‘You have a point.’ I shove my hands deeper into my pockets. ‘It just seems like so much work. All this, with people.’ I gesture at Layla’s back. ‘Like, look at this. LOOK AT IT.’
Layla turns. ‘What?’
Catlin distracts her with Cork drama. Layla listens politely to tales of people she doesn’t know making each other very unhappy but pretending to each other’s faces that they’re OK. In case they offend anyone.
When Oona gets on the bus, I am sitting beside Catlin, so she sits in front of us, leaning over the back of her chair until the driver growls at her to put on her seat belt. She rolls her eyes and obeys.
Catlin mouths the word painful at me and I mouth the words shut and up back at her. I wonder how she missed how great Oona is, like did she not see her face and hair and hear her voice and words? Oona’s hair is damp, and I see her running her fingers through it, and then wiping them off on her school skirt. It doesn’t really matter what Catlin thinks of her. I don’t like everyone Catlin likes.
A lanky case in point is lurking like a spider at our stop as the bus pulls in. Catlin smiles and nudges past everyone to get to him, like he’s made of concert tickets and chocolate cake. The way they look at each other makes me feel uncomfortable. It’s very hungry or something. And, no more than my morning-time anxiety, surely that kind of thing is private. She doesn’t even notice me filing past her with the rest of them. I sigh, and save her the seat beside me anyway. It’s fine.
The kind of fine that’s pronounced fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.
Classes pass without much drama, and when lunchtime comes, Catlin runs out the door to Lon, who is waiting at the school gates for her like an actual paedophile. I am not party to their chats, but they must be good because she comes back looking all flushed and grinny. He’s there again when school lets out, and he gives her a big, long, lingering hug before she gets on the bus. They maintain eye contact as the bus pulls away and it’s oddly sexual and thoroughly off-putting. I sacrifice a seat beside lovely Oona to sit beside Catlin, and she messages Lon all the way home and barely says two words to me. I take out my book, and try to focus on the words thorough a cloud of grumpy. Oona catches my eye between the seats, like, You OK?
I nod and roll my eyes like, she always does this.
And it’s true. I have been ignored at house parties, in parks and once on her friend John’s cousin’s boat while Catlin was off being Catlin. This is partly why I always bring a book and a spare book, but … I don’t know … I had my own friends too and my own life, and there was never anyone at the end of the day who mattered to her more than me, I knew. And I feel like Lon is beginning to matter to her in that strong way, that important-person way. And it’s not anything I can put into words, but there’s a feeling of being left behind. And it’s really stupid, because nothing has happened between them that I can put my finger on. But she’s never had an every day boy before. A boy who was more interesting to talk to than about. And that’s what worries me. Because without her here? I’ll be alone.
But I can’t say any of this because it would be moaning, and I need her on my side for the inevitable conversation about how flawed I am with Mam. And I am flawed. But nature is imperfect. The bus pulls in, and myself, Catlin and Layla get off.
‘Would you like to come up to the castle for a cup of tea or something?’ I ask, surprising myself.
Layla looks at me, with clear, dark eyes. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Sorry, I have plans.’
‘Another time,’ I say.
‘Yeah.’ She grins at me and turns down the pathway to her house. She walks so quickly with her long legs that it seems unnatural. Fiachra and Cathal are still biking in and out, though it must be dangerous with the frost filming the mountain roads. I wouldn’t like it, I think, pressing on.
Catlin is still staring at her phone. I don’t think she even registered the conversation.
‘Catlin?’ I say.
‘Mmm?’ she murmurs back. And, ‘Just a second.’
She types away as we move down the path beside each other but not with each other. I look at a sycamore leaf, desiccated, hanging by a fibre from a tree. It’s hunched like it’s in pain. Like it is hanging. I reach up to the branch and pluck it off.
It’s too weak to resist.
12
Elder
When we get back from school, we eat with Mam. She’s made chops. Mine has a little circle of bone inside the middle, full of marrow. I lift it to my mouth and suck it out. It tastes like blood and fat. Mam’s teeth tear at a little cube she’s chopped up on her fork. The meat is tender, brown to almost pink. I think about the life that we have taken. Maybe more than one. The sheep on the mountains, fleece and dirt and little sunken faces. I swallow something like them down my throat.
Mam has been trawling through the attic, finding things. She wants to redecorate the castle, make it a little bit quirky and a lot cosier. She has her work cut out for her there, I think. Battlements and cosy don’t really gel.
‘I’m just a little bored,’ says Mam. ‘I don’t miss work, but I miss working. I think I need a project.’
‘It’s good to have a thing,’ Catlin says. ‘Maybe Brian would let you use the good Internet in his office to google pretty castles.’
‘I don’t know,’ says Mam. ‘He’s pretty protective of that office. I brought him up a cup of tea the other day, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.’ She smiles and rolls her eyes.
Catlin gets up. ‘Off to change my tampon,’ she announces. ‘Before the castle is bathed in blood. It’s kind of nice not having Brian around too much. I can talk about periods and things. I mean, not that I’m censoring myself, but we’ll ease him slowly in to my menstrual cycle.’
‘One awkward moment at a time,’ I say. It’s weird that I’m not having my period too. Like, we’re normally creepily in sync. We got our periods on the same day, and everything. I feel a worry in me. Brewing like a tea until it’s strong. Something’s wrong with us. We don’t belong here.
Mam interrupts my internal worrying with some lovely external worrying. It’s that mixture of annoyance and concern. Don’t be weird and why are you so weird, both at once.
‘Madeline?’
I swallow. I know exactly what this is about.
‘I’ve cleaned it up. I don’t want to have this conversation again.’
I hate how odd she gets about this. I’m not doing drugs or having sex. I barely even drink. I study hard and I’m nice to her and Catlin most of the time. Mam needs to recognise how privileged she is if salt is all she’s worrying about.
Catlin bounces back into the room. ‘I’m all plugged up like a beautiful sink.’
‘Catlin.’ Mam sighs.
‘Don’t make me ashamed of my body. I’m a moon-blood miracle and I will not be silenced by the likes of you.’
‘Yeah, Mam,’ I say. ‘You need to be more respectful of Catlin’s flow.’
We decide to head upstairs to roam around and scavenge fancy items from the many crates of stuff. The only clothes shop in Ballyfrann sells the kind of things that people Mam’s age wear to weddings. Fussy, structured dresses, fascinators. Support garments.
I give out a bit to Catlin about Mam and the salt.
‘What’s her problem, Catlin? Does she not want me to be crazy in front of her fancy new husband?’