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“And I’ve just realized that I’m rambling,” Mrs. Kavanagh said, chuckling softly. “Sorry. My husband is always rising me about it.”
“That’s okay,” I replied as a small shiver ran through my body. “I don’t mind.”
And I didn’t. I felt oddly at ease listening to her speak.
Johnny’s mother was nice and friendly and the complete opposite of the type of parent I would be going home to.
“So, tell me how you and Johnny know each other,” she asked. “Are you in the same class? How did you make friends with each other?”
“Uh, no, I’m in third year,” I replied, shifting in my seat.
“Really?” Mrs. Kavanagh’s eyes widened. “I thought you were much older.”
I beamed at the compliment—at least I was taking it as a compliment. It wasn’t often someone mistook me for being older than what I was.
“I’m sixteen. I should be in fourth year,” I explained, delighted with myself for coming across as older. “But I was held back in primary school.”
“So was Johnny,” Mrs. Kavanagh told me with warm smile.
“In sixth class,” I replied with a small nod. “He wasn’t happy.”
“No.” She laughed. “He certainly wasn’t.” Smiling, she added, “You must know each other well if he gave you the ‘my parents ruined my life when they moved me to the sticks’ story.”
“Not that well,” I found myself explaining. “Honestly, Johnny offering to drop me home is probably just another one of his ways of trying to make up for knocking me up on the pitch.”
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Kavanagh spluttered, eyes bulging.
“It was an accident,” I quickly interjected. “He didn’t mean for it to happen. If anyone’s at fault, then I am. I shouldn’t have gone there. I distracted him. But he took good care of me afterward.” I blew out a breath before adding, “He was very kind.”
“And when did this accident happen?”
“Back in January,” I explained, my hand automatically moving to cup the back of my head. “The doctors at the hospital said everything’s okay, and the bump’s long gone now, but Johnny’s been trying to make it up to me since it happened.”
“Has he now?”
“I think he still feels responsible for it happening,” I said with a shrug. “We both know he didn’t mean for it happen. Neither of us did. It was a complete accident. But it’s all sorted now.”
“And so he should feel responsible!” Mrs. Kavanagh’s face turned a deathly shade of white when she hissed, “I am going to castrate that little shit—”
“Oh my god, no!” I squealed.
Thinking back over my words, I suddenly realized how badly that must have sounded to Mrs. Kavanagh and, desperate to wipe the look of terror off her face, I quickly clarified. “Out. Johnny knocked me out. Not up.”
Oh, dear god, let me die.
“Out,” I emphasized for the dozenth time. “The bump was on my head.”
“How did he hurt you?” his mother asked, looking troubled and yet massively relieved.
I sighed heavily. “With his balls.”
“With his balls?” she repeated, looking horrified. “Johnny knocked you out with his balls?”
“Ball,” I stressed, squirming in my seat. “Just the one ball—” I stopped speaking, knowing I was making a hash of things.
“Balls? Bumps? Knocking you up?” Mrs. Kavanagh expelled a heavy breath. “Shannon, love, please explain this to me before I have a stroke.”
“I’m not pregnant or anything!” I blurted out, feeling the need to make that clear. “I have never been pregnant,” I added for clarification. “Not by your son or anyone else.”
