Chapter 17 #2
It was wrapped in brown paper with hand-drawn snowflakes and tied with a red ribbon.
I opened it. It was a framed photo in black and white from sports day last year.
I remembered the day because Ronan had run the eight-hundred-metre race with a dramatic last lap between him and Mick Maloney crossing the finish line millimetres apart.
It was all tense while the judges conferred and then finally announced Ronan the winner.
Everyone rushed towards Ronan, me amongst them, and hoisted him up in the air, cheering him.
The photo was that moment captured. Ronan held high under a sea of people, the biggest smile on his face I had ever seen and there, just off to the right, was me standing looking up at him with an expression that looked so proud. I felt my throat swell.
‘I got it from the school newspaper team. They had a lot of negatives from sports day last year and I looked through them all on the machine and this one just stood out – can’t believe they didn’t choose it for the front cover, I just love it. And you’re both in it.’
‘Jennifer,’ I said, swallowing down over the lump forming in my throat, ‘it’s amazing, thank you.’
She twiddled her hair in a way that seemed so shy.
We smiled. I felt myself flushing red in the face as I stared at her and I saw her cheeks do the same.
Then we laughed awkwardly. My heart was beating through the hurt I felt in missing the old Ronan in the picture and beating fast because of something else. Something to do with Jennifer.
‘Happy Christmas, Brendan.’
‘Happy Christmas, Jennifer.’
‘Are you coming to the school play tonight?’
‘I thought the whole school was coming to see it this afternoon?’
‘Oh, yes, no – yes, they are, but this afternoon is more a sort of dress rehearsal. I just mean that tonight has all the other stuff like the carol service and the raffle and the cake sale so some people are coming back tonight as well, which is good because I’m going to be less nervous tonight, I hope, and it’ll be better and some of the parents want to come, too, of course, so I don’t know if it’s something your parents want to come to or not?
’ She seemed to say all this in one breath.
‘Oh, OK, well, I’m definitely coming this afternoon anyway, and then I’ll ask my dad when I get home if he can give me a lift. My mum’s on night duty so she won’t be able to.’
‘Oh, what does she do?’
‘She works in a nursing home.’
‘Oh that’s nice, I love old people,’ she said, stepping forward and back as if not sure whether to stay or go. ‘OK then, great.’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘Break a leg, right?’
‘Yes, break a leg, thanks!’ she said and took off, tripping over her heel as she went and then turning and laughing, shrugging her shoulders, bright red in the face, and then she dashed off.
When I saw the play that afternoon, there wasn’t a trace of that awkward girl who had stood in front of me just hours before – that girl was gone. Jennifer had transformed. I watched every move she made.
In fact, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
‘Augh, I’m not really into all that theatre stuff, Brendan,’ said Dad. ‘What’s with the sudden interest? We’ve never went to one of these shindigs before.’
‘’Cause it’s the last time I’ll get the chance; it might be a nice thing to do.’
‘Augh, I don’t know, there’s a match on tonight.’
‘Who’s playing?’
He looked at me.
‘The sooner you get your driving licence the better,’ he said, walking up the hall to get the car keys. ‘And you may leave a note for your mother for when she gets up, tell her where we’ve went.’
Watching the play for the second time that night was even better than the first. Jennifer was right, she was less nervous and even more the character of the old lady she was playing than when I saw her in the afternoon. Dad even leaned over to me at one point and said:
‘That one playing the aowl lady is powerful good.’
The carol service was immediately after the play and Jennifer was in that, too; she was still in her old lady makeup but had changed into her school uniform along with all the other girls, and one boy, in the choir.
I could feel Dad getting restless during the singing.
He got up to go to the toilet and didn’t come back for three whole songs.
While he was gone, during ‘Silent Night’, Jennifer spotted me in the audience and smiled.
Her arm went up as if she was about to wave, but she stopped herself and giggled, causing Mrs Callan, who was conducting the choir, to give Jennifer a sharp look that snapped her back into concentration.
After the raffle, which I didn’t win with my one 50p ticket Dad had bought, the chairs were cleared for people to mingle and have tea, coffee and cake.
Jennifer was standing at the far side of the hall with her mum and dad and an elderly lady that must have been her granny.
When she saw me she excused herself and came over to Dad and me standing in the corner with our cups of tea and paper plates with mince pies on them.
‘You came!’ she said.
‘I came.’
‘Goodness, you were powerful good,’ said Dad.
‘Oh thank you,’ said Jennifer.
We stood uncomfortably before Dad said:
‘I’m the parent, by the way.’
‘I’m Jennifer,’ she said, laughing.
‘Well, lovely to meet you, Jennifer, you were brilliant. I think we’re heading off here soon – Brendan, are we?’ Dad was never subtle with his hints, especially when he wanted to get home.
‘Well, thanks for seeing it a second time in one day, Brendan, and I’m glad you enjoyed it too, “parent of Brendan”. I better get back to “parents of Jennifer” now.’ She was blushing at her quirky humour, but I liked it. ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘Happy Christmas,’ said Dad.
‘Happy Christmas, Jennifer, see you in the New Year.’
She hunched up and dropped her shoulders in the way she had done in the playground earlier that day, and skipped off back to her family.
‘Second time in one day?’ said Dad.
‘What?’
‘She said thanks for coming for the second time in one day.’
‘Aye, it was just a dress rehearsal I saw earlier, it wasn’t the actual show.’
‘Oh right, must have had some impact, all the same, to see it twice in the one day.’
‘Are we going home then?’ I said.
As we left the hall I took a quick glance back at Jennifer; she was beaming. It was like the rest of the hall was smudged and hers was the only face that was in full focus. I turned and Dad was staring at me.
‘Some impact,’ he said.
On the drive home Dad broke the silence.
‘I recognise the parents, what’s the surname?’
‘Jennifer’s? Beattie.’
‘Aye, that’s what I thought. He’s one of them top barristers as far as I know and the wife’s in the same line of work, legal position of some kind anyway; I would have seen him on the news a couple’a’times, you know where the barrister or solicitor or whatever has to give a statement for their client or something like that? ’
‘Oh right,’ I said.
I didn’t know anything about Jennifer’s parents, or Jennifer herself. She was just as much of a stranger to me as everyone else in my year.
‘Oh turn that up,’ said Dad, as ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ came on the radio. ‘Chris Rea, some voice that man.’
I didn’t know who Chris Rea was, I just turned the dial and the song got louder. Dad sang along to the bits he knew and hummed to the bits he didn’t as I drew a shape on the misted-up window and then rubbed it out with my sleeve.