Chapter 19 Classic Paddy
Classic Paddy
Paddy
How are those stars, curly fries?
Morgan: Beautiful, Paddy O’Keefe. They’re keeping me company
I wish I knew how to make sense of all the shit that happens. It can’t all be down to reason. There’s no way bad things happen to good people, all in the name of fate.
Then again, I didn’t think I believed in love at first sight.
Every day I’ve lived with this weird feeling inside of me, like something was missing.
I couldn’t ever put my finger on it. Wasn’t sure what I was meant to do.
When I spoke to my pops earlier, he told me that we’re not supposed to know the answer to our problems until the moment is right.
So, I guess I should be blaming him for my inability to get some fucking shut eye.
That, and the onslaught of emotions after everything that happened tonight.
I’ve been thinking about my conversation with Pops, the effect of his words still stressing me out.
Before I left this place, I was just the lad who was great at football and got good grades with little effort. I was a pain in the arse to my folks, I’ll admit. But I always did right by people.
At school, they used to say, “He’s a good boy at heart”, as a way of excusing my behaviour.
My headteacher once told my parents that if I applied myself more, one day we’d be seeing my name in headlines for positive things.
I never knew what he meant by that, but I’m fairly certain he was just being an arsehole and implying I’d be a failure.
To prove him wrong, I did what I always do. I went out of my way to ensure I made something of myself.
Out. Of. My. Way.
That’s how I went on to get my job and to be able to afford living in London with Jake. I met Hannah, Jake moved out, and I thought I had it made. I was far fucking from it; I know that now.
My problem was that I was bored. I woke up, went to work, I came home. Rinse and repeat like it was nothing. Yes, I had Jake and Danny when he came up, but I felt isolated in a city with nearly nine million people.
Then my feet pressed back down in Stoney Grange, the place I worked so hard to get away from, and that piece of me that always felt like it was missing just appeared.
My missing piece was her.
Morgan.
Only now, after speaking to her father, I don’t think I’ll see that moment Pops was talking about.
Fuck.
Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling, one arm behind my head. Just because I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand why Morgan ended up in the position she’s in, doesn’t mean I won’t do everything in my fucking power to be here for her.
She’s got under my skin, and now that I’m apparently losing my flat to my ex-girlfriend, there’s no better time to think about staying here. In Stoney Grange. The thought alone feels like stepping backwards, even if it shouldn’t.
If ever there was a time for me to show everyone what sort of man I am, it’s now. I just wish I hadn’t learned the truth about the girl I finally admitted my feelings for, so late.
Because the truth is tearing me apart.
I can’t stay away from Morgan how her father wants me to. Not now. As heartbreaking as it was to hear that she’s sick, the truth that he shared has left me angry with him. In fact, fucking fuming is a better way to describe it.
Driving home, I couldn’t breathe. The words hung in the air like the world just stopped turning for me. Reciting them, I waited as if the punchline was coming. The explanation. Anything that would make it untrue.
It never came.
And everything I thought I knew, is now brutally split open.
They call it perspective.
I’ve been trying to gain some all night.
At just after one in the morning, my stomach still aches from throwing up as soon as I got home. I knew Morgan would be awake when I got back into bed. That’s why I sent her a text. I just needed to hear from her. Know she was there. Happy. Safe.
It makes sense now; her parent’s reasoning for doing what they are doing to Morgan. It’s because they love her unconditionally. While I don’t agree with sheltering her from it, I understand why they have.
Morgan has lost her vibrancy. That spark that always drew everyone in. But the girl I still remember deserves to be given the chance to recover. Even if she can’t, she deserves someone on her fucking side and fighting for her.
The way I’ve watched people whisper and talk about her like she isn’t a real fucking person is the worst thing.
If I had been here and been able to intervene, things would have no doubt been so much different.
But I wasn’t. And since I have been here, what have I been doing the entire time?
Classic Paddy, that’s what. I’ve pushed my weight around.
Thrown fists. Made jokes. Not taken anyone’s feelings seriously.
And for what? Fucking, nothing. That’s what.
Giving up on sleep, I throw the covers back and head downstairs for a much-needed drink.
I’m not sure it will help, but I know where Pops keeps an emergency bottle.
When I find it, I grab a tumbler and pour myself a double, throwing my head back and gritting my teeth when I swallow the burn.
As a kid, it always amazed me how my old man and his social club buddies could stomach bottle after bottle of this stuff.
One swig and I’m not sure I can stand any more.
I pour again without thinking, letting the bottle hit the counter harder than I had planned. Necking the next shot back, my throat tightens, hot heat swimming through my veins as I grind my teeth, battling not to gag.
“Paddy?”
I release a harsh breath and spin on my heels.
“Everything alright?” Mum steps closer, pulling her dressing gown together.
“I’m fine, Mum. Go back to bed.” My voice is hoarse.
Mum’s eyes glue to mine before she spots the bottle on the side. “What’s that?”
“Whisky,” I croak, throat still burning.
She sighs before reaching me. “I know it’s whisky. Why’d you have it?”
Trailing a hand through my hair, I struggle not to blurt out everything that’s bothering me. My mother has enough going on with Evie being here, she doesn’t need any more stress from me.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” she reiterates, her voice questioning.
“Yeah,” I heave on a sigh, wanting to grab the bottle and go back to the quiet of my room. “It’s been a long day. That’s all.”
Giving me a, don’t bullshit me, look, she asks, “What happened?” before she moves to the kettle, sidling past me.
I let my head drop and rub my face in the palms of my hands. “Too fucking much,” I say, my voice muffled.
Mum lets out an annoyed breath. “Do you have to swear, Patrick?”
“It’s one in the morning, Mum. Evie won’t be awake to hear me.”
She grabs a mug and clicks the kettle on. “No, probably not. But I don’t like it all the same.”
“Jesus Christ, do you want me to start paying you too?” I mutter, shaking my head. I move to leave the kitchen, but she stops me.
“Talk to me, son.”
I slowly turn to face her. “What do you want me to say?”
She makes some tea and sits at the table. “I want you to tell me that you’re okay. If you can’t do that, then maybe I can listen to whatever’s troubling you. I’m a good listener, your father says so.”
Sitting down beside her, I give her a reassuring smile. “That’s because you’re nearly deaf, Mum.”
Her back straightens with a snap. “What?”
“See.”
Slapping my arm, she then curls her fingers around her mug, gripping it tight. “I know something’s up.”
Exhaling a depleted breath, I tell her, “I’ll be fine. No need to worry about me.”
One of her hands comes out to land on my arm.
It’s the same arm Morgan held onto when I dropped her home.
I drove so carefully, absolutely fucking terrified of being behind the wheel with someone else in my car.
It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, but I still had to shake loose the memories from the night Aaron died.
“I always worry.”
My head turns to Mum. All I can do is smile at her. The familiar swell of shame beginning to swirl in my gut.
“Paddy, love, I know when you’re lying.”
My eyes bulge in surprise. “How? I’m never here to see you.”
“And for that,” she clips me around the back of the head, “I’ll never forgive you.”
I rub at the area, leaning away. “What’d you do that for?”
“Because I want you home more.”
“I thought you wanted me to succeed? I can’t do that here. That’s why I moved to London,” I gripe.
“There’s plenty for you to do here, and plenty of people who want you here, too.”
I eye her suspiciously. “You and Pops don’t count as plenty of people,” I mimic. “Seriously, I’m not lying.” I check my head for any serious damage. Even for a woman of her size, she packs a punch.
“I’ve had years of practice, son. Don’t be forgettin’ that I gave birth to you. Raised you with my bare hands with no help from anyone but your father. Believe you me, I know when you’re not telling me the truth.”
“Give me one example.”
She anchors her elbows on the table like a woman on a mission.
“When you were fourteen and decided to draw a hundred-meter penis on the field using weedkiller during forest school and told me you had no clue what shape you were drawing. Or when you hacked the school interweb system and changed your teacher’s profile picture to a nun riding a camel.
Or when you decided to write your phone number asking for oral sex in the bus stop and blamed it on Fi? ” She hums, raising a distrusting brow.
I blow out my cheeks, wishing I had some sort of defence. “The penis wasn’t a hundred-metres, Mum. It was eighty, to be precise. And I didn’t hack the school internet system,” I draw out the word, correcting her. “Danny used my login and changed it.”
She widens her eyes even further. “So you’re not denying wanting the oral sex?”
For fuck’s sake. “What’s with the third-degree? That was Fi and her little friends, thinking they were funny. I didn’t want oral sex back then.”