‘What’s wrong?’ Jennifer said. ‘I don’t mind us having another picture out here. Are you worried about them?’ she said, indicating Kevin and his limo posse.
‘No,’ I lied.
‘Sure these are Ronan’s pictures,’ Dad said, oblivious to the mockery happening behind him, ‘surely he’d love his own personal photo of the official arrival. Buck yourself up and stop being a diva, Brendan.’
I was going red, I could feel it.
Jennifer put her hand on my back.
I took my eyes off Kevin and looked at her.
‘It’s OK,’ she mouthed.
I felt the hotness evaporate.
‘Do you even know what a diva is, Dad?’ I said.
‘Aye, it’s one of themBig Brotherpeople after they’ve been kicked out and they act all like that, like a diva.’
Jennifer and me burst into laughter and Dad took the photo.
So there we both were on the McCoys’ TV screen, caught in mid-laughter on the red carpet with the BMW behind us. Ronan made a loud noise and then hummed and chuckled.
‘I think that’s his favourite one so far,’ said Mr McCoy.
Ronan was staring at me and nodded. I looked to his parents, transfixed by their son, almost matching his head movements with tiny encouraging nods, enjoying his reactions.
‘Well, it’s all thanks to him, little matchmaker,’ I said, with a snap of my head back to Ronan in case that triggered anything. In case I reminded him of how he’d first felt about his ‘matchmaking’. He faltered mid-nod, his head shuddered and a rod of panic burned through me.
‘Little Cupid!’ said Mr McCoy, not noticing what I was noticing.
Ronan’s chest rose.
Mine rose, too, and stopped there.
Then Ronan burped and a dribble of spit ran down his chin.
‘Oh,’ said Mr McCoy, getting up to take a tissue from the box on the table, as Ronan’s chest rose again. Was he preparing for an outburst? But my view got blocked by Mr McCoy stepping in front of him.
‘And did you have your official photo taken when you got inside?’ asked Mrs McCoy.
‘Yes, I think we’ll have them printed next week,’ I said, my eyes on Mr McCoy’s back, waiting for him to clear so I could see Ronan’s face, see if he was OK and I hadn’t accidentally upset him.
‘I’d love a copy.’
‘No problem,’ I said.
As Mr McCoy stepped aside and Ronan came back intoview he met my eyes and blinked slowly, as if to say,I’m OK. I blinked slowly back, as if to say,Good, that’s good.
Whatever had built up in him had passed now. It felt safe to go on.
The next photos I’d taken were of various couples in our year. I’d told everyone it was for Ronan and they stood and posed with no questions asked; even the shyer people allowed their picture to be taken when they knew it was for Ronan. With each familiar face that came up on screen Ronan made a noise of recognition. He made a low rumble of approval for Mick Maloney, the boy he’d beaten in the eight-hundred-metre race on sports day the previous year. A burst of laughter for Ciara McGuigan, the netball captain. Ronan jolted in his seat when Eimear Nugent came up on screen linked arm in arm with Barry Gleeson, the rugby captain. Maybe Ronan did have feelings for Eimear after all.
‘I know,’ I said to him, ‘I was surprised Eimear and Barry went together too.’
He had a frown on his face.
By Ronan’s barometer of reactions we could gauge how he felt about each and every member of our year. He even groaned at the picture of Kevin and Leanne.
