She put her tubed flyer into the inside pocket of her blazer.
I put my folded square version into my trouser pocket.
‘I was supposed to do French revision this lunchtime,’ I said. Jennifer looked like she was about to apologise, but I stopped her before she could. ‘But this was good. To finally catch up.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I was supposed to eat lunch.’
I was about to apologise too.
‘But,’ she said, ‘this was good. We should do it more.Ifthe almighty schedule allows.’
I laughed.
‘We’ve actually still got ten minutes,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘You could do a quick cram session? So I don’t feel so bad about you missing it?’
‘Only if you go to the canteen so I don’t feel so bad about you not eating?’
‘Deal.’
‘Cool,’ I said awkwardly as I started in the direction of the library. ‘Maybe I’ll catch you in the Science corridor later when you’re on the way to the next class?’
‘Don’t you need to schedule that in?’ she said with a wink.
‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re the exception.’
I practically cringed at hearing myself say that.
Jennifer scrunched her mouth up to one side.
‘Exception accepted,’ she said. ‘Catch you then.’ And she skipped off towards the canteen.
When I got to the library and sat down, French revision for ten minutes was the last thing I felt like doing. I would have loved to have gone to the canteen with Jennifer, but I had managed to keep to my schedule the entire week and if I stuck to the plan for the weekend as well, then I could tick off everything on it.
But when the bell rang I hadn’t even opened my French book. I must have been in a daydream. I fumbled to put my things back into my bag. I hadn’t done any work so technically I shouldn’t have allowed myself to tick that French revision session off the list. But it would have made the first week of my new schedule incomplete. So I decided to let myself off the hook just this once; whatever I’d been thinking about to make me miss French revision must have been worth it.
26
During my driving lesson on Friday night I was remembering what Jennifer had said earlier in the day about friends knowing us better than our family; it felt even more true with Dad in the passenger seat as I drove round and round St Matthew’s car park.
‘I’m getting dizzy,’ he said. ‘Where’s your focus? Must have been a busy week.’
‘Busy week, yeah,’ was all I said.
Maybe some other dads would ask all about it, maybe some other sons would tell, but we said little else for the whole lesson apart from him giving me instructions and me answering the odd theory question when he sprang it on me.
We acted like it was normal, which, for us, it was.
It had been the same with Mum after Granny died when she hardly spoke to me at all, but she was getting back to herself again, asking how I was in her own awkward way and showing an interest in Ronan and me. She was even getting up early and going for walks on her days off and had started reading her novels again. Soon things would be back to the way they hadbeen; living in a house with the two people who knew me the longest and knew me the least.
The other thing Jennifer made me realise was that I needed to talk to Mr and Mrs McCoy about Buddy Time; Ronan needed me as his friend, not his teacher. I’d have to try to explain it without them feeling like I was telling them that I knew their son better than them – even if I felt like I did.
Jennifer’s words were still with me on Saturday morning in Feeney’s yard as I was cleaning all the vehicles, not just her words but the way she said them, how she looked when she spoke, the way she moved when she was confident in herself and how she shifted when Leanne gave us the flyers for the formal.
‘How’s the driving comin’ along, young Brendan?’ said Mr Feeney, jolting me out of another daydream I hadn’t realised I was in. I was standing in a puddle with the hose pointing down to the ground. I twisted the nozzle off and turned to Mr Feeney.
‘Ah yeah, not too bad, Mr Feeney. I’m not a natural, but my dad’s determined for me to sit my test on my birthday in July so there’s time yet.’
‘Ah you’ve buckets’a’time and then maybe we’ll get you out drivin’ a few of these motors, get you out on a funeral or two?’
