“Eddie Nyhan,” Mam offered.
“That’s the one,” Dad agreed with another nod. “They hurled together back in the day.”
“Sounds like you know a lot of him?” I offered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, when I was desperately feeding my Joey Lynch addiction with all of the juicy details. “Do you know his mam, too?”
“Marie Murphy?”
I nodded. “She’s Marie Lynch now, but yeah.”
“She was years younger than us,” Mam explained and then turn to Dad. “Do you remember, Tony? Wasn't it awful when he got that poor girl pregnant when we were in sixth year.”
“Do I what,” Dad grumbled, rubbing his jaw. “She was only a baby herself at the time.” He flicked a glance to me and said, “She was a couple of years younger than you when she had a baby on her hip, Aoife.”
“Really?”
“She was only in second year at the time,” Mam interjected “Do you remember the scandal, Tony? It was desperate.”
“Do I what, Trish,” Dad replied grimly. “It was terrible business.”
“Why?” I asked. “How old was Teddy?”
“Too old to be looking at a fourteen-year-old girl, that’s for sure,” Mam muttered, tutting. “Never-mind marrying the poor girl off to him, they should have thrown him behind bars for getting a child pregnant.”
My mouth fell open. “Joey’s mam was only fourteen when she got pregnant with him?”
“No, no, no,” Dad corrected. “Not with Joey. With the older lad. What’s his name?”
“Derek?” Mam offered. “Daniel?”
“Darren,” Dad declared, slapping his hand on his knee. “That’s the one. Darren. Joey came later down the line.”
Darren.
The brother that was dead to Joey.
Interesting.
“Where’d he go?” I asked.
“Over to the U.K, from what I hear,” Dad replied. “Took off the minute he came of age.”
“Well, I’m sure if I had to live with Teddy Lynch, I’d take off, too,” Mam interjected. “He’s a horrible man. His father and brother were the same. Rotten to the core, the lot of those Lynch men.”
“Joey’s not rotten,” I heard myself blurt out before I could stop myself. “He’s the opposite of rotten,” I clarified, ignoring the burn in my cheeks. “He’s really sound, actually.”
“Exactly,” Dad agreed, turning to look at my mother. “I know the lad is a bit of a hot-head, but he has the world of potential inside of him if his father would only take an interest in guiding him down the right path.”
“Sure, aren’t you after doing that already by taking him on at the garage, Tony?” Mam replied. “You’re very good to him.”
“I’ve been to a few of his hurling matches too, you know, Trish, and I’ve never seen anything like him. Put a hurley in his hand and a sliotar in front of him, and it’s something special to see.”
“It’s true,” I heard myself agree. “He plays on the same team as Paul. He’s phenomenal.”
“His father was the same at that age,” Mam offered then. “You remember Teddy Lynch back in the day at school. He was a gifted hurler.”
“Teddy was good back in the day, but on his best day, he couldn’t hold a torch to that young fella of his,” Dad replied. “If he was mine, I’d be shouting about him from the rafters. I wouldn’t be letting him wander off the rails, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t you already, love,” Mam said with a smile. “It drives our Kevin mad to hear you always praising young Joey.”
“Ah, I don’t mean any harm to poor Kev,” Dad was quick to say. “He’s a great lad, is our son, but he has no interest in cars or sports. He’s all about the computer and the books, Trish, which is grand by me. But I don’t have a notion of what he is talking about half the time with those big words.”
Mam laughed in response.
“Dad?” Curious, I poured myself a glass of water from the tap, and asked, “Why weren’t Joey’s parents at the funeral today?” Turning back to face my own parents, I rested a hip against the sink as I spoke. “I mean, it was pretty bad form to see only the kids there and not their parents.”
“As far as I know there was a big falling out between the Murphys and the Lynchs.”
“The Murphys?”
“Marie’s side of the family,” Dad explained with a sigh. “The grandfather was Murphy, so I can only presume they weren’t there because Teddy wasn’t welcome to attend, and his wife wouldn’t go without him.”
“It’s sad, really, when families are at loggerheads like that,” Mam said. “It’s the children I feel sorry for.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, mind drifting straight to Joey. “Me too.”
FIFTH YEAR
YOU DON’T HIT GIRLS
AUGUST 16TH 2003
AOIFE
My parents were going through another rough patch, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why, especially when my father’s check book was out.
The compensation for this latest hiccup turned out to be something that benefitted all of us.
Built-in wardrobes.
Yay!
“Jesus, Molloy,” my father’s favorite laborer – and mine – growled, as he tossed another pile of clothes from my old wardrobe on to my bed before dragging my old wardrobe into the middle of my room. “Where are you going with all the clothes?”
“Rule number one,” I said, sitting in the middle of my bed, rummaging through a mountain of clothes and shoes. “You never judge the size of a girl’s wardrobe.”
“No judgment from this end,” Joey replied with a resigned shake of his head. “Just confusion.”
Yeah, Joe, me too, I thought to myself, as I shamelessly watched him work, taking in every tight muscle under his white t-shirt, and the golden strip of skin he flashed when he stretched.
His body truly was a sight to behold, considering by the time this summer had ended, he had racked up almost as many tattoos as he had scars from fighting.
We were back to BCS in a couple of weeks, our fifth year, and as good as Joey looked in a school uniform, and damn did he look good in our uniform, I was thoroughly enjoying the visual of him in his work clothes.
“You planning on giving me a hand anytime soon?” he asked, dragging me from my thoughts, as he dropped another heap of clothes on my lap. “Or do you plan to just sprawl out on your bed for the evening.”
“Sprawl,” I said with a lazy sigh, flopping back on my pillows. “Definitely sprawl.”
“You’re a pain in the ass,” he grumbled, but sounded more amused than annoyed.
“What’s that? You like my ass?” I teased. “Why thank you, Joey. It’s my pride and joy.”
“Your legs should be your pride and joy, Molloy,” he tossed over his shoulder, and the compliment thrilled me.
My heart skipped. “So, you don’t think I have a nice ass?”
“I can’t remember what it looks like,” he replied, quick as a cat. “Why don’t you take off your pants and I’ll tell you.”