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Clearly, I had fucked up somewhere between yesterday morning when I left her outside the changing rooms for P.E. and today, but I was struggling to pinpoint where exactly.
I’d kept my hands to myself during P.E. yesterday and didn’t get myself expelled. Christ, I’d even slipped out of construction early to snag her a packet of Rolos in the tuck shop. Sure, I had a smoke behind the shed with the lads at lunch today, same as always, but it was a cigarette and not a hit from Rambo Regan’s perfectly rolled joint, tempting as it had been. All in all, I thought that the first two school days of the week had been productive.
I didn’t even get detention.
However, the way Molloy had all but catapulted herself away from me the minute the final bell went yesterday, and then again today, and the two text messages I sent her that had gone unanswered, assured me that I had indeed fucked up along the way.
“I don’t know what to tell ya, Trish,” Tony snapped, stalking into the office with his mobile pressed to his ear. “I’ll have a word when I get home. Yeah, right. Bye, bye, bye.”
He ended the call and released a strained growl.
“Everything okay there, Tony?”
“I don’t know, Joey, lad, I really don’t,” he grumbled, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “There must be something in the water today.”
“How’d you figure?” I asked over my shoulder as I spooned sugar into two mugs of coffee.
“That wife of mine,” he said, brow furrowed, as he took the mug that I held out for him. “That’s the fourth time today that she’s phoned me up to give out. If it’s not the dog shitting on her flower bed, then it’s the tap leaking, or the socks I left on the bedroom floor, or that young one of ours slamming doors and giving her cheek.”
“Aoife?”
Tony nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “On the warpath since yesterday, apparently.”
I knew it. I fucking knew she was in a bad mood.
“Doesn’t she have an evening shift at the pub on Tuesdays?”
He nodded. “According to Trish, she almost took the front door off its hinges when she left for work.”
“For real?”
“Do yourself a favor, Joey, lad,” he said. “And steer clear of my house for the evening. Sounds like both of the women who live there are on the warpath.”
“Jesus,” I muttered, rubbing my jaw.
“Good lad yourself,” he said, giving my shoulder an approving squeeze. “Best to keep a wide berth when one of my girls is brewing up a storm.”
Unease filled me, followed by a wave of concern. Molloy didn’t keep shit from me.
That was not how she rolled. When she had a problem, I was the first one to hear about it—especially since I was usually the problem.
“I’m going out back for a smoke,” I told her father, grabbing my phone off the counter before heading for the door.
“Don’t do it, son.”
“Do what?”
“Put yourself in the eye of the storm by phoning my young one,” he called after me with a chuckle. “By the sound of it, she won’t think twice about swallowing you whole.”
Jesus.
Still, like a glutton for punishment, I stepped out back, sparked up a cigarette, and dialed her number, ignoring the dozen or so messages I’d received from Shannon.
My sister could wait. My girlfriend came first in this instance. When it rang out and went to voicemail, my unease spread. Redialing, I held the phone to my ear and took a deep drag of my cigarette.
Five rings in and she finally answered. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
