
“Parents are people, Paul.”
“Don’t get smart with me. You know I hate it when you’re sarcastic,” he snapped, running a hand through his dark hair. “You really fucking embarrassed me back there. You’re sixteen, not six. Don’t you think it’s time that you learned how to act your age?”
“You know what, maybe we should just call it a night,” I snapped, shoving my hands into my coat pockets. “Since my personality is clearly rubbing you up the wrong way so much tonight.”
“What? No, don’t be stupid,” he growled, retracing the steps he’d taken.
“I’m not stupid, Paul.”
“You know what I meant.” Slinging an arm over my shoulder, he said, “Come on, babe, it’s Saturday night. I don’t want to spend it on my own.”
And what about what I want?
“So, where do you want to go?” he asked, pulling me close to his side.
“I’m thinking about just going home.”
“No, that’s boring,” he replied.
“I wasn’t aware you had been invited?”
“Your house doesn’t have internet, or a flat screen, or anything decent to watch,” he added, with a dismissive wave. “And no offence, but it’s kind of a tight squeeze when your family are all in the sitting room with us.”
“Wow.” I shook my head. “We can’t all have Gards for fathers.”
“Amy Murphy is having a house party at her place tonight,” he offered then. “I told her that both of us would swing by for a bit.”
“Amy?” I gaped at him. “She’s a sixth year.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So. why did you tell her that I’d come?” I looked up at him. “I barely know the girl, Paul, and I never agreed to go.”
“Because you’re with me,” he replied, like this would somehow answer my question.
It didn’t.
“I’m not sure I like where this is going, Paul,” I said, eyeing him warily.
”Come on, babe,” he said, with a megawatt smile. “It’s just a party.”
“Yeah.”
That wasn’t what I was referring to.
THE DEMONS IN YOUR HEAD
APRIL 11TH 2003
JOEY
“Where the fuck have you been?”
It was a question I had expected Tony to ask me when I walked into work twenty minutes late, having been kept late after training to talk to selectors.
It wasn’t, however, a question I had expected my father to ask.
And definitely not here.
“What’s going on?” My gaze flicked to Tony, who was leaning against the tool drawer, with a cup of tea in his hand, and a sympathetic gaze on his face.
Instantly, my back was up.
There was only reason my father would come here.
“Is she dead?” It was the first thought I had, and surprisingly, I managed to ask it without collapsing in a heap on the floor. “Is Mam…”