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“And you think I have problems,” Tadhg drawled sarcastically. “Tell you what, Joe. I’d rather be a Lynch than a bitch any day.” With that, Tadhg hitched his bag over his shoulder and sauntered out of the common room, flipping the bird as he went.
“Don’t think I want to know, Gus.” With a shake of his head, Joey pushed off the car he was leaning against and headed back toward the main building. “Not my monkeys. Not my circus.”
God only knew why but I had the strongest urge to make farm animal noises in this moment. Probably because I was epically nervous and had no clue how to navigate these unknown waters.
“Who are we fighting?” a familiar voice asked, and we both turned to find Joey sprawled out on one of the couches with a coat draped over him. “So that’s why you weren’t in religion class,” Johnny accused. “You were taking a bleeding nap.” “Come and talk to me when you have a colicky newborn feeding on demand at home,” Joey replied, standing up. “Back to my question.” He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck from side to side. “Who are we fighting?”
Ignoring Johnny’s words of warning, Joey looked to me and repeated, “Who are we fighting, Gussie?”
this girl was my entire world, and making her feel better was my only priority.
I was certain Johnny and Hugh had far more superior methods of persuasion when it came to making their girls feel better, but I had all the experience of a carrier bag in this department. What I did have at my disposal was a lack of shame, the enthusiasm of a puppy, and hips that rivaled Elvis.
“Gibs, for the last time, stop bleeding spooning me!” was the first thing I heard my best friend say on Wednesday morning, swiftly followed by the heel of his foot digging into my shin. “Okay, ow,” I huffed, blinking my eyes open when pain ricocheted up my leg. “That fucking hurt, Cap. You know I bruise like a peach.” “It was supposed to,” Johnny grumbled, shaking my arm off before pulling himself up into a sitting position. “Since when have I ever given you the impression that I’m the little spoon in this relationship?” “And I am?” “Well, it isn’t bleeding me!”
“Seriously, Cap. I’m just about ready to die here, lad.” “Come on, Gibs, you’ve got this,” he called over his shoulder. “Keep the heart rate up, lad. You’re on the last mile.” “That’s what you said three miles ago,” I wailed, while I contemplated throwing myself in over a ditch and letting the cows have me. “And I don’t ‘got this,’ Johnny. I don’t ‘got this’ at all.”
Oh boy, it was quite the power trip to be around Johnny Kavanagh. The boy oozed intensity. Lucky Shan.
The three words hurt to hear because they weren’t what I needed from him in this moment, and the pain in my chest assured me that my devastated body had come to the equally devastating conclusion that these three words were all this boy would ever give me.
When I strolled into the Biggses’ kitchen later that night, I was aghast I tell you, a-fucking-ghast, to see Jamie Kelleher sitting on my chair at the table. Christ, karma moved quickly. “Gibs,” Sinead acknowledged, intercepting me before I had a chance to toss the intrusive bastard of a cuckoo out of my nest.
I narrowed my eyes at the cuckoo with his arm around my lovebird.
I was quiet the entire drive to the cinema, while I listened to Jamie harp on about random hooligan attacks on parked cars at Tommen.
“Me?” His eyes widened in outrage. “You’re the one in the relationship when you’re already in a relationship.” “I am not in a relationship, Gerard.” “Yes, you are,” he roared back at me. “With me!” “We are not together, Gerard.” “Yes, we are!” “I’m not yours.” “Well, I’m yours,” he came right back with. “I’m yours, Claire.”
“Stepping aside?” I gaped at him. “Gerard, you chose to step aside!” “Yeah, well now I’m choosing not to,” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I’ll give you my weekends, Claire. I’ll give you my weekdays, too. Whatever you want. Cinemas. Restaurants. Date nights. It’s yours. Just promise me you won’t go out with him again.”
“Here,” my best friend said, bounding over to Aoife before Shannon had a chance to stand up and snatch him up. “Give your uncle Johnny a cuddle.”
“Oh my god,” I cried out, beyond confused. “I never know where I stand with you.” “In front,” came his quick response. “On top. Number one. Fucking always, Claire.”
Kissing him felt like I had suddenly remembered the answer to a question that had been tormenting me for hours.
“You missed the clown.” “No, she didn’t,” Tadhg chimed in from his perch on the island. “She brought him with her.” “She brought him with her,” Gerard mimicked with a glare. “Less of the lip.”
“Tadhg!” Shannon scolded. “Language.” “Besides, I’m not going this year,” Mr. Attitude explained, ignoring his sister. “I’m too old for that shit.” “You heard Shan. Mind your language, kid,” Joey barked in a far more authoritarian tone than their sister had used, and like a good little pup, Tadhg bowed down to the alpha of their family pack. Oh wow. Maybe, Shannon wasn’t the lucky one. Maybe Aoife was.
“Wow, Ols,” I grinned. “Fancy.” “I’m a barrister,” he explained, dressed in a designer suit, with sunglasses perched on his nose. He even had his hair slicked back like one of those corporate lawyers in the movies. “Like my dad.”
“You know, you’re like the brother I never had.” “Don’t get messy on me, Gibs.” He chuckled. “You haven’t had that much to drink, lad.” “Yet,” I corrected with a smile. “I’m so fucking glad your grandmother died when she did.” “Wow, thanks, Gibs.” “Because you’re here,” I tried to explain. “Fuck knows where I’d be if you hadn’t moved to Ballylaggin.”
“Why don’t you go and see what Claire is doing instead of standing around on your own all night, hmm?” Leaning a hip against the island, she smiled up at me. “I’m sure she’d love to have a dance with you.” “While I would love to dance with your daughter, it wouldn’t be a wise move.” “Oh?” She smirked. “And why not?” “Because I might be tempted to do more than just dance with her,” I replied in a solemn tone. “I might be lured into performing the physical act of love.” “You do realize it’s me you’re talking to, don’t you, Gibs?” Frowning, Claire’s mam reached up and felt my brow. “As in
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Smiling to myself, I skipped down the corridor in the direction of the girls’ bathroom, stopping to call out, “Get a room,” to the ridiculously attractive couple eating the faces off each other in the stairwell on my way. “Mind your business,” Aoife called back, not bothering to release her hold on Joey. “As you were, Stud.” Aw…I hope they had condoms in the annex.
Okay, so the repercussions of my impulsive behavior resulted in the following: One full week’s worth of lunchtime detentions for me, due to my inability to follow school rules. Ooh, and I had been given my very first red card from the referee, which I thought was kind of strange considering I had only kissed Gerard and hadn’t participated in any illegal tackling. Either way, it was so worth it.
“Gerard!” I screamed, watching as he face-planted on the tree-house floor with an audible thud. Seriously, he went down like a sack of spuds. “Omigod, Gerard?” Nothing. Not a peep. “Are you dead?” Silence. “Omigod, I killed you!” I wailed, throwing my hands up. “I killed you with my hymen!”
“What’s wrong?” Dad demanded, appearing on the patio. “Jesus, I could hear you screaming from the attic.” “I killed Gerard with my hymen, Daddy!” I wailed, throwing the bloodstained duvet at his feet. “Here’s the murder weapon for the Gardaí when they come to arrest me!”
Aoife laughed, appearing from behind the curtain of the changing area in her dress. “Woo, I am rocking this MILF look,” she said, gazing at herself approvingly in the mirror, while adjusting her giant boobs. “I know ladies are supposed to be modest and all that jazz, but honestly, girls, if I was a cake, I’d eat myself.”
The tickets weren’t on the nightstand like Gerard said, but they were on his bed, along with his phone, a lighter, a packet of chewing gum, and his wallet that I knew contained our emergency condoms. Opening my handbag, I scooped the lot inside and then bent down to retrieve a folded-up note that had fallen from the pile. Shrugging, I tossed that into my handbag with everything else before racing back outside.
Never again would I sit back and watch his head go under the water. I would bring him to the surface even if it meant drowning our relationship in the process.
“I don’t want to be your friend anymore.” “You don’t mean that.” “Yeah, I do.” Tears trickled down his cheeks as he cried. “I’m not your boyfriend, Claire Biggs, and I’m not your friend.”
“Fuck…” His voice cracked and I watched as this huge boy, with limitless popularity and pull, broke down in front of us. “Fuck!” Head bowed, he clutched at his hair and continued to stare at the letter. “Fuck, Gibs.” A pained cry escaped him. “Not you, lad.” His big shoulders racked with shudders. “Not fucking you, Gibs!”
Her pain belonged to her. Passing it around to the rest of us wasn’t fair.
“We all love ya.” Sniffling, he pulled me closer and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I love the fucking bones of you, ya mad eejit.” He choked out a pained laugh. “And if you think this is going to chase me off, then you’ve another thing coming, fucker, because I’m never leaving you. Do ya hear me? Because you’re my Gibs.”
After all, taming 7 had been the adventure of my lifetime.
