Chapter One
Cork
The school hall is packed.
It’s not surprising. There’s not much else to do around here on a Friday night. Especially on a cold, bleak November one. If you had enough money, you could take the bus. Go to the pictures. But why do that when you can come here for free?
At least that’s what I assume everyone else is thinking as I stand with my back against the far wall, watching what looks like a hundred people aged between twelve and twenty jump and sing to their heart’s content.
On a small stage at the other end, Dessie McCarthy does the best he can as DJ with a limited record collection and donated stereo system.
The music usually cuts out at least twice a night, and a group of lads have started taking bets on when it will happen.
It’s just one of many stellar qualities of the weekly disco, along with broken windows and sagging floors.
There’s a toilet, at least. Just the one.
Outside. But it’s the best we can do in rural Ireland.
Besides, no one seems to mind. They don’t even notice half the Halloween decorations are still up. The tangled wreaths of holly and sequined snowflakes are in a bunch of boxes in the corner, while the walls remain strewn with paper jack-o’-lanterns and fake cobwebs.
At least I think they’re fake.
I hope they are.
I check my watch as I move away from the one nearest me, rolling my shoulders back to ease out the near-constant ache between them.
It’s nearly ten, and all I can think about is how I have to be up in a few hours.
It’s going to be just as dark then as it is now, but that’s life on the farm for you.
I still have another year of college left, but Dad’s already started giving me more responsibility around the place.
I don’t mind. It’s what I want to do when I’m older, even though it does make nights like these harder, knowing I should already be at home, asleep in my bed.
It’s my own fault though. I probably could have gotten out of this if I really pushed. But I couldn’t help myself.
I just wanted to see her again.
I take a sip of my red lemonade as the current song ends and Colleen Byrne spins one final time.
She laughs as she does, her blue eyes bright and her freckled cheeks flushed in a way that makes my stomach drop pleasantly.
Strands of long brown hair stick to her face, and she flaps a hand in front of her, trying to cool down, as her friend whispers in her ear.
She’s the most beautiful girl in the room.
In any room, really. At least to me. I hadn’t paid much attention to her before a few months ago, but that isn’t unusual.
I work with my dad during the summers and weekends, so I never got to know people beyond the boys in my class.
Never had much time for girls. Or any interest in them. Until her.
“Who are you smiling at?”
I blink, snapping back into myself as I glance down to see my younger sister at my side.
“Nobody.”
Rachel rolls her eyes, not believing me but, thankfully, not caring enough to push it.
She wasn’t allowed to come to the discos initially, but then last year Mam caught her trying to sneak out of her bedroom window in her new platform boots.
Rachel could argue for Ireland, and because she was pretty good otherwise, helping around the house and doing what needed to be done, our parents eventually relented on one condition. That I go with her.
Neither of us was happy about it. Rachel didn’t want a babysitter, and standing around in a sweaty hall was the last thing I wanted to do with my time. But it was either that or putting up with her boredom, so here I am.
It used to be a chore. Now, not so much.
“I have something to tell you,” Rachel says, resting against the wall. I’m mildly intrigued. Usually, she pretends like I don’t exist when we’re here.
“Patricia likes you,” she continues, deadly serious. Another oddity. She’s the joker of the family. Loud and teasing and quick to laugh. Mam says she has to make up for me. Too quiet. Too shy. But I’m not shy. I just never saw the point of speaking when I didn’t have anything to say.
“Sean.” She pokes my arm when I don’t respond. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you. Which one’s Patricia?”
Rachel sighs, but it’s a genuine question. My sister has a lot of friends, and they all tend to blend into one.
“Colm Kenny’s sister. She’s pretty,” she adds. “And almost eighteen. Only a year younger than you. You should ask her to dance.”
“Why?”
Rachel stares at me. “Because she wants you to. She asked me to ask you.”
“Why didn’t she ask me herself?”
“Sean!” Her tone tells me she’s two seconds away from stomping her foot, and I realize I’m being annoying. It’s not intentional.
“I can’t dance,” I say before she can start snapping at me. “You know that. Sure, I’d only embarrass her.”
Rachel’s irritation fades a little, her mouth twisting like she’s thinking about it.
“I’ll tell her that,” she says reluctantly. “You’re right. But she’s a nice girl.”
“I’m sure she is.” Just not the one I want. I do another sweep of the room, disappointed when I don’t see Colleen. “We’ll have to go soon,” I tell Rachel.
She doesn’t like that. “We’ve only been here an hour.”
“I’ve got to be up early.”
“But half my friends aren’t even here yet!”
“You mean Phil Murphy isn’t here yet,” I retort, watching her expression wipe clean.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says primly, and it takes everything in me not to call her out. The butcher’s son has had his eyes on her since school started back and though I know Rachel’s well able to handle herself, sometimes her love of attention can get her into trouble.
She avoids my gaze now, pulling her hair away from her neck and smoothing it over her shoulder, only to flick it back again.
It’s a new habit of hers. Her hair used to be short but seems to have grown several inches over the summer and is now flowing down her back.
She likes it long. I know she does because I have to hear her and Mam argue about it every day.
“I’m getting you in thirty minutes, and we’re going home,” I state, but she remains unmoved.
“You can’t get me if you can’t find me,” she says, and slips away, disappearing into the crowd.
I’m not worried. Rachel might talk a lot, but she knows the rules and, more importantly, the trouble she’ll get into if she breaks them.
Our agreement is that she’ll come and go with me when I say, and so long as she does that, I won’t interfere with her night.
At least not unless Phil Murphy makes an appearance.
I finish my lemonade, glancing around the room.
I catch the eyes of a few others from the village, and we share a nod, but that’s about it.
We’re friendly enough, but I have no real interest in discos or parties or all the things everyone else seems to set their lives around.
It’s not that I don’t like people. They’re just not where I’m happiest. And after hours spent on the land with nothing but your own thoughts, it can be overwhelming to step back into their world. Loud, too.
“Lads!” Dessie shouts into the microphone.
“How many times do I have to tell ye? Do not go past the red tape. The red tape is the quake zone. When that floor shakes, the table shakes, and when the table shakes, the stereo shakes, and when the stereo shakes, the music stops. It’s common sense, folks. ”
The next song starts up, something with guitars and drums that I’ve never heard before, and I’m mystified when a dozen people nearby start screaming the lyrics.
We don’t have a record player in our house and only have two radio channels, which Mam controls, so I’m always a step behind when it comes to this stuff.
No one else seems to have that problem, though, and the dancefloor gets more crowded as people run in from their smoke breaks outside.
I catch sight of Rachel’s red dress as she forms a circle with her friends and raises her hands in the air.
She seems to know the words anyway. At least one of us does.
“Sean?”
I freeze at the hopeful voice, my heart leaping into my throat as the music blares around me. After a second too long, I turn to find Colleen standing a few feet away, clutching a blue raffle book.
“Do you want to buy a ticket?” she asks, shouting slightly to be heard over the noise. “We’re trying to raise enough to get some new records. Jack’s dad gave us a football as a prize.”
“I don’t have any money.” The words come out too blunt, as they always do, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She just shrugs, holding the book by her side.
“That’s okay.” The conversation is finished, but she doesn’t move away. She doesn’t move at all. She just stands there, watching me like she’s waiting for something.
The longer the pause goes on, the more nervous I get.
It’s strange. I don’t usually mind silences.
Half the time, I crave them. It’s other people who get awkward.
Who seek to fill them when there’s no need.
But with Colleen, I want to speak. I want to say something to keep her eyes on me, to keep her here, to—
“You don’t dance?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“Two left feet. Not like you.” My face heats as soon as I say the words, but Colleen grins.
“This is more jumping,” she says. “But it’s fun. I prefer real dancing, though.”
“Real dancing?”
“Like in films?” She perks up, and my chest hurts at how happy she looks.
“Mam taught me a few steps from when she used to go to the dance halls. I guess it’s too old-fashioned now.
Did you ever see The Sound of Music? There’s this bit where Julie Andrews is dancing with Christopher Plummer and it’s so romantic.
Or in West Side Story when they first meet and she’s wearing this white dress and they’re …
” She trails off, looking uncertain, and I realize I’m staring at her.
“Sorry,” she says with an awkward laugh. “I talk too much.”
“You don’t,” I say quickly.
“Dad says I was born fifty years too late.”
“Or you just need to convince Dessie to play something slow.”
She smiles shyly, looking pleased as she glances down at her boots and then at the empty cup in my hand. She takes a deep breath. “Well, maybe if you—”
“Coll. You ready?” One of her friends appears at her side, sending a brief look my way as she grabs her free hand.
“Yeah.” Colleen’s eyes linger on mine even as she’s tugged away. “Bye, Sean.”
I manage another nod and, with one last smile, she leaves, following her friend across the floor.
I stare after her, probably looking like an idiot, but all I can think about is how that was the closest she’s ever been to me.
The longest we’ve ever spoken. And as Thin Lizzy starts over the speakers, I settle back against the wall, committing each word to memory as I wait for my heartbeat to calm.