Niamh’s hand flies up into a ‘STOP’ gesture. ‘VERBOTEN!’ she says in a loud, terrifying German accent. ‘We vill not mention ze war!’
‘I’m pretty sure that’s racist, or xenophobic or something,’ I say.
‘It’s also a really bad attempt at a German accent but the point remains. We are not talking about Conal tonight. Tonight, we are providing a distraction.’
‘Yes, Miss,’ I say, bowing to her teacherly authority.
‘As long we have an understanding.’ She gives me a warm smile, and I’m no longer worried I’m about to be interrogated orthrown into the Gulag. (Although, I’m pretty sure that was Russia, not Germany.)
‘So… the choir,’ she says, guiding me back into the conversation.
‘Well, it’s booked, as I said. And we’re under no commitment to keep going beyond that first session. There will be a few other new people at it too.’
‘Maybe Roy Cropper?’ Niamh raises one eyebrow.
‘Probably depends on the biscuits,’ I say. ‘They have a break with tea and biscuits. Which reminds me… my mother has been making noises about coming along during the session to film it for her TikTok.’
Leaning towards me, her expression serious and solemn, she speaks. ‘Becks, if your mother – as much as I love her like she were my own – points a camera at my face while I’m singing in a pop choir then I will not be responsible for my actions. Old age pensioner or not, she’s going down.’
Of course she’s joking. I think.
‘Honestly, can you imagine if my Year 13s saw that? I would never in all my days be able to show my face in the school again.’ She shudders, but I’m not buying it. Niamh’s Year 13 science class love her to bits. They believe she is destined for stardom.
‘Isn’t it your Year 13s who are constantly on at you to make TikToks with them? This could seal your position as the coolest teacher in the world!’
Leaning even closer, so that I can feel her breath on my face, she says in perhaps the most menacing voice I have ever heard – and bear in mind we are from Northern Ireland; our accent is inherently menacing – ‘Over my cold, dead body. And your mother’s too, if it comes to it.’
She sits back and laughs, but I know Niamh Cassidy betterthan I know myself. When she makes a threat – no matter how outlandish – there is a part of her that is already planning how to carry it out, just in case.
‘Okay!’ I tell her before admitting that my mother has already been warned off any such shenanigans.
‘Grand,’ she says. ‘I really don’t like beating old ladies up.’
‘She’d beat you up if she heard you calling her an old lady,’ I warn.
‘I’ve no doubt about it. And not to break my own rule, but I will message Laura and just check everything will be okay and not painfully awkward between you and let her know that we’re all just giving the situation a bit of space to see what happens.’
I smile and nod. ‘Thank you. I’d really hate for her to be worried about things. But she’s been so quiet these past few days.’
‘She’s been finding her feet at uni,’ Niamh says. ‘That’s bloody huge. But maybe she also needs a bit of reassurance that we will still be here for her even if…’
She doesn’t finish the sentence and I’m grateful for it. I don’t want to think of all the permeations of that ‘if’.
At that I hear a small, mewling cry come from the living room and before I have so much as blinked, both Niamh and I are on our feet and heading back to claim ownership of baby Clara. The ongoing war over who is best at soothing her isn’t going to end any time soon.
By the time we reach the living room, there is no sign of Fiadh and only a very pale-faced Paul, holding a crying baby away from his body as if she is a bomb that might just explode.
It takes just seconds to work out that is exactly what the little munchkin has done. A full grade blow-out of her nappy which has seeped through her onesie and traumatised her poor grandad.
And still, Niamh and I battle for who will take her and clean up the mess. Because the who-is-best-at-changing-her wars are also still ongoing.
19
DOGGY STYLE
Laura
After her near-miss outside her old family home, Laura had decided she’d had enough of hiding in the shadows. No, she had not been ready to go back to Aidan and his severe lack of craic, or to Robyn and the endless demands that teenagers feel entitled to make.
