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“Please say he did it,” I whispered wistfully, as I grabbed the toddler and lifted him off the potty for further inspection. “Oh my god, lads. He fucking did it.” I grinned, feeling a mixture of pride and amazement. “Today is a good day, boys.”
“Jesus.” Tadhg shook his head. “If Sean taking a dump makes you this happy, then you really need to start to get out more often, Joe. Imagine what seeing a pair of—”
“Don’t say it,” I warned, reaching for the roll of toilet paper. “Good man, Seany-boo. Next thing you’re going to learn is how to wipe your own ass.”
Tadhg snickered. “Good luck with that.”
“It’s called a buck-cocks,” Ollie chimed in. “That’s what teacher says.”
“Jesus,” I grumbled, shaking my head.
Tadhg was right.
I needed to get out of here
My phone pinged in my pocket, and I didn’t need to read Molloy’s latest message to be convinced of anything, as I quickly tapped out a text and pressed send.
Joey: That festival at the weekend? I’m in.
SUMMER LOVING: I GOT ME A TATT
JULY 11TH 2004
AOIFE
Joeynevershould have letme talk him into going to that damn techno festival in Tralee on Friday night.
If he hadn’t, then we wouldn’t be here. Two days later, in a shitty B&B, on the side of the road, in the middle of the backend of Kerry. Not a penny in our pockets to rub together and dying slow deaths from the kind of alcohol abuse that turned a man’s liver yellow.
We were a disgrace, and my only consolation was the fact that it was all Joey’s fault for going along with my idea.
God, he was so damn impressionable sometimes.
“I think I’m hemorrhaging vodka from my dick,” he announced when he stepped out of the ensuite bathroom in our room on Sunday morning. “Seriously.” Standing in nothing but his boxers, Joey rubbed his hands up and down his arms, as he padded back to the bed. “I just took a piss that lasted a full two minutes without stopping and smelledexactlylike what we were drinking last night.”
“So sexy,” I purred, rolling over to snuggle into him when he flopped back down on the mattress. “Hold up.” Springing up in the bed, I gaped down at the five lettered word inked on his chest. “What the hell is that?”
“What?”
“That.” I poked the piece of skin the covering his heart.
Aoifewas written in italic scribe across the left side of his chest.
“What?” he drawled lazily.
“Did you look in the mirror when you were recording your personal best time for the piss-Olympics?”
“Huh?”
“Look,” I whisper-hissed, and then bit down on my fist in nervous anticipation.
Bleary-eyed, Joey pulled himself up on his elbows, glanced down at his chest, and released a frustrated groan before flopping back down on the pillows.
"Well, I can tell you one thing for sure that I do remember about the past two days, Molloy, and it’s thatthiswasyourgenius idea.”
“What?” I shook my head, at a total drunken, hazed loss. “No, it wasn’t.”
“That creepy tent with those hippies,” he grumbled. “You dragged me in there last night, demanding to be tramp stamped.”
