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The truth about Callum.
The truth about my father.
About my mother.
The story of me.
I slice through the streets of Tolka, passing the newsagents, the pubs, the quaint inns, the spilled flowerpots, and Gaelic-graffitied brick walls of the alleyways—the beautiful, pastoral lie covering the rotten secrets I am about to unveil. And I don’t stop until I’m at the door of the address I found.
I clutch the little note to my chest, the paper so thin and inky my jacket and fingers are stained, and manage a few knocks on the door before my legs give in and I collapse on the stoop.
The door swings open, and I straighten up, clearing my throat.
“Hi, is Father D…”
I stop dead when I see the person in front of me. Because that person? It’s not the old man with the bushy eyebrows.
It’s the person Mal never told me about.
Purple eyes like Mal’s.
And features so eerily identical to mine.
Kathleen’s features.
Seven years ago
Mal
Kath is pregnant.
I don’t even pretend to be surprised when she shows up at my door, sans the skimpy clothes, clad in her usual sensible cardigan and thick leggings and carefully combed hair, and rubs her flat stomach tellingly.
“May I come in?” She clears her throat.
She knows as well as I do that we fucked up royally that night. It’s not about the fact that I didn’t use a condom, or that I was completely ossified when it happened, or that she was a virgin (who’d always proclaimed, as long as I can remember, that she wanted to wait till marriage). And I don’t even want to touch the dubious-consent subject. But the worst of it is the fact that I had to tell Sean what happened—he was one of my closest mates, after all—and Sean and Daniel cut Kiki and me off from their lives completely.
Apparently, Sean had confessed his love to Kath one night. I was aware of his feelings, too. Bit of a shit thing to do, I admit.
Well, maybe a lot.
Kath and I deserve it—every nasty eye roll from the O’Leary twins and shake of the head from Maeve and Heather.
I could tell Sean I wasn’t fully there, that I didn’t know what I was doing, and it’d be the truth. My memory of that night is vague at best. But I don’t want to throw Kath under the bus, even if she ran me over with that particular decision.
Mam and Bridget went to visit Dez in Kilkenny for the month to clear their heads, and so I’m still tremendously alone. I write songs, sing them on street corners, get offers, and turn them down. Then I go home, and since my mates won’t talk to me, and since I stopped sending letters to Rory, as per her request, I no longer reject Kathleen’s attempts to spend time with me. I can’t afford to avoid her.
Sometimes she studies while I write.
Sometimes we feck with the lights off, always with a condom, and she lets me chant, “Rory, Rory, Rory.”
Most times, though, we share dinner and watch whatever is on the telly and I drive her back home before it gets too dark.
Today Kiki shoulders past me, into my living room, seeming to feel right at home. Unlike me, the living room is in a good condition. The rest of the house is pretty tidy, too.
She sits at the table, and I follow her with two glasses of water. I have no particular reaction to the news she delivers. I’m not happy, nor am I sad. I had a feeling it was going to happen. I’ve used condoms every other time we had sex—despite her protests—but apparently, I have super sperm, at least where the O’Connell girls are concerned.
Now, I’m just waiting to hear from Kath if she’s going to keep it or not. My chest feels tight, but I don’t want to assume.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, sliding the glass her way.
She takes a small sip, her eyes clinging to my face, trying to read me.
Why can’t I love her? Why can’t I love the girl who’d never leave me? The girl who’d die for me?
“Good. A bit nauseous, but good. Thanks for asking.”
“When’d you find out?”
“This afternoon. I went in to buy the test after school. Called Heather and Maeve to come with. You know Maeve is dating Sean now? I think they make a cute couple. Heather is fit.”
“So they know about the pregnancy,” I say, keeping my temper in check. And here I was under the impression that baby daddies are the first to learn of the news.
“Yeah. Hope it’s okay. I didn’t want to take the test alone, and I knew you were busking and didn’t want to bother you or freak you out for no reason. It could have been negative.”
“Are you going to keep it?” I ask, flat out.
