by Chloe Walsh
"That's not really helping, Ma," I grumbled.
"What I'm trying to say is you obviously saw something in Shannon. Something that you wanted to protect. But it's not your job to save the world, Johnny. You weren't to know what was happening to her, so don't put this on your shoulders."
"Yeah, well apparently, he's an alcoholic," I sneered. "Like that's an excuse to use your kids as a punching bag."
"It's not an excuse," Mam agreed. "It's a crime."
"I hate him," I spat, practically choking on my outrage. "I want to hunt the creep down and do some serious harm to him."
"But you won't."
"No, I won't." I glared down at my legs. "Because I can hardly take a piss on my own right now."
"No," Mam corrected, rubbing my back. "Because you're on the cusp of a career you've worked your entire life to have, and that's not worth throwing away for a punch up, no matter how satisfying it might feel in the moment."
"You know, Ma, I knew something was off the very first day I met Shannon. I fucking knew something wasn’t right, like she had secrets, but I just…" I let my words trail off and shrugged. "I didn’t think they were this."
"How could you know, Johnny?"
"And her," I continued, glaring at nothing in particular. "I don’t trust her."
"Her?"
"Shannon's Ma," I spat out. "There's something seriously off about her. Like how – how in the name of god do you let your kids live in a home like that?" I looked to my mother for the answers. "How, Ma? How does that work?"
"I don’t know, Johnny."
"Shouldn’t she be in some sort of trouble?" I balled my hands into fists at the thought. "For not stepping in? Isn't that neglect…or failure to step the fuck up?"
"Mind your language."
"Really?" I arched my brow. "You're going to lecture me tonight of all nights? Really?"
Mam sighed heavily. "What did Shannon say about it? About her mother?"
"Stuff," I muttered, dropping my gaze to my lap.
"Stuff?"
"I'm not talking about what she says to me, Ma," I replied. "It's private. But I've got a bad feeling about that woman." Dropping my hand to my thigh, I began to smooth the ache that was building up in my body. "She's supposed to come home either tomorrow or Thursday, but that means she'll go back there. To that house. With that woman." I looked to my mother and asked, "How the fuck does that even happen?"
"I don’t know, love," Mam replied, voice turning hard. "But your father told me how that woman spoke to you tonight. She had no bleeding right!"
"Jesus," I muttered, mentally cursing my father for telling her. "It doesn’t even matter."
"It does matter," she corrected hotly. "She has no right to look down her nose at my son."
"She wasn’t looking down her nose," I muttered. "She was pissed that I was there." Shrugging, I added, "The woman doesn’t like me. She never has." Exhaling heavily, I shifted around, trying to get somewhat comfortable. "Not since I hit Shannon with that bleeding ball." I cringed at the memory, still feeling guilty. "She doesn’t want me near her daughter."
"Well, she needs to step the fuck back from my son," Mam growled, visibly trembling with anger. "I won't have it, Johnny. Do you hear me? I won't have it! She's a very lucky lady that it was your father with you tonight and not me!"
"Step the fuck back?" My mouth fell open. "You planning on throwing down, Ma?"
"She tried to have you suspended in January," Mam growled, cheeks turning pink. "She put her hands on my minor child, on school grounds – something Mr. Twomey conveniently forgot to disclose when I spoke to him about it." She narrowed her eyes. "No one messes with my kid."
I frowned. "When did you talk to Twomey about this?"
Mam bristled. "I phoned him up after Shannon told me what happened – before I went back to London."
I gaped at her. "Why?"
"Because I'm your mother and I had a right to be notified of any issues involving my child at school," she shot back snippily. "I know that woman has been making trouble for you. I also know they threatened you with impending suspension because she pushed for it – that they made you out to be a bully!" Mam balled her small hands into fists. "I might not like the rugby, but how dare anyone put all you've worked for in jeopardy because of an accident? It's completely unacceptable. The school had no right to do that to you – and no grounds. I made that perfectly clear to your principal." Smirking, she added, "Before I threatened to pull both you, and our family's generous funding donations, from Tommen."
"Ah Jaysus, Ma." Running my hand through my hair in exasperation, I looked up at the ceiling and groaned. "Just so you know, she barely touched me."
"She put her hands on you," Mam repeated angrily. "She pushed you. She threatened you. She lashed out at you in anger. That might fly in her household, Jonathon, but it sure as hell doesn’t in mine."
I arched a brow. "Says the woman always clipping me around the ear."
"Those are clips of love," Mam corrected. "And you're missing the point."
"Fine." I shrugged in defeat. "What's the point?"
"The point, love, is that she had no right to treat my son the way she did. She has no god given right to lay down the law where you're concerned. That's my job. She needs to take stock of the glass walls surrounding her house before casting stones at mine. Your father should've told her just that, but he's too bleeding diplomatic." Huffing out a breath, she added, "It's the culchie in him."
I smirked at her comment. "I think it's the lawyer in him, Ma."
Mam huffed again. "Well, had your father spent thirty-six hours on the flat of his back, trying to push all eight pounds twelve ounces of you out of his arse, he might feel different."
"Jesus Christ." I shuddered at the glorious visual of my entry into the world. "Thanks for the mental image."
Mam smirked. "I know you think that I'm an overbearing nag, but I can't help it. That's what mother's do. We nag and worry and hover until we're cold in the ground." She leaned over and rested her cheek on my shoulder. "You're my boy, Johnny." She sighed heavily. "You might be towering over me now, but no matter what happens, or how far you go in life, you'll always be my baby."
"You know I love ya back," I mumbled, embarrassed and uncomfortable. "You might drive me demented most days, but I'd be lost without ya."
"I know, love." Mam sighed and patted my hand. "I know."
"Ma, please don’t hate Shannon over this," I added, my words barely more than a mumble. "I know you're pissed with her mother, but don't hold it against her."
"Oh god, I don’t hate Shannon, love," she hurried to soothe. "She's a smashing girl and I would never judge a child based on my feelings towards their parents." Reaching over, she pressed a hand to my back. "After all, your Nana and Granda Kavanagh never judged me and look at what I came from."
"True."
My mother's side of the family were colorful to say the least. She'd been dragged up, literally dragged from pillar to post and passed between various relatives until, at the age of sixteen, she'd finally had enough and split from Dublin. Without a penny in her pocket and only her wits to get by, she smuggled herself onto a Bus Eireann coach with no destination in mind and landed in Cork. Hitching a ride to Ballylaggin, she landed on my grandparents' farm with a serious attitude problem and a willingness to earn her keep. Four years later, she was living in London, attending college, and married to my father.
"But I will say this," Mam added, nudging my shoulder with hers. "If Marie Lynch wants to start trouble with you, she'll have to go through me first."
"Ma…" I shook my head and sighed heavily. "I'm defending the woman, but she's probably just projecting." Shrugging, I added, "They're all going through the wringer right now."
"I understand that, Johnny," Mam agreed. "I do, love. I can't comprehend how her poor children must be feeling." Standing up, Mam smoothed her apron down before adding, "But she won't be projecting onto you." Her eyes narrowed. "Over my dead bod
y."
"I need to go back tomorrow." I watched my mother as she pottered around my room, sweeping up clothes off the floor. "To the hospital."
Mam didn't respond.
"Ma," I pushed. "I need to go back."
Mam sighed heavily. "I don't want you going anywhere near that woman, Johnny. Not when she's throwing around accusations about you."
"I'm not going for her sake," I snapped, bristling. "I'm going for Shannon – wait." I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean accusations? Are you talking about the fucking ball again? Because I've already explained that was a bleeding accident."
Mam shook her head. "No, love."
"Then what?" I snapped, bristling. "What's she saying about me?"
"She said some things to your Dad," she replied. "Some things that make your father and I uncomfortable about letting you go over there."
"Like what?"
"Look, Johnny, you need to steer clear for a while," she finally said, not elaborating any further. "I'm not saying forever, but until the dust settles, it would be best if you gave that family some space."
The fuck did she say about me? "I haven't done anything, Ma," I growled, feeling defensive and on edge. "So whatever she's saying about me, it's complete bullshit."
"Look, just get some sleep and we'll talk about it in the morning," she replied, not meeting my eyes. "You still need to rest, Johnny. You're running on empty."
I was running on empty all right; an empty tank of patience. "Ma?" I watched my mother as she walked over to my door. "Ma, what did she say?"
"Get some sleep, love," was all she replied. She moved to close the door behind her only to stop in her tracks. "Oh, I almost forgot –" Sliding her hand into the front pocket of her apron, she retrieved a small, folded-up piece of paper. "I found this when I was washing your clothes from Dublin." Walking back over to me, she handed me the paper. "You're a sweet boy." Smiling, she stroked my cheek with her hand before turning back for the door. "I'm proud of you," Mam added before closing my bedroom door out behind her.
Confused, I unfolded the piece of paper and stared down, feeling a swell of emotion hit me straight in the chest.
Shannon like the river, will you please be my friend?
The friendship contract.
Fuck.
Carefully refolding the letter, I tucked it into my bedside locker and sighed.
Be okay, I mentally prayed. Please be okay, Shannon like the river.
11
Homeward Bound
Shannon
I had always felt unsteady. For most of my life, I remained in a state of constant unease, trying and failing to predict the next bad move, the move that would bring pain and misery.
As I stood in the doorway of my childhood bedroom on Thursday afternoon, I felt more unnerved and doubtful than ever before, because I couldn't predict the danger. I just knew it was lurking somewhere.
My body was on high-alert, the survival instinct inside of my head was screaming at me that I wasn't safe. Feeling powerless, I took stock of my room and noted that it looked exactly the same as it always did; small, neat, and tidy.
"I'll get you some new stuff for in here," Darren announced as he stepped around me and placed my hospital bag on the foot of my single bed. "Some new paint and curtains. A new bedspread. Whatever you want, Shannon. Just tell me what colors you'd like and I'll get it done."
How about a new life? Or a new family? Or just some inner peace? "I'm fine," I replied, throat still raw and hoarse. "I don't need you to buy me anything." Forcing my legs to move, something I was finding difficult since stepping through the front door earlier, I walked over to my bed and sat down.
My mind automatically shifted to the memory of Johnny sprawled out on my mattress, teaching me maths, and my lips tipped up. But then I made the mistake of glancing at the wall beside the door and my one good memory of this house obliterated into thin air, replaced with the memory of my father throwing me against the wall so hard, my head made a dent in the plaster. I was seven at the time and had refused to hand over my holy communion money. That had been a mistake. One I had paid for with both my money and my body.
"Are you okay?" Darren asked, dragging me from my dark thoughts. "Shannon?"
"Where is everyone?" I asked, forcing the memories back down.
"The boys are over at Nanny's," he explained. "I couldn't take them with me to pick you up, and Mam's at that class Patricia organized."
Patricia, being the social worker assigned to our family, and the class, being a parenting skills group.
I almost rolled my eyes at the notion. What were they going to teach her there? Not to let her husband beat her children? Not to run off for days and leave her children without food? Not to take to the bed for weeks on end and leave us to fend for ourselves?
Common sense should have told her all that.
Of course, the social workers didn't know all this. They were fed the 'poor, battered wife trying desperately to keep her children safe' line Darren had made us rehearse until we were blue in the face. I cringed at the thought of how he worded that spiel to the younger boys. They must be feeling so confused.
She's as much of a victim as the rest of us, Darren had said. To a point, I agreed with him, or at least, I used to. But there came a time in life when I stopped making excuses for my mother, and that time came and went months ago.
"Do you want to talk?" Darren asked, hovering in the doorway now. "About Dad?"
I shook my head.
"Are you sure?"
I gave him a blank stare. I wasn't sure what he was expecting me to do. Confide in him? I didn't think so. He was as much of a stranger to me as the countless authority figures I'd been forced to speak to. To lie to.
"What about Joey?" I asked the question that was most important to me. "Where is he?"
Darren sighed heavily. "I don't know."
"Well, has he been home?" I asked, my tone hardening with my outrage. "Has he slept here since you got back?"
He shook his head. "Haven't seen him since the hospital."
"Did you call his girlfriend?" I demanded, feeling my pulse flutter wildly. "Do you know if he's with Aoife?"
"Joey's his own man," Darren replied. "He's an adult. Over eighteen–"
"Barely," I strangled out. It suited them for Joey to be gone. Without Joey, everything would fall back into place. Joey was a complication neither Mam or Darren seemed to want to deal with. "He turned eighteen at Christmas – and he's still in school. That hardly makes him an adult."
"Shannon, if he wants to stay out, there's nothing I can do about it."
"He doesn't want to stay out, Darren," I snapped. We were all a product of our environment. And Joey? Joey was angry. "He wants to not be in a house with her!"
"Well, whether he likes it or not, she happens to be his mother," Darren snapped. "He has a room in this house if he wants it. The door is always open to him. It's his choice if he wants to act out and not cooperate. I can't make him stay."
"Act out? Not cooperate?" I narrowed my eyes and forced down the urge to scream. "He's doing this because he's in pain and nobody is hearing him." And especially not you!
"Then he needs to sit down and talk about how he's feeling," Darren groaned. "Not run around banging his fists on his bloody chest." He ran a hand through his dark hair, clearly frustrated. "I want to help him, Shannon. I do. But I can't do that if he won't let me."
I opened my mouth to respond, but just shook my head instead.
There was no point in continuing with this conversation. Darren didn't get it. He either couldn't or wouldn't see this from Joey's perspective, and I wasn't wasting any more of my energy trying to make him.
"You're failing him," I whispered, unable to stop the words from pouring out, "Just like they did."
"Shannon." Darren flinched like I had physically hit him, and I guess I had – with the truth. "I'm here for all of you," he choked out. "For whatever you need. Day or night."
Yeah, all of
us except for Joey.
"Then can I use your phone?" I asked, already knowing the answer before asking. Narrowing my eyes, I added, "You said you'd be there for whatever I need. Well, right now I need to make a phone call."
My brother stiffened. "If it's to call him, then no. You heard Mam."
I didn't need him to elaborate on who he was referring to. We both knew he meant Johnny. "Then can I get a phone of my own?"
Darren let out an exasperated sigh. "Shannon, we need to focus on the family right now. We have social workers breathing down our necks and the Gardaí up our asses. We don't need any more hassle. I know you think we're being unfair, but it has to be this way for now."
"Then I don't need anything from you," I replied coldly. "Except to close the door behind you."
"Shannon–"
"She's wrong about him," I hissed, having heard it all before. It had been three days since I'd seen Johnny. Three days since he'd arrived at the hospital to see me. And three days since my family had decided he was a bad idea. Mam never liked Johnny and now I knew why. He made her nervous. He knew too much and it scared her. It should. "And you're listening to it."
"I'm not listening to anything," he replied, tone weary. "I don't even know the lad."
"Exactly," I hissed. "You don't know him."
"I do know that Mam is right about you being in a vulnerable state of mind right now," he interjected. "It's not healthy to attach yourself to him."
"Oh my god." I closed my eyes and fought back the urge to reach out and break something. "You're both disgusting." Snapping my eyes open, I glared at my brother. "He's my friend, Darren. I'm allowed to have friends, you know!"
"A friend that you were caught straddling, with your skirt around your waist, in some changing room by your teacher?"
I flushed beetroot red. Damn you, Mr. Mulcahy. "We were kissing," I choked out. "That's it."
"I'm not judging you, Shannon, I'm questioning your judgment. There's a difference," he was quick to say. "It would be very easy for someone in your position, who's been through severe trauma and neglect, to dive head first into something you're not emotionally ready for because you've had a taste of affection. And…" he added cautiously, "it would be very easy for someone to take advantage of a person in that state of mind, too."
