Found what. I’m so confused.
Your little secret, she whispers again.
Becky, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I hear the lie in my voice. I do have a secret, a big one, one I’ve carried with me every day here. The one about my mam, but why it would make Becky angry, I’ve no idea. I’m trying to figure it out how it relates to Becky, when she stands up, moves quickly across the kitchen and suddenly reveals a canvas. Of me naked.
This. Little. Secret, she says, her voice a hiss now so that Cillín can’t hear. I found it in Donnacha’s studio. Hidden. Did you two think I wouldn’t find it.
My mouth opens and closes with nothing coming out. I don’t know where to begin with this.
Sex sounds coming from the couch area end our conversation. A man and woman in throes. I recognise it immediately. It takes Becky a split second longer than me. It’s her in the video. Her and hairy hole. On my bed, or her bed, in my home, or her home. I’d forgotten to delete the video and Cillín is sitting there, face screwed up in confusion, watching. I race to him and grab the phone from his hand. Flustered, fingers shaking, I try to stop it, lower the volume, then delete it before Becky can see it. But it’s too late. She’s heard it, she knows what it is and that her son has seen it. Though there are no faces, just twisted bodies, he still saw something he shouldn’t have. She’s pale, stunned, then the colour returns, along with her anger.
You disgusting little freak.
I can’t defend myself.
Get out of my house. Get out of my house, she screams, and I hop to it, to the back door. You better pack your things straight away and be gone by tomorrow. Silly Allegra, silly silly Allegra, I hear her say to Cillín in her shrill tone as she comforts him. What were her silly friends doing in that video. Do you want some cookies, sweetie, she asks and I hear the tremble in her voice.
I walk across the lawn, feeling dazed, disoriented, and in shock.
You pervert, she hisses at me finally, before the door slides over and bangs closed.
And now it’s not just the freckles that connect me to Pops.
Twenty-Nine
Paddy answers the door. I wasn’t sure if he’d be home. I wasn’t sure if he’d answer the door. I wasn’t even sure if he’d let me in. He does all of these things.
He leads me to the TV room. He has Come Dine with Me paused. He looks at me, twiddling his thumbs.
Is your mam here, I ask.
No. She’s in the home. I’ll take her out for the day tomorrow.
I nod. Here. This is for you. I hand him the bag, so heavy it has almost pulled my arm from my socket on the walk from the bus stop. Happy belated birthday.
It’s an olive oil hamper. It was expensive. A selection of infused organic olive oils.
You already got me the marinades, he says, taking it out of the bag. Ooh. White truffle, he says, running his fingers over the plastic that protects the hamper. Mint-infused, basil-infused. Hey, lime-infused. He grins, a real smile. Liquid gold. Thanks, Allegra.
Okay, maybe it’s more of an apology present. I’m sorry, Paddy. You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I arrived in Dublin and I haven’t been that back to you. I want you to know that I consider you a friend, whether you like me or not right now.
Thanks, Allegra. I appreciate it. Really, it’s all water under the bridge now.
But it’s still awkward. I’ve ruined it forever. I better go. I have some house-hunting to do. I have to be out of my flat by Monday. Hopefully I can stay in Malahide.
You should probably wait to see where you’re relocated to.
Yeah. Have you heard anything yet, I ask, hopeful the whole system has miraculously changed.
I’m leaving Fingal.
What, why.
I got a new job as a parking patrol officer. In town. Rotating roster. Four ten-hour shifts per week. Possible overtime. I get to drive a brand-new van, new uniform, mobile phone and personal protective equipment. Forty k a year.
Wow, Paddy. Congratulations.
Yeah. Yeah, it’s good for me. And I need it for Ma’s bills you know.
Yeah. That’s great. I’m surprised by how I feel the emotion swell in my throat. My feeling that this is the end. Everything’s over or at least is finishing before I’m ready to go. Good luck, Paddy.
I’ll be around for the next few weeks though. And I’m not dying. We can still keep in touch.
Of course. I smile. Okay see you Monday.
Good luck with the house-hunting.
I have no luck with the house-hunting. Everything in Malahide is too expensive. I’ve everything packed up, my whole world in two suitcases and I’m contemplating checking into a Premier Inn when Donnacha calls by.