Chapter Text
Chapter Two: Beds Empty Like all the Love That’s not There
January 10, 2005
“Shan! Hurry up, willa ya!” Joey erupted through the bathroom door. “I need to piss.”
“Two minutes, please,” I called out, ignoring the curses he spouted out. I murmured a short prayer Nanny taught me before she had to go into a home. Nanny was a lot more involved when we were young, back when Granda was alive. Old Man Murphy passed not long after Darren left, like it was an omen that no one would stay. Once he passed, Nanny had to pull away for her own safety. But I still remember her soft, wrinkled skin, voice as light as dew, teaching us all Gaelic.
I reminisce about late nights, her shimmery silver hair turning away, pretending she didn’t know English when we slipped up. But as much as I’m fond of those moments and have even passed it on to Tadgh, Ollie, and Sean, Da wasn’t. Beaten and broken down, Ma won’t even speak her first language; when we do, it’s hushed, quiet, shameful. In turn, I feel like I deserve the punishment. That understanding is dirty. That doesn’t stop me from calling Nanny once a week and speaking it, as she still won’t talk to us kids in English. Ols hates it.
The knocking resumed so quickly, and so loudly, it startled me like a drum. I hastily unlocked the door, silently dreading Joe’s reaction to my appearance. Joey and I were so vastly different. Everyone at Ballylaggin Community School (BCS), the local secondary school we both attended, worshipped him.
Of course, Joey’s talent as a hurler helped, but even without sports, he was a great guy. And, being the caring soul he was, he tried to protect us all, but it was an impossible task for one person. In times like these, I missed Darren.
Before Darren left, Joey and I weren’t as close as we are now. Darren braided my hair, helped with homework, and brought me along wherever he went. I adored every breath he took. He was the ultimate big brother for every little girl growing up… and I guess every little Joe too.
I understand why Darren left; being born out of wedlock in Catholic Ireland- especially in the 80s- was rough. Labeled a bastard, purposely excluded by others. It hurt him, but things got even worse when he was eleven.
Darren, like the other boys, was a phenomenal hurler and, like me, Da despised him. He always found something wrong with Darren, be it his appearance or, secretly, I think Dad just hated the fact that Darren was born in general, and even down to Darren’s choice of partner. Darren is gay, and our father couldn’t cope with that. Not many people in town could either. Da blamed his ‘gayness’ on an incident that happened while we were in foster care. Ma tried to explain that being gay wasn't a choice, as Dar had always been her favorite, but nothing changed.
Darren was born gay, that same way Joey was born straight, and I was born empty. It’s been five years since any of us had heard from him except for his yearly Christmas card.
This Christmas, I got so angry at his card that I hid it before Ma could see it. Not because I hated my brother and I didn’t want to see him, but the complete opposite. I never wanted my big brother more. A week before it arrived, last month -following a similar incident just two weeks prior with the same group of girls- I had come home bawling, with my school jumper ripped and my nose stuffed with gauze, trying to stop it from bleeding. A group of sixth-year girls accused me of trying to get with her boyfriend.
It was a fucking lie, just another one of their excuses to beat me up. That day I gave up. I stopped covering up the bruises they gave me, ratted them out when teachers asked. I just stopped. I stopped dreaming of a day I’d get out, because I wouldn’t. If it wasn’t at school, it was home; if not that, it was somewhere in town.
I think Joey understood that too, because I’ve never seen his breaking point until that day. He tried, he really did, but if there was one line Joe wouldn’t cross, it was beating girls. So, he went after their brothers, and if they didn’t have any- their boyfriends- and if that didn’t work, their property. He’d follow me into the house with a week’s suspension under his belt, and Aoife- a girl who made me wish I had a sister- had four days of detention for ripping Ciara Maloney’s hair out, my main tormentor. At least now, Ciara and her dad had matching bald spots.
Our mother had taken one look at me and pulled me from school. Going against my father's wishes for the first time ever. While I worried about my dad's reaction and his revenge, I knew if I went to BCS another day, I wouldn't make it home.
When the knob twisted and the door swished open, Joe was standing there in nothing but black boxers. His eyes were wide as he took in my new look, all the sleep falling off his face. His left eye and jaw were still yellow and fading green from the fighting and his last match, and his curls were fizzy. “You look…” his voice stopped as he blinked a couple of times. “Lovely.” His eyes were still green, but not pale like Da, warm, sharp, bold. “This really suits you, Shan.”
“Do you think it's over?” I had my doubts, but I kept them quiet, not wanting to wake up the kids so early.
Due to Tommen being about fifteen miles the opposite way from our tiny house at the edge of Elk Terrace, I had to catch the 6:45 a.m. bus. The area was rough, with little to no bus routes, as Tommen started at 9:05 a.m., the same as BCS. All the houses were thin and painted plain brown, and my room was the same size as the small bathroom. I didn't take up much space, and compared to my brothers, I didn't need it either. But some nights when it's the tiniest phase of the moon, it's hard to sleep without thinking of all the cupboards and lockers those girls shoved me in.
Our parents had the main room, the largest in the house. Tadhg and Ollie shared another bigger one, and Joey (who used to share with Darren, but now primarily takes care of Sean) also has a larger room. On nights when it's hard to sleep, I find myself sneaking into Joe's room and climbing onto the top bunk.
I felt guilty asking this, as I felt responsible for every injury, every fight my brother ever got in on my behalf. I never asked him for this, but it didn’t seem like something I had to. Not that I would; in fact, I’ve asked repeatedly for him not to stand in the way. I looked at my feet and shrugged, emotionally desperate for even an ounce of his confidence. I guess that’s what happens when you aren’t told you're useless for being a girl from the age of six.
Not that I was jealous of the pressure Da put him under- being the GAA-star prodigal son did not have good side effects. I’ve seen the way Joe found comfort and relief from that pressure, how his eyes turned pale; it wasn’t anything to envy.
Joey’s eyes burned into me, locked in on my face. “I’m so fucking proud of you.” His voice was thick. “You don’t even see how brave you are.” My eyes were wet, my lips trembling; compliments from Joe were few and far between, but when he gave them, they were a clean hit. “Hang on before you go; I got something for you,” he padded across the hall into his bedroom. He returned, handing me a couple of five-euro notes.
“Joey, no. I can’t take this,” immediately rebuffing his hard-earned money. He didn’t make much working at the shop, and any spare cash was hard to come by. I couldn’t take that, knowing Tadhg got a hole in the bottom of his shoes; Ollie’s school pants were trailing after him. And Sean, he could run out of diapers at any point.
“Take the damn money, Shan. It’s only a tenner,” giving me a firm expression. “I know Nanny gave you the bus money, but just to have something. I don’t know how that shit works over there. I’m not allowing you to go without a few quid.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling queasy again. “Are you sure?”
He nodded, gently pulling me in for a hug. “You are going to be grand,” his voice whispered in my ear. His arms were so tight around me I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince himself or me. “If someone gives you any shit, even just a fucking glare, then you text me, and I’ll be over. Tear that fucking place into the ground with every posh little rugby-fucker in it.”
That was a horrifying thought. “It’s going to be fine, but I’ll be late if I don’t leave. I don't need that on my first day.” I put every ounce of force into my voice, needing him and me to believe my words. I shrugged out of his arms, grabbed my bag, and headed down the stairs.
“You text me,” Joe called when I was halfway down. “I’m serious, Shan. I’ll sort it out.”
“I know, but I can do this,” I said, casting a quick glance at him as he leaned on the banister.
“I know you can, but I’m here for you. I am always here for you,” his voice low and pained. He let out a heavy exhale. “You know that, right?”
I realized this was hard for him as I watched him wave me off. As much as little Shannon needed someone to fight off the monsters that followed her everywhere, I didn’t want him to defend me or jump to my rescue. I wanted him to be proud, to see me as equal, and I needed that for myself.
With steel in my spine, I gave him a bright smile, showing off our shared dimple, then hurried out of the house to the bus stop.
The weather was bad, but when wasn't it? It was pouring outside; if I lived anywhere else, I would’ve seen it as a warning sign. But Ireland rains for most of the year. The bus stop was wet and cold, with little to no shelter, but I didn’t have to wait for long.
The bus was black and shiny. Glistening with rain, the seats were padded and mostly empty. It wasn’t a long drive, but Mam worked most mornings, and Dad was refusing to take me. When I asked, he told me I needed to get off my high horse and go back to BCS like Joey and every other kid on our street. That way I wouldn’t need a ride.
I was just glad I caught him at a good time when he didn’t feel like smacking me around. I still have a scar on my temple from his crushed beer bottle, and that happened when I was four. It was straight and pale. It blended in so you couldn’t see it from afar, but if you got close, you’d find that the texture was different, with little pink lines from the thread they used to sew it up. Mam told everyone I tripped and caught the corner of the coffee table. At that time, we didn’t even own a coffee table.
The ride was quiet and a little long, but a couple of seats down sat a girl I vaguely recognized. She had curly red hair and splashes of dark freckles across every exposed part of her skin. Katie Wilmot. She’s Aoife’s childhood friend. I haven’t seen her since last year. To be honest, I thought she had moved out of her grandparents’ house to her actual parents’ house. But my eyes don't lie, and here she is, sitting in the back of the bus… With a Tommen College uniform on.
I don’t go up to her, but I probably should. Right? That’s what people normally are supposed to do. Hang out with people you know. But what if she doesn’t realize it’s me? I can’t risk that humiliation, or worse, what if she’s mean. I know Aoife and her best friend Casey don’t take kindly to people inviting themselves into their space, so I should probably leave her alone.
Katie’s head is down, curls bouncing with the potholes, focusing on what seems to be a notebook of some sort. It’s most likely homework…