Chapter 17
Ryan
I come downstairs after a quick shower. After training finished, I came straight to my parents’: Dad needed a hand in the garden. Luckily, I have a clean set of clothes with me.
Mum insisted that I stay for dinner, and after storming out last time, I couldn’t really say no.
Dad’s laying the table in the dining room. Five places.
“Who’s coming for dinner?” I ask Mum, going through into the kitchen and grabbing a beer from the fridge.
“I invited Chris.”
I spit my beer out across the kitchen tiles, a coughing fit building up in my chest.
“And she’s bringing someone along.”
Thank God I didn’t try to take another sip.
“Someone?”
“Yes, she said she had someone waiting for her at home, so I said she could bring them along.”
“But you don’t even know her! You don’t know what she’ll do, if she’s a raging maniac, who she’s bringing with her. They could be Jack the Ripper, or…”
“Still can’t get the chainsaw working?” my dad asks, coming into the kitchen.
I snort and escape into the living room, just as there’s a knock at the door.
“Do you mind, Ryan? That’ll be them.”
Shit.
Come on, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s just a nice dinner with her and her handsome doctor.
God, where’s Nick when you need him.
I open the door, ready to throw up all over the carpet.
“Oh… hi. You’re here, too,” she says, surprised.
“Well, you know, it’s my parents’ house.”
“You said you didn’t live here.”
“I have dinner here every so often.”
Seriously? Why am I explaining myself to her?
“Come in,” I say, stepping aside to let her in.
“Thanks,” she growls through her teeth. “Come on, Evan. I’m sure you can put up with this for one evening.”
I knew he was a dick.
Christine comes in, followed by a guy. No. Not a guy. A boy, a teenager. Her spitting image.
“Evan, this is Ryan. Please be nice, don’t embarrass me.”
“Hey, Ryan, how’s it going?” he says waving, then coming through the doorway. “Was that alright?” he asks Christine.
“Don’t piss me off…”
“There you are!” My mother hands her a glass of wine, which she accepts without hesitation.
Evan shakes his head, and she smirks at him like a flippant teenager.
“Don’t start,” she warns him. “Or I’ll have to take you straight back home.”
“Mind your own—”
“Who’s this charming young man?” my mother interrupts.
“Did she seriously just say that?” Evan hisses under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
“This is Evan,” Christine says, throwing me a quick glance. “My son.”
This time I need a paper bag as big as Santa’s sack.
“Oh, but…” Mum seems embarrassed.
“Yeah, I was a bit of an accident,” Evan says, without missing a beat.
“I didn’t mean to…” Mum stumbles, trying to justify her surprise, but she’s not a very good actress.
“It’s okay,” Christine says, elbowing Evan.
“He looks just like you,” Mum says, trying to recover some dignity.
“Everyone says I look more like my father.”
“And he… isn’t he coming this evening?”
“Why would he?” Evan says shamelessly.
“Er… I…” Mum’s face is flushed so red she’s almost purple.
“Evan’s father doesn’t live with us,” Christine explains curtly, swiftly finishing off the wine in her glass.
“I’ll get you another,” Mum says, sensing her discomfort. “And maybe a drink for Evan, too?”
“A beer would be great.”
“Evan!”
He shrugs. “Worth a try.”
My father walks into the living room, completing the scene.
“We’re all here,” he says, approaching us. “Good evening, Chris, and hello…”
“Evan,” he offers.
“Sure, sure… Evan, I knew that.”
He knew?
“I could never forget my own grandson’s name.”
Oh, fuck. Not tonight.
Everybody looks around, confused for a few moments, until Dad says: “Come with me, boy. I have something I want to show you,” and gestures for him to follow. Evan obliges, without objection.
We’re all going mad.
We sit at the table, our general embarrassment thick in the air: at least, that of me, Mum and Christine. Dad seems to have bonded right away with the boy sitting next to him, speaking to him as if he were his grandfather.
“What did you show Evan?” Mum asks discreetly.
“His father’s room. Photos, jerseys for the teams he’s played for, medals…”
I literally spit my dinner back onto my plate to avoid choking.
“Cool,” says Evan, as if he didn’t hear the first half of the sentence. “I didn’t know he was a rugby champion.”
“All of my boys are,” Dad proudly declares.
“Do you play rugby, Evan?” Mum asks.
“No, I actually don’t like sports.”
Christine kicks him under the table.
“Ow!” he complains. “What did I say?”
My father laughs. “He can always change his mind. At that age, Ryan didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life either. He decided later to follow in your uncles’ footsteps.”
This time, I spray half my beer across Mum’s linen tablecloth.
“My God, Ryan. Do you need a bib?”
This time, I don’t know whether my dad’s being serious or not. I’d rather not know.
“How’s school, Evan?”
The boy rolls his eyes, and I notice Christine sigh heavily.
“I put up with school, and the school puts up with me.”
What an answer. I don’t know who his father is, but the boy really is all his mother.
“What’s your favourite subject?” my mother asks, encouragingly.
Jesus, if I were Evan I’d have lost it by now.
“Let him eat in peace, Karen,” Dad intervenes.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t,” Christine defends her.
The conversation moves between topics. Neutral ones, thank God. The weather, plans for summer, Christine’s café. All things I can handle, where I just have to nod or grunt. All things considered, the evening isn’t going too badly.
When it’s time for coffee, Christine insists on helping clear the table. She stands up and smooths down her tight dress, which hugs the arse I compared to the back of my car.
Fuck, I really am an arsehole.
“Don’t do it,” Evan says next to me.
My father has magically disappeared, and we’re the only ones left at the table.
“Do what?” I ask, curious.
“She’s a disaster, in every sense of the word.”
“What? No, I…”
He looks at me, his eyebrows raised. “And, please, don’t look at her arse like that – not in front of me. That’s my mum, for fuck’s sake!”
“I wasn’t looking at anything!”
“Yeah, right… look, I do things like that, too.”
“Seriously? How old are you again, kid?”
He looks at me, his face serious. “Way older than you – at least, way more mature than you, mate.”
“You’re way off, I’m not interested in your mum.”
“You’re fucked. You know that, right?”
“I don’t get it…”
“You will…” he says, wisely.
“Hey, what are you two talking about?” Christine comes back into the room with a tray in her hands.
“Your arse,” Evan says right away.
“Ryan O’Connor!” my mother appears from behind her.
“Me? Fuck, no, that’s not true… I wasn’t…”
Evan grabs my arm and nods at me to just leave it. Then he leans in and whispers: “Fucked,” enunciating every letter.
And I know that he’s completely right.