Page 124 of To Hell With It

Just as quickly, my eyes darted to Niall, who looked as mortified as me, if not more. He grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist, with his hand firmly clasped around it. I stood up next to him, but he couldn’t quite look me in the eyes.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he said.

‘I, I … um, sorry. I came to say thank you.’

‘What for?’ I could see little beads of sweat as they began to form on his forehead.

‘For the woodlice box.’ I tried to sound as normal as possible to spare him, and me, the embarrassment, but there was no getting away from the fact that I had just seen Niall O’Callaghan’s penis.

‘For God’s sake,’ Niall said an octave higher. ‘You could have texted.’

‘I just thought I’d pop by.’

‘And let yourself in?’

‘The door was open and I called out but you didn’t hear me,’ I said like it was perfectly OK to just walk into someone else’s house without them inviting you in.

I followed Niall’s gaze to the broken gnome.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ I said. ‘I can get you another one.’

‘They were my dad’s,’ Niall said flatly.

‘I’m so sorry, Niall,’ I blurted.

‘Don’t be.’

‘But they were your dad’s?’

‘I never wanted them, anyway, my mum brought them over and left them here.’

‘Won’t your mum be upset?’

‘She probably won’t even notice.’ Niall said it with a tone that I couldn’t quite place, like he was irritated all of a sudden, but not about the gnomes, about something else.

‘I really am sorry, Niall,’ I said gently this time because it felt like I was saying sorry for more than just the broken gnomes.

I thought he would say something, but he didn’t so I continued. ‘I’m not here just to say thank you, Niall,’ I said more assertively. ‘Will you tell me what happened at the shop?’

Niall turned towards his kitchen.

‘Do you want a cup of tea then?’ he said, composing himself, and I followed behind him staring at his muscly shoulders. ‘And a Rich Tea?’ he broke into my thoughts before I could work out what it was that I was feeling about his shoulders.

‘Go on then,’ I said.

I sat down at Niall’s kitchen table. The room was bigger, and brighter, than I remembered. The walls were a soft cream, with oak-lined counter tops to match the thick oak table, with bold and colourful artwork on one wall that took me by surprise. I didn’t know Niall was into art. There was nothing beige about it. Nothing beige about any of it, including Niall.

I waited for him to make the tea, the only sound the tick of the clock coming from the front room that seemed to accentuate the silence around us. He placed my mug down, and with a plate of Rich Tea biscuits between us, Niall sat down too.

‘Do you remember when we used to walk home from school together?’ Niall asked.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said.

‘And sometimes you’d come and wait in the shop until your mum picked you up because she didn’t want you walking down the New Line on your own?’

I nodded.

‘Do you remember sometimes my mum would be home and sometimes she wouldn’t?’

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