Chapter 5 #2
“I didn’t want him to feel lonely.”
“He’s a puppy,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Who you think likes me…”
A grin tugs at his lips as he shrugs with amused indifference. “I think you should walk him.”
My eyes scrunch. “Why?”
“Because I think it would be good for you.”
“And how could you possibly know what’s good for me, Paddy?” I ask incredulously, wondering how he, of all people, would know. The answer is, he doesn’t. He’s been gone too long. People change. I’ve changed.
After a beat, he says, “What’s wrong with dog walking?”
“No, nothing, I—”
“Plenty of folk around here have dogs they can’t walk. They just have gardens large enough to let them shit in.”
I don’t get why he’s pushing this.
“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? I mean, you know everyone around here. I don’t see a problem.”
“And you don’t see the way they look at me.” My snapped response renders Paddy silent. “It’s like they think I have something wrong with me.”
I think perhaps he’ll apologise or stay quiet. Instead, he looks me up and down. “Well, do you?”
My eyes dart up in a flash, and his widen. “I don’t think so.”
Paddy suppresses a chuckle.
I fold my arms, annoyed with him. “You think that’s funny?”
“No.” He wipes a hand over his mouth. “I think you’ve changed.”
“What?” A car drives past, the lights blinding. I lift my hand, half closing my eyes to block it out.
“Since when does what other people think bother you?”
“It doesn’t.” I lift my shoulders to my ears, turning on my heels. My ability to disguise the truth that hurts like hell is a pathetic attempt.
“I think it does.”
Oh my God.
I humph under my breath, my hands squeezing with a sudden flare of irritation. Irritation because, deep down, I know he’s right. I don’t really understand how, but he is. “Is that such a bad thing?”
The corner of his mouth pulls up at my conceding.
“No. It just doesn’t take a genius to work out, Morgan.
I knew Fi was the ringleader—she always has been.
Holly was always the loud one, and you…” He takes me in, and we share a moment like nothing I’ve experienced before.
Like something unspoken is unfolding between us. “You were always happy.”
My stomach knots. His words a gut punch I wasn’t expecting. Can he see that I’m not happy now? Truth is, one moment I was light as air, the next, the sky snapped shut, and I came crashing to the ground.
Paddy’s lips purse.
You were always happy. I allow his words to sink in.
The world didn’t want to wait for me. I haven’t changed in ways that others have. Instead, I’ve remained in the exact same spot for years now.
“She still is the loud one,” I eventually say with a slight smile, reminiscing on our youth, thinking about the things that truly make me happy.
Tight-lipped, Paddy’s cheeks lower on his face. He shifts his feet, and I’m suddenly aware of the growing silence. Maybe he wants more of an explanation from me as to why nothing’s changed.
My smile drops when his lips part, his eyes not meeting mine. “You know what, Morg, I…” Pulling on the back of his neck, he tenses, the waves of his unease like ripples through the air.
What am I doing wrong? Like everyone else around here, Paddy no longer looks like he wants this conversation with me. He looks like he just wants to leave.
“Let’s just get you home.”
What felt like a meaningful moment now feels one-sided. I dip my head, deflated, my cheeks now hot, embarrassment rife.
When we make it to my front porch, the light from the living room flicks on, catching our attention.
“Thank you for walking me home.”
Paddy lowers his head. “No problem, curly fries.”
Warmth settles over me. He has no idea what calling me that does to me when he says it the way he does: soft. Gentle. Effortless. But this time, it comes with a spike of confusion. He ended our conversation like he was uncomfortable, but then offers me warmth and tenderness?
Ignoring the wave of chills tracking their way down my spine, I smile, but it’s tight.
When I go to turn, his words stop me. “Actually, can I offer you some advice, Morgan?” I wait. I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say, but for some reason, I don’t move, either. “If you want to write, I think you should do it.”
My eyes close. I take a needed breath. That’s so easy for him to say when he gets to leave. “Goodnight, Paddy O’Keefe.”
Lifting my hand to the front door, it flies open before I can put my key in.
“Where have you been?” My dad’s eyes pop from their sockets. His worry evident.
“I found a puppy,” I tell him, moving to step over the threshold.
His face is like thunder. “And Holly? Where’s she?” He glances between me and Paddy.
Paddy stares at my father, eyes searching and pinned.
“She went home before Paddy walked me back.” I look at the two men before me, their gazes fixed like the wind changed. “Dad?”
He steps back, allowing me to move further inside. “Your mother was worried. Please go and let her know you’re okay.”
If I were sixteen and it was a boyfriend walking me home later than planned, I’d understand his reaction. Whatever’s happening right in front of me makes me feel small and agitated.
Being dismissed, I turn slowly as my father steps outside, pulling the door closed behind him. I can’t stop myself from pressing my ear to the barrier between us, trying to listen.
“You leave her well alone, you hear me?” My dad’s voice is lowered.
Paddy scoffs. “What’s going on?”
My dad doesn’t answer right away. “I’m protecting my daughter.”
“From what?” Paddy fires at him.
“From the likes of you. She doesn’t need distractions and wild boys in her life right now.”
“She’s not a kid anymore. You can’t keep her in the apparent prison you’ve got her locked up in.”
Oh bollocks. I can honestly say I never thought it would end up here. That death by embarrassment is how I’d go out.
I can’t listen anymore.
Pushing away from the door, I find my mum before I head to my room and call Holly. Once I know she made it home okay, I sit on the edge of my bed, tucking my knees to my chest.
If you want to write, I think you should.
The flowery notepad I use sits there, staring at me, my pen perfectly placed on top.
I don’t think about what I’m doing or why I’m doing it.
All I know is that the words being scratched onto the paper flow freely, and the soft ache in my chest doesn’t hurt.
It’s nice. Like I’m dusting off an old piece of myself I thought I’d lost.