SPECIAL_IMAGE-images/svgimg0003.svg-REPLACE_ME
A few hours later, after a whole lot of soul-searching and not a lot of job hunting, I found myself sprawled out on a towel on the lawn in our back garden, soaking in the last of the sunrays from the unusual heatwave, with the family dog curled up on the grass beside me.
Still mentally chewing over my earlier altercation with my classmate, I had been ordered by my father to go downstairs and stay out of their way.
My father had hit his limit this morning, when I had continued to hover in the bathroom doorway, making smart-ass comments about their shoddy work, and tormenting his precious apprentice.
It wasn’t my fault.
The boy was too damn distracting to not stare at, and too sharp-tongued to not play with, but that didn’t matter to Dad.
Banished from my own bedroom doorway for distracting my father’s, and I quote, ‘poor young fella’, I had retreated to the garden with the dog.
Ugh.
“What do you think, Spud?” Reaching down, I stroked his neck. “Hmm? I’m not a lamb, am I?”
Spud, who was a mix between a boxer and at least three other breeds, let out a groan of contentment, rolling onto his back and kicking wildly when I scratched his ear.
“Exactly,” I cooed. “A lamb could never give you such good ear scratches. That boy is full of crap.” And sexy as hell.
“Do you mind?” A dark shadow fell over me, blocking the sun. “My friends are here.”
“And?” I drawled, using my foot to kick my brother out of my way of the sunshine.
“And I’m trying to play WWE,” Kevin growled, shoving me back with his foot. “But they keep coming downstairs for drinks.”
“Don’t touch me with your freaky fungus feet,” I warned. “And so? What do your creepy little friends have to do with me?”
“It’s called athletes foot,” Kev shot back defensively. “And they’re not coming downstairs for drinks, dickhead, they’re coming down to gawk at you.”
Sliding my sunglasses off, I pulled myself onto my elbows and glared up at the scrawny little shit. “Don’t call me a dickhead, dickhead.”
“Aoife, come on,” he said, gesturing to where I was sprawled out. “Can’t you do that inside?”
“Can’t I sunbathe inside? Why no, Kevin, sorry but I can’t. That’s not how sunbathing works,” I deadpanned, readjusting the strap of my yellow bikini top.
“Then cover yourself up.”
“That’s not how sunbathing works either, Kev.”
“Aoife,” he groaned, tone whiny now. “Come on, you’re embarrassing me. Just go inside or put some clothes on.”
“How many days of sunshine do we get in Ireland, Kev?” I asked my half-twin.
Yeah, we might have shared a womb for nine months, but that was all we had in common. The truth was that we couldn’t have been any different from each other.
“The answer is not enough,” I told him. “Not enough by half. Besides, Dad’s upstairs, putting a new bathroom in with Joey, and I’ve already been banished.”
“Yeah, I saw he brought him over again,” my brother grumbled. “He could have asked me to help him with the bathroom.”
“Ha,” I laughed. “Like you know the first thing about manual labor.”
“He could show me,” Kev snapped in a defensive tone. “I’m a faster learner than that thick fucker upstairs.”
“Don’t call him thick,” I warned, hackles rising. “He’s more world wise than you’ll ever be.”
Kev rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, because knowing where to score drugs takes a real genius.”
“So, he smokes weed occasionally,” I heard myself defend. “Big deal, Kev. So do a lot of other people in our year. It doesn’t make him a bad person.”
“It doesn’t make him a good one either,” he shot back. “Why are you always defending him?”
“Because he’s my friend, Kevin.”
“Yeah? Well, your friend does a lot more than smoke weed.”
“Like you’d know.”
“I would, actually,” he replied. “I’m in his year, too, remember. I know what goes on just as well as you do.”
“Yeah, in the swot class,” I snorted. “And sure you do, Kev. You’re right in there with the big guns, aren’t ya? Mister popularity himself.”
“You think your looks and popularity are going to get you far in life?” he laughed. “You’re so stupid that it’s pitiful.”
“Look at you, getting all riled up and catty.” I grinned. “No need to pity me, dear brother, because I’m doing just fine for myself.”
“No, Aoife, I’m doing fine. I’m the one going places. The only way you’re getting out of this council estate is if you marry up,” he sneered. “Because you sure as shit won’t make it on your own. So, you might want to hold onto Paul Rice, because he’s looking like your best shot.”
“Oh, whatever, you dick.”
“It’s the truth.“
“Keep talking shit to me and I just might have to take my top off and give those gamer buddies of yours a real special show.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” Narrowing my eyes right back at him, I reached for the string behind my neck and said, “I’m told I have perky nipples.”
“You’re such a bitch,” he spat before storming back to the house.
“Takes one to know one, you little pussy,” I called after him and then sighed in contentment, thrilled to have gotten the better of him. “Good one, huh?” I cooed, tickling Spud on his belly. “Yeah, I know you think he’s a dope, too. I don’t need a boy, do I? No, I don’t. I’ll make my own way in life.”
“Aoife Christina Molloy!” my mother called out a few minutes later. Pushing the kitchen window open, she leaned out and shook a wooden spoon at me. “Get into the house and cover yourself up before I come out there and drag you inside.”
“Are you serious?” I growled, giving Spud one final belly rub, before reluctantly climbing to my feet. “He told on me?”
“There are teenage boys in this house, Aoife,” Mam shot back. “And you’re sprawled out in the garden like Pamela fecking Anderson herself. Do you want to be the cause of giving them a turn?”
“I know how old they are, Mam. Most of them are in my year at school.” I laughed. “And you’re afraid I’ll give them a turn? More like a horn —“
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Mam warned, still waving around the wooden spoon like a demented housewife.
“Yeah, well, Dad told me to stay out of his way,” I shot back. “So, guess what I’m doing?”
“Enough of the cheek, young lady. Inside right now, or you’re grounded for the rest of the month. And that also includes having friends over. No phone, either. And no—”
“Jesus, fine,” I huffed, stalking to the back door. “Relax, would you. It’s not that serious.”
“Thank you,” Mam said when I stomped into the kitchen. “Now, go upstairs and throw on some clothes, like a good girl, before your brother has a conniption fit.”
“Is it okay if I get a drink before I’m exiled from the family home for possessing a pair of boobs?” I asked sulkily, as I reached into the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice. “Or is rehydrating a crime now, too?”
“Drama queen.” Rolling her eyes, Mam smirked and turned back to her ironing. “Pour me a glass, too.”
Grabbing two glasses out of the press, I poured a glass of orange juice and quickly gulped it down before refilling my glass and pouring one for Mam.
“Thanks, love.”
“You’re not welcome,” I teased, setting a glass down on the counter beside her.