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“This is just a bad patch,” he continued, lacing our fingers together. “We can come through it. We always do.”
“How?” I whispered. “How can we make this work?” And more importantly, why should we?
“I suppose by telling each other the truth,” he offered quietly. “Today was a good start.”
“I don’t know if I’m invested in this,” I admitted weakly. “My head is all over the place, Paul.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he replied, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
No, it won’t.
VALENTINE’S DAY
FEBRUARY 14TH 2002
AOIFE
With my hands full,and my phone ringing in my skirt pocket, I used my elbow to open the front door and then swiftly deposited my school bag, PE bag, and stack of post I’d collected on the floor, before reaching into my pocket for my phone.
“Yes, Casey, I’m home,” I mused, balancing my trusty Nokia 3310 between my shoulder and ear, as I stepped over the pile of crap I’d dropped in the hallway, kicked off my heels, and moved for the kitchen. “And no, before you ask, I haven’t opened my Valentine’s cards yet.”
“Well hurry up, bitch,” she groaned down the line. “And at least tell me who the huge teddy bear, holding the cute heart, is from?”
“You already know who it’s from.”
“Okay, are you opening them yet?”
“No, I’m going to make a sandwich.”
“Sandwich? What happened to your mam’s Thursday stew?”
“Dad took her away to that big fancy hotel in Kilkenny for the night, remember?”
“To screw?”
“No, to test the mattress,” I shot back sarcastically. “Obviously to screw.”
“Where’s that hot little nerd for the night?”
“He’s gone to Nana’s to tune the channels into her new television, and please don’t call my brother hot. I think I might puke.”
“He is a little ridey, Aoif, with that blond quiff and black-rimmed glasses—“
“No, he’s not.” I gagged. “He’s an irritant.”
“A sexy irritant,” she teased before adding, “Okay, let’s open your cards. I’ve opened all of mine and I’m bored.”
“Who’d you get this year?”
“The usual,” she sighed down the line. “Mack, Charlie, Dricko, and Alec from our year. Sticky-Dicky from sixth year, a couple of anonymous ones, and some kid called Tim from first year.”
“Aw, you got a baby first year. That’s so sweet,” I cooed mockingly. “And as for Richard Murphy—“
“Sticky-Dicky,” she interrupted me to correct.
“Calling him that only lets people know that you’ve touched his dick, Case.”
“His sticky dick.”
