didn’t give the plate a glance. Roisin knelt down and picked up the two halves. It reminded her of their hearts. Broken.
‘I’ll make you a fresh sandwich,’ said Roisin, standing up.
‘Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.’
As Roisin left the drawing room and closed the door gently behind her she could hear her mam sob. A guttural noise from deep within. A sound Roisin was all too familiar with.
Roisin took the crockery and sandwich out to the kitchen, choosing not to return to the drawing room. She was not sure she could deal with this today. After the sobs would come the blame. Her mam would say how she held Roisin partly responsible for what had happened. How Roisin should have said something sooner. How Roisin had let her down.
She slipped off her shoes at the bottom of the stairs and trod softly as she ascended the oak staircase, seeking solace in her room.
Her mam went through phases. Sometimes she barely drank at all and, during those dry times, she was easier to live with. However, when she befriended the sherry bottle, she became an emotional wreck. The sadness that emitted from her was so heavy Roisin felt she was drowning in it simply by being in the same room.
Roisin reached the top of the stairs and headed to the back of the house, where her bedroom was situated. Her mam’s sobs were now, thankfully, out of ear shot. She closed the bedroom door behind her and slumped onto her bed.
She needed a few minutes’ peace and quiet to work out what to do next. She needed to up her game. If she was to give her mam something to cling to so she could climb out of the pit of depression she had fallen into, then Roisin needed to make things happen.
Teenage Kicks
Eight months before leaving
I hate my curly hair. I hate my red hair. I hate my curly, red hair. I hate that Jody Wright and his mates call me Curly Hurley at every opportunity. I walk out of the village-hall youth club away from them, my head held high. I should be used to it by now, but it still hurts.
‘Hey, it’s Erin, isn’t it?’
I stop dead in my tracks as in front of me Niall Marshall is sitting in his car, smoking a cigarette, the driver’s window is wound down and a plume of smoke floats out. He looks pretty cool. I throw a glance over to the passenger seat. His mate, Shane Wright, is sitting with him. They are listening to some drum-and-base music. Shane flicks his cigarette out of the window and nods in acknowledgement of me.
I realise Niall is waiting for an answer. I must try to play it cool. Niall Marshall is a bit of a catch in the quiet backwaters of Rossway. Nearly all the girls in my year have a crush on him. I swallow hard and, resting my hand on my hip, I stick it out to one side and place one foot slightly in front of the other.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I say.
‘You not staying at the youth club, then?’ he asks.
I shake my head. ‘It’s boring.’
‘Full of kids, right?’ Niall looks over at Shane and they both laugh.
‘There’s nothing else to do in this village,’ I say, as justification for being there.
‘Is that right?’ muses Niall. He leans over and mumbles something to Shane that I can’t make out. I’m not sure whether I should stay where I am or carry on home. Back to where life is even duller. I can’t wait to leave school and get out of this place.
I feel a bit of an idiot standing there and the pose is making my leg hurt.
Shane gets out of the car, saying his goodbyes to Niall. He holds the door open and gestures for me to come over.
‘Aren’t you going to get in, then?’ asks Niall.
‘Am I?’
‘Come on, I’ll take you for a ride. It won’t be boring, I promise.’
I look back at the youth club door, the sounds of some club mix blares out. I look beyond Niall’s car at the road leading to the flat, where I live with my mum and dad. There’s no contest.
I’m sitting beside Niall. I want to squeal with delight and excitement, but I keep it in. He’s two years older than me and the coolest thing since I don’t know what. He flicks the control on his iPod, which is plugged into his stereo and ‘Teenage Kicks’ by The Undertones blasts out from the speakers. I grin to myself and, as I fasten my seat belt, Niall blips the throttle and does whatever you do with the pedals to make the wheels spin for a few seconds, before we lurch forward and Niall floors it. We speed down the High Street. I’m with Niall Marshall! Woohoo!
We drive around the village for a while. As usual, it’s pretty quiet. There’s not much going on in Rossway. There never is.
‘So, where do you want to go?’ he asks.
‘I thought you were going to take me somewhere exciting,’ I say. To be truthful, I don’t mind where we go. If I’m with Niall, I really don’t care. I wonder briefly what Roisin would say if she knew I was out with her older brother. I don’t know if she would be happy. Anyway, she’s with Jody and his crowd. I don’t know why I feel any loyalty towards her, it’s not as if she ever sticks up for me when they start taking the mickey.
‘I know, let’s go out to The Spit,’ says Niall. ‘We can get burger and chips from the takeaway and eat it there.’ The Spit looks out onto the Irish Sea, jutting out from the coastline for about half a mile.
I smile at him. ‘That sounds great,’ I say, even though I’m not really hungry. Mum always makes sure I have some tea at the café before they close at the end of the day. I had a burger tonight, but I’m sure a burger with Niall will taste better than one from the café.
It’s peaceful out at The Spit. We come to a stop in the car park and look out across the dark water, the clouds cross the path of the moon, allowing snatches of light to peak out for only a minute or two.
I eat my burger and I was right. It does taste better.
‘Why were you leaving the youth club early?’ Niall asks.
‘I was actually a bit bored,’ I reply.
‘I think everyone grows out of it after a while. You’re what, sixteen now?’ says Niall through a mouthful of burger.
‘That’s right.’ I feel grown up that I’m sixteen, it sounds so much better than being the fifteen I was a month ago. I like being one of the oldest in the school year.
‘I can’t wait to get away from here,’ says Niall as he screws up the burger wrapper and drops it into the brown-paper takeaway bag. ‘Only one more year in the sixth form and then I’m off to university.’
‘Where are you going?’ I ask, ignoring the little flicker of disappointment that he will only be about for another year.
