‘Well, would you like me to drop you off right at the front door instead?’
‘You mean, with everyone watching?’ I said, grinning.
‘Aye,’ he said, grinning too, ‘with all your schoolmates watching.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ I said, ‘I think I’d definitely like that very much.’
34
The first photograph that filled the whole of the TV screen in the McCoys’ sitting room was one of me: standing in my tuxedo outside the front door of my house with my hands awkwardly held together, my right grasping the fingers of my left like a bunch of skinny sausages; my hair plastered down flat with Dax Wax all shiny and combed over to one side; a big grin on my face that wasn’t a natural one because I’d had to hold it for so long while Dad tried to figure out how to work the McCoys’ camera. He’d tried to tell a joke to get me to smile bigger but I just said ‘cheese’ instead.
Earlier, Mrs McCoy had made a roast with all the trimmings for us and had made a different version for Ronan that was easier for him to eat and for her to feed him. After we’d finished Mr McCoy spent about twenty minutes trying to connect the digital camera to the TV so that I could show them the photos I’d taken from the formal.
‘Ah, Halleluiah!’ said Mr McCoy, when a grid of tiny pictures came up on the screen. ‘Can you take it from here, Brendan?’
He handed me the camera that was attached to a short lead plugged into the back of the TV.
‘You’ll probably have to operate it beside the TV here. I don’t think it came with a remote or anything.’
I sat cross-legged beside the TV with Mr and Mrs McCoy sitting on the sofa in front of it beside Ronan. I had been watching Ronan closely all afternoon; I think I was more nervous then than I was about going to the actual formal. What if the photos upset him? What if all my good intent, as Mr McCoy had said, caused a bad reaction from Ronan? What if I hurt him showing him what I got to experience and what he missed out on?
When that first grinning photo of me came up full-screen I immediately looked round at Ronan. He burst out laughing. My chest instantly dropped the tension it had been holding.
‘Ah, come on,’ I said, ‘I don’t look that ridiculous, do I?’
He couldn’t stop laughing.
‘Oh, where’d you get your tux, Brendan?’ said Mrs McCoy over Ronan’s laughter, trying to lessen any offence I might have been feeling, but I wasn’t feeling any; laughter wasn’t screaming, we were off to a good start. ‘You look so handsome.’
‘McMillan’s,’ I said.
‘There you go, Aaron, that’s where you’re getting kitted out for our wedding anniversary,’ she said, poking him in the ribs.
‘When’s that again?’ he said, winking at me before receiving a slap on the arm.
I looked at Ronan, his laughter now ended, which I took as permission to scroll to the next picture; it was another one of me standing by Mr Feeney’s BMW outside our house.
‘Oh, there she is,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘absolute beaut, that motor!’
During dinner I’d told them about how Dad and MrFeeney had plotted together. Ronan nodded, seeming almost impressed.
I scrolled to the next picture, it was one Mum had taken: Dad was holding the back door of the BMW open for me and bowing like a humble chauffeur and I was pretending to give him a tip like some New York business tycoon, acting all snooty with my nose in the air. Ronan laughed loudly at that one. His laugh was beginning to sound different – less restricted. Maybe the more he was trying to speak, the more his vocal chords were strengthening; I didn’t care about the science, though, I only cared about the sound.
The next picture was one I was nervous about; I felt the tension building in my chest again, wondering how Ronan would react. It was of Jennifer and me standing outside her house. I brought it up on screen but didn’t look round at Ronan.
‘That’s some house the Beatties have!’ said Mr McCoy. ‘Is that a mansion of some kind? Some stately home or something?’
I heard him get another slap on the arm, but I still didn’t look round.
‘It’s not a picture of thehouse, Aaron!’ said Mrs McCoy. ‘Brendan, you and Jennifer look wonderful together.’
I turned to look at Ronan. He was staring at the screen with an expression I couldn’t read. I felt worry rising in me as I turned back to the screen, immersing myself in the image and in the memory.
Jennifer was wearing a black dress and had tied her hair up on the left side with a black bow so that her right cheek was hidden behind a curtain of straight light brown hair. It made her look mysterious. Looking at myself standing beside her I thought I looked like a kid on his first day of school. It was sort of how I’d felt too.
I was smiling in the picture but I knew what was really going on in my head when it was taken: I was fuming.
The drive to Jennifer’s house had already been a tense one because of how nervous I was. I was sweating so much that I could feel the armpits of my shirt soaking wet. Dad tried small talk, but after my one-word answers he flicked through the radio stations and settled on a pop chart top forty countdown; they were on the top ten as we reached Jennifer’s house.
