26
The sun coming through the window wakes me up abruptly. I have to shield my eyes while I adjust to the room.
It’s then I realize two things. One is that I didn’t have a nightmare last night. The other is that I’m not in my apartment.
OH SHIT. I’m in Niall’s bed.
Oh no, no, no. The night starts coming back in spurts. The angry looks across the dance floor. The argument in front of his apartment, after chasing after him from the club.
Me grabbing his face and kissing him. Angrily. No, not exactly angrily, but like it was pent up. Coming back here.
Did he want this? And where the hell is he?
It’s time to make the executive decision to get the fuck out of here if there’s a chance to sneak off. Him and I can address this at a later time and place.
I quietly slip out of bed, doing a quick scan of the floor for my clothes. All I see are my boxer briefs. We were already half undressed by the time we were through the door, so the living room seems the likeliest of locations.
I open the bedroom slowly, peeking my head out into the hallway. The apartment seems quiet, outside the normal background noise of Temple Bar. I can see the pile of clothes sitting, folded neatly, on the side table by the door. Good, a quick escape. I move towards the door.
“Hello.”
I jump, turning quickly towards the kitchen. A child sits at the table, eating what appears to be a bowl of Corn Pops.
“Umm…hi.”
The boy points at me with his spoon. “You’re not wearing pants.”
I instinctively cover the front of my underwear, feeling my face flush. I continue my journey to my clothes, quickly redressing before turning back to the table. A second bowl has appeared, matching his.
I slide into the chair opposite him, taking in what I can only sense is an overwhelming air of judgement. “So, I don’t believe there was a child in the apartment when I got here.”
“No,” he says, through a mouthful of cereal. “I just got here like ten minutes ago.”
“Okay.” I take a bite of Corn Pops and try to think about the last time I had them. I also think about how underrated of a cereal it is.
“This is normally the time you would ask me my name.”
I swallow the sizable mouthful of cereal after almost spitting it out. Whoever this kid is, he’s bold. “Sorry—”
“It’s Hughie. Or Hugh if you prefer. It’s tough for grownups to figure out what to call me.”
“Well, I’m Daniel. But for some reason Niall likes to call me Danny.”
Hughie nods, reaching for the box and tops off his bowl. “Then I’ll call you Danny. Are you Uncle Niall’s boyfriend?”
This time I do actually spit out my cereal, luckily most of it landing back in the bowl. “I, umm…”
“You can be his friend, that’s fine. Or boyfriend. You’re the one visiting from the States, right?”
“How old are you?” I ask Hughie, trying to both keep my attention on Niall’s nephew but also frantically looking for a coffee pot on the counter. Which, I then remember, that Niall only keeps instant on hand.
“Ten. How old are you?”
“You aren’t supposed to ask adults that.”
Hughie looks contemplative. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s just women.”
I laugh. “Hughie, you seem like you’re a bit older than ten.”
Hughie shrugs. “People say I have an old soul, whatever that means. I think I’m just around adults a lot.”
Shouting erupts in the street. I recognize Niall’s voice immediately, the woman’s voice not so much.
“That’s just Uncle Niall and Irene. My grandmom. She brings me here when she doesn’t want to deal with me anymore.”
“That’s an awful thing to say, Hughie. I’m sure that’s not true.”
Hughie shakes his head, chewing through his last bite. “No, I’ve heard it a bunch of times. I heard her say it to Uncle Niall this morning when the door was closing.”
The kid’s smiling, definitely more than I would be if I had heard something that devastating.
“Do you come to Uncle Niall’s often?”
“Sometimes,” Hughie says, swirling his spoon in the bowl. “Usually after a couple of days at Grandmom’s. It usually happens when Mum can’t be found. Or if she goes to, erm…what’s it called when people go to the hospital for drugs.”
Oh god, this poor child. I feel my heart literally breaking for him. “Rehab,” I manage to choke out.
He smiles. “That’s it!” He seems to clock the look on my face. “It’s fine. I used to get sad about it the first few times, but then I started coming to Uncle Niall’s more and he’s more fun. He gives me all these books and lets me play Nintendo Switch, and takes me to yummy restaurants.”
While my heart is still breaking for Hughie, it warms for Niall. More than I think it already was, to see how he steps up and tries to give this kid the life he deserves. I won’t ask Hughie where he normally lives, because I’m not sure I can hear any more devastating words come out of his mouth.
It also dawns on me that I think there’s a second bedroom in this flat, right across the hall from Niall’s. And, every time I’ve been here, that door has been shut. If my intuition is right, it’s Hughie’s room. I see a large duffle bag by the door, covered in Super Mario characters.
“Do you want to put your stuff away and show me your room?”
Hughie’s face lights up. “Yes! But we need to clean up first.” He grabs my empty cereal bowl and his, taking them to the sink. “Can you reach the soap? It’s in the top cabinet.”
I follow his gaze, opening it and finding the bottle of dish soap. “I can take care of this later Hughie.”
“No. It’s my job when I’m here at Uncle Niall’s. I help with the dishes in exchange for books.”
It takes him only a few moments to wash out both bowls. I grab his bag before he leads me down the hall, opening the door to his room.
A true child’s room, definitely one you wouldn’t expect in just an uncle’s house.
The room is decked out in Marvel superheroes and Super Mario characters, bookshelves absolutely stuffed with books.
In addition to the bed there are two bean bag chairs that face a television the size I would have died to have in my own room at his age.
Hell, I think it’s bigger than the one in my bedroom right now back home.
I drop the bag on the bed and he unzips it, pulling out a bunch of clothes and a few notepads and some pens. I notice Stories written on the notebook on top.
“You write stories?” I ask, holding up the notebook. Hughie takes it from my hand, putting it on a little desk in the corner.
“Yes, but only I can read them. For now.”
I laugh. “I’m the same way. I write too, and it takes me awhile to share them with people.”
Hughie continues to pile his clothes into drawers, many of which are already full with clothes. “Is that what you teach?”
Seems like Niall told him a bit about why I was here. “No, not writing. I teach about other author’s books.”
“Cool. Grandmom writes books. Maybe you teach some of hers?”
The innocence of children. In this day and age, with self-publishing being so available, the number of authors has exploded and almost everyone knows someone who’s written a book.
Hell, some of the best books I’ve read are from local authors who went the self-publishing route.
Book publishing in the traditional market is near impossible these days to break into.
You almost need to know someone to get an in.
“Maybe, Hughie. What’s Grandmom’s name?”
“Irene McAllister.”
I stop mid-pass of socks. Irene McAllister. The Irene McAllister, Ireland’s most celebrated young adult author.
The Irene McAllister I’m covering in class, which makes me laugh. “Well Hughie, I guess I am teaching grandmom’s books.”
He takes the socks, placing them into the drawer before closing it. “They’re just okay. I’ve read better.”
I look at his bookshelf, noticing quite the mix of age appropriate and many young adult books that bat a bit above his reading age group. “Do you just read them because your grandmom wrote them? I think you might be a bit too young to read them.”
Hughie rolls his eyes. “Right. And who’s going to stop me?” Oh, this kid. Constantly bounced around, without what seems to be any consistent parenting.
Hughie zips up the duffle and drops it on the floor, kicking it under the bed. “Wanna play Mario Kart?”