Irish Kiss Page 9

  He bought a cake for me. With actual birthday candles.

  He remembered my birthday.

  He was just pretending not to.

  He cared.

  Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. My throat closed, trapping the happiness swelling in my chest, like a tiny sun had bloomed. I thought I might burst from it.

  “Are you gonna just stand there with your mouth open? Come in, girl.” Moina grabbed my arm and tugged me inside the apartment, closing the door behind me.

  “You…you did this for me?” I asked, blinking, still unable to believe it.

  “It was all Diarmuid’s idea,” Moina said, beaming.

  I looked up at Diarmuid, grinning at me in a way that made me want to reach out and touch his face.

  “I thought you’d forgotten,” I said quietly.

  He winked at me. “All the better to surprise you.”

  It was my first real birthday cake. The biggest chocolate cake I’d ever seen. It must have been at least a foot wide with Happy Birthday written across it in thick white icing and edible stars creating a universe across the top, candy roses brushed with silver dust decorating the base. He didn’t buy this from the bakery section at Aldi. No way. This cake was too special. He must have bought it from an actual bakery. Jesus, how much did he spend?

  Diarmuid and Moina closed around me as they burst into a rendition of “Happy Birthday”. Moina could sing, she had a voice of an angel. But Diarmuid couldn’t, his voice slightly off-key, but it didn’t dampen his enthusiasm or his smile. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as the candlelight brushed a warm glow on his cheeks.

  Their voices trailed off as they finished their song. I found myself clapping and laughing even though I felt like I was going to cry.

  “Go on, Saoirse,” Diarmuid said, holding the cake underneath my nose. “Blow out your candles.”

  “Don’t forget to make a wish,” Moina added.

  I glanced once more at Diarmuid. Even when I squeezed my eyes shut, I could still see Diarmuid’s face in front of me. I smiled, inhaled and blew.

  I wish you were mine, Diarmuid.

  I heard clapping and opened my eyes in time to catch the wisps of smoke rising from my candles, caressing Diarmuid’s neck and face.

  He set the cake down on the dining table and grabbed something with his left hand. Before I could see what it was, he picked me up around my waist and lifted me over his shoulder to spin me like a helicopter. Diarmuid was so strong.

  I let out a squeal as the apartment and all the colourful decorations blurred around me in a vibrant whirl, Moina laughing in the background. He put me down and presented me with a gift wrapped in purple and gold.

  I blinked. “For…me?”

  He nodded and kissed the top of my head. “Happy birthday.” My scalp tingled where his lips touched me.

  I took the present and lowered it to the dining table, Diarmuid and Moina crowding around me. It had been properly wrapped, with a bow and everything.

  I pulled the ribbon open first and unwound it from the rectangular gift and studied it in my fingers. It was like a silky strip of gold that shone as the light caught it.

  “I chose gold because it matches your hair,” Diarmuid said.

  My throat felt thick, like I’d swallowed part of a ribbon. I folded the gold ribbon and slipped it carefully into my back pocket. Using my fingers, I worked the tabs of sticky tape on the ends of the present.

  “Oh, go on, just tear it,” Moina said.

  “Nah, let her open it however she wants,” Diarmuid said.

  I ignored them, my sole focus on the present he gave me and making sure I didn’t tear the beautiful purple paper with gold stars on it. I wanted to stick it on my wall later like a painting, to cover up a little of the grimy walls opposite my bed so I could wake up and it’d be the first thing I saw, reminding me of this amazing day.

  Finally, I peeled the last sticky tape off and the wrapping paper fell open to reveal a black journal decorated with formulas in what looked like white chalk. Chemistry formulas. I ran my fingers over the thick cover.

  It was beautiful.

  “Everyone needs someone to tell their secrets to,” Diarmuid said quietly. “You can write them down in here. Don’t miss my note inside.”

  I opened the journal. A hundred-euro bill fell out and flittered to the floor. I picked it up and frowned. Was this meant to be in the journal? He must have accidentally dropped it into the gift. I held it out to Diarmuid.

  He shook his head and pushed my hand back towards me. “I thought you could use the money to buy yourself something…nice.” He looked sheepish. “I admit I don’t have the first clue what women like to buy.”

  He gave me a hundred euro. That’s more money than I’d ever seen in my life.

  I could get a bra.

  A new backpack.

  I could save the rest and put it towards my dream of moving out of my ma’s place on my own one day.

  I clutched the note to my chest. “Why…?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to.”

  Written on the first page, on thick, luxurious cream paper, was this in his scratchy bold handwriting:

  Dear Saoirse,

  Never forget how special you are.

  Love, Diarmuid

  My throat closed up.

  He said “love”. He signed “Love, Diarmuid”.

  No one had ever said that word to me. No one had ever claimed to. That single word jumbled around inside me. I felt like I might scream or burst or cry. Or all of the above.

  I slammed against Diarmuid, wrapping my arms around his waist, my body shaking as I tried to control my tears.

  “Best present ever,” I mumbled into his shirt, which smelled like his grown-up cologne. He was the best-smelling man in the world. He never smelled of stale beer or cigarettes.

  His arms closed around me. “You deserve it, little rebel. You deserve it.”

  It was late by the time I’d left Moina’s, drunk on cola and high on the best chocolate cake I’d ever tasted. I’d only remembered about the twenty euro and my ma’s smokes when I reached my door. The local shop would be closed by now. It was too late to go buy them. Fuck. She’d be fuming.

  I worried my lip with my teeth, glancing down the stairs. I could go back to Moina’s and beg to sleep on her couch. She’d let me. She’d let me before when my ma brought home a very bad man who stared at me with a glossy sickness in his eyes, who made me feel dirty even before he touched me under my shirt. Luckily my ma woke up then and came looking for him. He snatched his hand off me and I was able to run out of the apartment.

  I could stay with Moina tonight. But I didn’t have any clothes with me for school tomorrow. No toothbrush. Nothing. I pressed my ear to the door and listened. Maybe Ma was passed out. Maybe I’d get lucky.

  I couldn’t hear anyone moving in there. At least, I didn’t think I could hear anything…

  I unlocked the door as quietly as I could and slipped inside and kept the light off, letting the moon filtering in from the window be my guide. Thank God. Ma wasn’t home, the living room silent and soggy with the scent of stale beer and unwashed bodies. I slipped into my room and locked my door using the latch inside.

  I got ready for bed and took my hundred euro present and slipped it between the pages of my old math textbook in my tiny bookcase. By the dim light of my old bedside lamp, I wrote my first journal entry before I fell asleep clutching my journal and thinking of a certain gentle, dark-haired giant.

  17

  ____________

  Diarmuid

  I pushed open the door to my home late that night after Saoirse’s birthday party. I could barely wipe the smile off my face. She’d been genuinely surprised and ecstatic with the cake, the little party, and the journal.

  God, that young girl should be utterly jaded, miserable and sullen from the shitty hand that life had dealt her. Instead she was like a ball of sunshine, taking happiness from the
smallest things.

  It made me want to please her. Keep pleasing her.

  It made me want to build a wall around her delicate rays of light. To protect her from people who I knew could be inherently cruel.

  I flinched when I saw Ava waiting for me in the living room, her arms crossed over her chest, her painted mouth pursed into an ugly pout. Her wild red hair was all about her head, her blue eyes glittering at me with fury.

  The smile dropped from my face and I almost let out a groan. What the fuck did I do wrong now?

  “It’s almost midnight. Where the hell were you?”

  “Work.”

  “I know you weren’t at work. I called. You weren’t there.”

  I fought not to roll my eyes. “Most of my work doesn’t happen at the station, you know that. I gotta go out and see my kids. I was at a birthday party for one of them tonight.”

  I slung my jacket onto the hook and walked past her to the kitchen. Funny how all my joy had shattered the second I got home. I needed a fucking beer.

  Ava followed me into the kitchen. “Who’s this kid, then?”

  For some reason I was hesitant to tell her about Saoirse. I popped the lid on a Guinness can and took a long pull, leaning against the counter before I answered.

  Ava stood in front of me with a glare on her face. “Lately you shoot off so early every morning that I don’t get to see ya. Most evenings you disappear too. What the hell is going on?”

  I sighed. “I have a new girl, she’s only turned fourteen today. Her home life would break your heart.”

  Ava frowned. “So what? You’re going over there every day?”

  “I’m taking her to school to make sure she goes. Buying her breakfast on the way.” I left out the fact that I was picking her up after school as well.

  Ava’s mouth dropped open. “You’re buying her breakfast every day?”

  “It’s the only way I can guarantee that she’s getting at least one decent meal a day.”

  “Diarmuid, that’s a lot of money,” she yelled. “She’s not your kid.”

  “I know that.” But she was worth it.

  “I don’t believe this,” Ava yelled. “You won’t take me on fucking holiday but you’re spending your money on feeding someone else’s pimply-faced kid?”

  “Don’t talk about her like that.”

  Ava’s eyes bugged out of her head. “Ex-fucking-cuse me?” she shrieked.

  This fight was giving me a fucking headache. I let out a huff, rubbing my forehead with my fingers.

  Ava never seemed to understand why I did what I did, why I got so involved. Didn’t stop me from trying to explain it to her.

  “You should meet her, Ava. This kid, she’s a friggin’ genius or something. She’s so smart. So switched on. She has all this potential. But she has no one looking out for her. I need to make sure she doesn’t mess up her life.”

  “She’s not your responsibility.”

  “If not me, then who?” I stood up, jaw twitching from clenching my teeth together. “If there’s one thing Brian taught me, if you see something wrong, it’s your responsibility to fix it. That’s what I’m trying to do. That’s what I’m going to keep doing.”

  Ava didn’t understand, and she never would. I stormed into the bathroom just to get away from Ava and slammed the door shut, locking it after me.

  I wouldn’t give up on Saoirse. No fucking way. I didn’t care what Ava said.

  18

  ____________

  Saoirse

  When I woke up the morning after my birthday, there was no one else in the apartment. My ma was still out.

  I tucked my journal under the mattress and slipped the twenty euro into my pocket. I told myself to remember to ask Diarmuid to drop me off at the shops after school.

  As always, he was there waiting to pick me up.

  “Write in your journal yet?” he asked me at breakfast.

  I swallowed my eggs, almost choking.

  “Told it any secrets?” He winked at me.

  I wish you were mine, Diarmuid.

  I felt my cheeks heat up. I shrugged. “Not yet,” I lied. I eyed the shadows under his eyes. “You look kinda tired today,” I said, glad to change the topic.

  His lips pressed together momentarily before he shrugged. “Didn’t sleep very well.” That was all he’d say before he changed the subject.

  Looked like we were both keeping secrets.

  After school Diarmuid stopped at the local shop when I asked him to. He wanted to come in and help me carry my stuff. I had to argue with him not to help. He wouldn’t be happy if he knew that I was buying smokes for my ma.

  I know, stupid to protect a woman who cared nothing for me. But she was still my ma. I think I was also a little embarrassed for her.

  I convinced Diarmuid to stay in the car by telling him that I had to buy “woman’s stuff”. He took the hint and his face went a little pink before he muttered, “I’ll wait here, then” under his breath.

  In the store, I grabbed a loaf of bread, some cereal and a carton of milk, calculating the total in my head. With the pack of tobacco I knew she liked costing fifteen euro, I’d just have enough. I set my items on the counter and asked for a pack of rollies, too. The man behind the counter didn’t blink as he grabbed the tobacco and rang up the total. They knew me here. They knew I was always sent here to buy for my ma.

  I glanced out the glass shop window. Diarmuid was on his phone, so he wasn’t looking. I grabbed the smokes and shoved them into my jacket pocket so they wouldn’t be seen through the thin plastic bag. I hated hiding things from him.

  After Diarmuid dropped me off with calls for me to have a good weekend, I watched him go from the sidewalk. Weekends were the worst. Two whole days without seeing him.

  At least I could go shopping this weekend. Maybe Moina would come and help me buy my first bra.

  I opened the door to my apartment to find my ma, sitting on the couch in her matching a ratty velour sweatpants and jacket, sucking on a glass pipe, her eyes as wide as a doe’s.

  “Oh, ye fucking decided to come home, did ya now, you little thief.” Her words came out of her mouth in puffs of white smoke that gave the air a sharp medicinal scent. “Where ya been?”

  Ugh, I hated when she got speedy. She got so chatty and followed me round the apartment asking stupid questions, picking at her arms or pulling at her eyebrows.

  “At school.” Duh. I rolled my eyes and threw her pack of tobacco and rollies at her. They landed on the table in front of her, right next to the tiny plastic bag of crystals. “I got your stupid smokes.”

  “Looks like you got more than that, selfish girl,” she said, indicating the plastic bag in my other hand. The lighter clicked as she took another hit of her stupid drug. “I didn’t say you could buy yourself shite with my fucking money.”

  Buy myself shite? I gritted my teeth, shoving down the anger swirling hot in my stomach. I’d learned that the best thing to do was not to argue with her when she was in this mood. Just stay out of her way.

  I walked to the kitchen and put away the scant groceries I’d bought with the five euro change from her smokes, shutting out her jabbering about how I was disrespectful and had notions that I was better than her.

  I walked past her, smacking down the twenty-four cents change that was jangling around in my pocket. “Here.”

  Then I aimed straight for my room, her still nattering away about nothing in between clicks of the lighter. All I wanted to do was to grab my shit and go to Moina’s. I couldn’t stay here while she had a fresh bag of meth. A fresh bag…

  Something niggled in my head.

  It had been her last twenty euro that she gave me. Where did she get the money to buy drugs?

  My stomach dropped into my toes as I opened the door to my room. The bed that I had made this morning was tossed about, my mattress askew, my journal fallen onto the floor.

  No.

  I glanced to my bookcase. All my books had been pulled ou
t and were scattered like fallen doves across my floor. My eyes narrowed on my old math textbook, landed on its side.

  No no no.

  I fell on my knees before it, reaching for the book with shaking hands. I grabbed the book and shook it out. Nothing fell out.

  Gone.

  My hundred euro was gone.

  Fury unleashed inside me. I leapt to my feet before I knew what I was doing and ran into the living room where my ma was now on her feet.

  “You took it, you fucking bitch,” I yelled. “Give it back.”

  She pointed an accusing finger at me. “You took my last twenty euro. I needed a smoke.”

  “I got you your stupid smokes. Give me back my money.”

  “Your money? You are a little criminal just like your father.” The decrepit woman masquerading as my mother laughed. “Tell ye ma the truth. Who’d you steal it from?”

  Tears stung my eyes. I was never getting my present back. No new bra. No new backpack. She’d stolen it and spent all of it on her stupid fucking drugs.

  “That was my birthday present,” I roared and threw myself at her, hitting out at her.

  She just gathered my wrists and held me. She was surprisingly strong, despite how gaunt she’d become. Meth will do that to a person.

  “You little liar. Nobody gives a hundred fucking euro as a present.”

  “Diarmuid did,” I said, my voice cracking into a sob.

  I wanted to hurt her. But it was useless, the anger draining out of my body, replaced with utter despair. Hurting her wouldn’t get my present back. Hurting her wouldn’t turn her into someone who cared.

  My ma let go of my wrists and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me until my teeth rattled. “You dirty slut. Are you sucking his dick?”

  “What?” I screamed, my cheeks flaming red. “No!”

  “No man gives a woman nothing unless she’s giving him a bit of something.”

  I tore myself out of her grasp. “Diarmuid’s not like that. He cares about me.”

  The dumb bitch began to laugh, her cackle echoing through the room. “You stupid girl. Nobody cares about you.”