Prologue
John-Francis
St Joseph’s Park, Finglas, Dublin
24th June 2010
“‘Ey, ‘ey, ‘ey! John-Francis! On y’head!”
I whipped around, just in time to see a ratty football soaring towards me. I wasn’t quite quick enough, and with a slap it hit me, ricocheting off my body into the bushes.
“Oi!” I shouted, rubbing my shoulder. “What y’playin’ at?!”
My best friend, Declan Furey, sprinted to my side with a grin on his face.
“Ah, stop ya belly achin’, y’wee fanny,” he teased, jostling me playfully.
I fought back and we quickly found ourselves doubled over laughing and scrapping. I knew better than to start a proper fight with Declan. I’d seen him going at his punching bag and didn’t much fancy being on the receiving end of what he could do when he meant it.
Declan and I had been friends from the moment he and his ma turned up on the hitching site. The other lads had given him a hard time at first, but not me. Declan had proven himself to be a loyal friend to me time and time again. I may have only been fourteen, but I knew a decent fella when I saw one.
“C’mon, y’melter. Let’s go,” I gasped, breathless from tussling. “The lads’ll be waitin’ now.”
Declan retrieved his football, dribbling it along the dusty track that cut through to the football fields. It was well-trodden, though the odd errant nettle would occasionally brush your legs. It was a route I knew like the back of myhand, nothing better to do with my time most days than go down to the fields and kick a ball around. Anything was better than hanging around at home under the judgemental gaze of my da.
Declan and I chatted easily about anything and everything. He was only two months my junior, and we had plenty of things in common.
It was a blistering summer day and by the time we joined the other lads on the field, my vest was wet with sweat and sticking to my back. The others were already organising the teams, shouting greetings as they spotted Declan and I approaching.
“Y’pair o’ langers shirts or skins, Dec?” One of the older lads, Cian, called out.
“Skins.”
I glanced at my friend, just in time to see him whipping his t-shirt off over his head. My gaze dropped to Declan’s chest. My friend had changed a lot over the summer. He’d always been a bit of a weed, ribs visible beneath his skin and arms and legs like matchsticks, but no longer. Something had shifted and somewhere along the line, Declan had become broader, filling out. He was still a skinny wee wretch, but looking at him suddenly made me uncomfortable in a way it never had before.
“Chuck us y’shirt,” Declan said, turning to me. “I’d be slingin’ ‘em down t’ mark the goal posts.”
I nodded, mouth dry and dragged my damp vest off. When I launched it at Declan, he caught it and laughed with a grimace.
“Feckin’ dirty wee bastard. This vest is kip!”
“Ah, feck off now,” I muttered, unable to resist grinning even as my heart hammered against my ribs, making me nauseous.
I toed a lump of grass, waiting behind as Declan jogged across to the opposite side of the field, dumping our shirts down with the others. Cian shoved him playfully as he passed and Declan laughed, shouting something crude back at him. Shite, since when had Declan been so tall? He was almost eye to eye with some of the older lads now, despite being several years younger.
“Y’ready or ya just gonna stand there wi’ y’wee mickey in y’hand, now?” Declan yelled to me, cheeky grin in place.
I snapped from my thoughts, scowling back at him.
“Aye, keep y’knickers on! I’d be watchin’ that tone o’ yas.”
“Y’gonna make me, aye?”
Declan and I always chatted shite to one another this way but this time, with my cheeks still hot and uncomfortable, it was making me tense. I muttered something under my breath before jogging to Declan, keen to distract myself with a game of football.
We must have been at it maybe half hour when a sharp whistle pulled me up, drawing my attention.
“Ah, would y’look at that now,” Cian muttered, missing the ball I’d just passed to him. His eyes were trained across the field and when I noticed the other lads had all stopped playing as well, I followed their gaze. There, just a way off in the distance, was a group of girls from the camp. Arm in arm they strode closer, already giggling and tittering between themselves.
