I had to admit, he was looking rather pink, and I smirked at him. “Dunno ‘bout eggs, but y’face be lookin’ like a beet, fella.”
John-Francis laughed, setting me alight, whilst Darragh groaned and attempted to shade the worst of the sun off his face.
“Aye, laugh it up,” he muttered angrily. “I’d never be landin’ a wee feek lookin’ like this.”
John Francis and I continued to chuckle at Darragh’s expense until he eventually excused himself, keen to get out of the sun and left us alone.
“He’s a feckin’ melter, aye?” John-Francis grinned.
“Y’not wrong there, like. Such a tit.”
“Y’said he’s ya cousin, aye? Ya ma his or yours?” he asked, leaning back on his arms.
“She’d be mine. She took Darragh in when his ma passed givin’ birth ta him a few months before I was born, like,” I replied.
John-Francis let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a lot ta handle, now.”
I smirked. “Aye, she hasn’t had an easy run o’ things with the two o’ us, but I wouldn’t be without her, like. I know Darragh thinks the same.”
“Ya lucky ta have her, y’know.” Something about the tone of John-Francis’s voice altered, growing deeper and somehow softer. Family was a source of pain for him, that much was clear, and I wondered how much he’d reveal to me.
“Y’see much o’ ya ma?”
He shook his head. “Nah, she passed a few years ago, like.”
I felt my stomach lurch. “Ah, shite. Sorry.”
John-Francis cast me a soft smile. “Don’t be. I’d not seen her f’years even ‘fore that, like.”
“An’ ya da? He’s not in the picture?”
John-Francis’s expression hardened in an instant. “I don’t mind tellin’ ya me da was a piece o’ shite. Beat seven bells outta me an’ her more than once. He’s who killed her. Beat her inta a coma. He’s inside now, which is just as well, like. I left home at fifteen, a feckin’ weed o’ a lad. not so sure he’d get the best o’ me these days like he used ta.”
I felt nauseous. Unfortunately, domestic violence was prevalent in the traveller community. John-Francis’s past wasn’t nearly as shocking as it should have been, but I felt sad for him. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like to have nowhere you felt safe. Though I wasn’t sure if I should, I had one more burning question I felt compelled to ask.
“Did ya folks know ‘bout the way y’are?”
Though John-Francis dropped his head back with a bitter laugh, his expression remained cold.
“Aye, they did. I tell ya, y’luckier than ya know havin’ a ma who accepts ya. not sure ya ever really get over y’own ma lookin’ at ya like y’shite on her shoe. Da beat me ta a pulp ‘fore turfin’ me out on me arse.” He sniffed. “It’d been me an’ Declan ever since, like.”
Suddenly everything made sense. That wall he’d built up around himself, the reluctance to accept his true self… John-Francis had been hurt in the worst way a traveller could be – being outcast and abandoned by his family. I didn’t even know what to say, my chest aching with sympathy.
We were silent for a long while, just watching the horses in and out of the river, but when I sensed John-Francis’s eyes on me, I was helpless but to meet them. For the first time since we’d met, I felt as though I was trulyseeinghim. How had I missed the pain behind those lovely grey eyes?
“I ever tell ya y’feckin’ cute, like?”
I blinked, taking a moment to absorb John-Francis’s words before grinning.
“Aye, once, but given y’were feckin’ the shite outta me at the time, I took it wi’ a wee pinch o’ salt, like,” I teased.
At last, a genuine smile. John-Francis chuckled, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Well, think o’ this as me officially tellin’ ya, then. Ya a cute fella.”
I scowled, ignoring how my heart sped up in my chest. “Feckin’ cute, like – y’alright are ya?”
“Ah, sure. The more pissed off ya are, the cuter ya get,” he teased with a grin.
I looked away, afraid my cheeks were flushing from more than just the warmth of the sun. “Feck off, like.”
