“They would have said so, dear. A journalist tried to ask him some questions after the last match but the press is keeping quiet about him. It would appear that his spot on the national team is on the line.”
I shake my head. “That can’t be my fault.”
“No, certainly not, maybe he’s had other problems.”
His reflection brings me back to what Ryan had said.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Something you don’t want to tell me.”
“It’s private.”
“Er…”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not about me.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me if you don’t want to.”
And his words take me back in time a few years.
“Have you at least spoken to your brother?”
“He’s not in my good books at the moment.”
“Don’t talk shit.”
“This whole thing is partly his fault, too.”
“I’m sure that he did what he did for your own good.”
“Well, there are better ways of helping someone,” I say angrily, crossing my arms.
Ray raises his hands in a good faith gesture before looking at me with those eyes full of compassion that make me want to scream at him.
“You should call a doctor, Riley. Seriously.”
“I will, I promise.”
“Today?”
“Today.”
“Good,” he says before looking at his watch. “I’d better get back to the theatre. Somebody has to work.”
“Thanks for coming round.”
“Of course, sweetie,” he says, giving me a hug and going towards the door, but the minute he opens it he exclaims: “Oh, holy shit!”
A round of laughter explodes.
“Er, Riley? You’ve got company.”
I look up in time to see Nick fill out the doorframe of my bedroom.
“Oh, Jesus, you O’Connor brothers never let anything go, do you?”
