Page 61 of Merrily Ever After
Sean
Chapter One
Cork
1974
The school hall is packed.
It’s not surprising. There’s not much else to do around here on a Friday night. Especially on a cold, bleak November one. If you had enough money, you could take the bus. Go to the pictures. But why do that when you can come here for free?
At least that’s what I assume everyone else is thinking as I stand with my back against the far wall, watching what looks like a hundred people aged between twelve and twenty jump and sing to their heart’s content. On a small stage at the other end, Dessie McCarthy does the best he can as DJ with a limited record collection and donated stereo system. The music usually cuts out at least twice a night, and a group of lads have started taking bets on when it will happen. It’s just one of many stellar qualities of the weekly disco, along with broken windows and sagging floors. There’s a toilet, at least. Just the one. Outside. But it’s the best we can do in rural Ireland.
Besides, no one seems to mind. They don’t even notice half the Halloween decorations are still up. The tangled wreaths of holly and sequined snowflakes are in a bunch of boxes in the corner, while the walls remain strewn with paper jack-o’-lanterns and fake cobwebs.
At least I think they’re fake.
I hope they are.
I check my watch as I move away from the one nearest me, rolling my shoulders back to ease out the near-constant ache between them. It’s nearly ten, and all I can think about is how I have to be up in a few hours. It’s going to be just as dark then as it is now, but that’s life on the farm for you. I still have another year of college left, but Dad’s already started giving me more responsibility around the place. I don’t mind. It’s what I want to do when I’m older, even though it does make nights like these harder, knowing I should already be at home, asleep in my bed. It’s my own fault though. I probably could have gotten out of this if I really pushed. But I couldn’t help myself.
I just wanted to see her again.
I take a sip of my red lemonade as the current song ends and Colleen Byrne spins one final time. She laughs as she does, her blue eyes bright and her freckled cheeks flushed in a way that makes my stomach drop pleasantly. Strands of long brown hair stick to her face, and she flaps a hand in front of her, trying to cool down, as her friend whispers in her ear.
She’s the most beautiful girl in the room. In any room, really. At least to me. I hadn’t paid much attention to her before a few months ago, but that isn’t unusual. I work with my dad during the summers and weekends, so I never got to know people beyond the boys in my class. Never had much time for girls. Or any interest in them. Until her.
“Who are you smiling at?”
I blink, snapping back into myself as I glance down to see my younger sister at my side.
“Nobody.”
Rachel rolls her eyes, not believing me but, thankfully, not caring enough to push it.
She wasn’t allowed to come to the discos initially, but then last year Mam caught her trying to sneak out of her bedroom window in her new platform boots. Rachel could argue forIreland, and because she was pretty good otherwise, helping around the house and doing what needed to be done, our parents eventually relented on one condition. That I go with her.
Neither of us was happy about it. Rachel didn’t want a babysitter, and standing around in a sweaty hall was the last thing I wanted to do with my time. But it was either that or putting up with her boredom, so here I am.
It used to be a chore. Now, not so much.
“I have something to tell you,” Rachel says, resting against the wall. I’m mildly intrigued. Usually, she pretends like I don’t exist when we’re here.
“Patricia likes you,” she continues, deadly serious. Another oddity. She’s the joker of the family. Loud and teasing and quick to laugh. Mam says she has to make up for me. Too quiet. Too shy. But I’m not shy. I just never saw the point of speaking when I didn’t have anything to say.
“Sean.” She pokes my arm when I don’t respond. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you. Which one’s Patricia?”
Rachel sighs, but it’s a genuine question. My sister has a lot of friends, and they all tend to blend into one.
“Colm Kenny’s sister. She’s pretty,” she adds. “And almost eighteen. Only a year younger than you. You should ask her to dance.”
“Why?”
Rachel stares at me. “Because she wants you to. She asked me to ask you.”
“Why didn’t she ask me herself?”
