“Come on, my husband is through here, with the rest of the family.”
The three of them walk through to the living room, leaving me alone in the hallway with that dickhead. It makes me wonder why my parents wanted to conceive another little arsehole that night – was I not enough?
“So…” Ryan approaches me, hands in pockets and a falsely angelic expression plastered across his face.
No one buys it anymore. We all know that the guy is the work of the devil.
“Interesting, isn’t it? This coincidence.”
“Ha ha.”
“You know what I’d call it?”
“No, but I imagine you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“It’s called karma, bro. You’re about to get what you deserve. And I really hope you’re good at maths, and you’ve worked out what you’re due.”
And I don’t know why, but I think that, for once in his life, Ryan’s fucking right.
* * *
Casey has madeherself comfortable in my parents’ living room, surrounded by my family. She’s sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed, as if she were perfectly at home; she’s wearing a pair of shorts which are almost invisible, and a T-shirt that says ‘The best underwear is no underwear at all’.
Jesus Christ.
I tear my gaze away from her top, before I start to wonder too hard about whether or not she’s wearing anything under those shorts.
We’re all here: die-hard O’Connors, ready to suffocate any unfortunate person who steps foot into our interrogating, embarrassing home. But Casey isn’t a stranger to all this. It’s not the first time she’s sat on that sofa and, to be honest, she never had any trouble surviving my parents’ attention – just as she’s never had any problems putting my brothers back in their places. And over the years, we haven’t changed – we’re still the same old group of lumbering idiots. That’s not counting the fact that our family is growing in front of our eyes, and the new entries have only made the situation worse, filling all the lovely gaps that used to preserve at least a little of our dignity, or prove that we hadn’t all totally lost our minds. Now, unfortunately, there’s no doubt about it.
“So you already knew the family?” Chris asks, curious. “What a weird coincidence.”
Ryan coughs loudly.
“Yeah, it’s been a good few years. How many exactly, Nick?” she asks, shooting me a glance.
Another coughing fit, this time even louder. I hope it chokes him, and Dr Martin doesn’t rush to his aid.
“How did you know them?” Chris asks, straightening herself on the armchair, her ears pricked up to hear how Casey’s past involved Ryan.
So predictable.
“My dad was the Ravens RFC coach.”
“All three of my boys played for that team,” Mum says, proudly. “They all started from there, in the youth team.”
“And the coach kicked us right up the…”
“And howisyour dad?” Mum asks politely, her way of forcing Ryan to shut his huge mouth.
“He’s fine, thanks. He’s retired now. Not that he enjoys it much – his whole life was centred around sport, so it’s not easy for him to find something to do during the day. Apart from get involved in my life.”
I smile, remembering coach Madigan and his futile attempts at controlling his daughter; but then I remember all the times he tried to kill me, and a shiver of terror runs up my spine.
“So you work in the same hospital as Martin?” Mum continues.
“Exactly. I’m a physiotherapist.”
A physiotherapist. Not a doctor, like she’d always dreamed.
