‘Oh, they didn’t go down too well,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘No, well, they’re the so-called “popular” ones,’ I said. ‘They organised the formal and the theme and the awards and everything.’
I didn’t tell them how much Kevin had been bullying me all year; I didn’t want to bring the mood down.
I’d taken photos of the teachers acting as chaperones for the evening. Mrs O’Neill got a great cheer of approval from Ronan and so did Mr Dickson, the PE teacher. Ms Toner caused a bit of a groan.
‘I’m going to groan too,’ said Mr McCoy, and did so. ‘That’sthat Ms Toner, isn’t it? She was always a bit of a cold demon on parent–teacher evenings, not a fan.’
‘Yeah, she’s pretty brutal,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t believe she let me take her picture.’
‘She’s not even smiling,’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘I know,’ I said, ‘the picture more or less captures her perfectly.’
Ms Toner’s stiff posture and stern expression combined with her obvious effort to dress up and wear makeup almost made me feel sorry for her.
I took lots of photos of the decorations in the big dining hall. The student council had utilised the skills of the art students to make cardboard Cupids on the walls, feathered arrows hanging from the ceiling, heart-shaped helium balloons tethered to the seats around the dinner tables that were scattered with love heart confetti and bunches of flowers in the centre.
‘Wow, they really went all out!’ said Mrs McCoy.
Each table seated ten people and there were little cards with our names at each place. Jennifer and me were seated with her Drama group friends and the conversation was non-stop, I think it was the loudest table.
After the starters I went to take photos of all the other tables so Ronan could see who was sitting with who.
‘For Ronan,’ I would say and everyone put down their knives and forks and did big group poses. Mrs McCoy wheeled Ronan up to the screen. It was the closest I’d been to him all afternoon. I could feel the heat from his face as I came in beside him to point out the people amongst the group that I hadn’t managed to snap individually, hearing his breath change with each name, each face. By the time we got to the end of the dinner table photos I think we’d covered every single student in the year. Except for Dawn McArdle who hadn’t attended because of her personal protest against conformity. Ronan’s breath hit my face as he turned to lookat me and tilted his head to the side. I tilted my head and breathed back.
‘You’ll want a good position for these next ones, Ronan,’ I said to him.
‘Back to the box seats,’ said Mrs McCoy, pulling Ronan away from me again as I readied myself for the moment I was most excited about – the awards.
Mrs O’Neill and Mrs Parr were the announcers and presenters on the night. I explained to Mr and Mrs McCoy how the awards worked; how everyone had been given voting sheets in January to fill in the names of who they thought should get each award. Student council members who weren’t in our year tallied up the votes.
I took a photo of each winner as they went up to receive their award. I had planned to treat this section of the photos like a recreation of the ceremony itself inside the McCoys’ living room. I had written down each award in order so that I could announce the category before revealing the photo of the winner, just to make the whole experience more real for Ronan and to make it feel like how it felt on the night. Ronan was loving it, cheering and booing appropriately for each winner.
‘Sportsman award,’ I said, knowing this would have been Ronan’s award without doubt. I saw the sorrow in his eyes, he was also holding his breath, but not in a way that was building to an outburst, he was holding it in anticipation.
‘Mick Maloney,’ I announced.
Ronan yelled happy approval at this. It was incredible to see him being his usual supportive self; for Ronan, it was never about winning.
Jennifer got two awards: Drama Queen and Smarty Pants, both of which she took with good humour, even if she didn’t find them all that complimentary.
Finally, it came to the big award. In the hall that night and in the McCoys’ living room that Sunday afternoon it was still. I announced it was the award for King and Queen as I was recalling what Mrs O’Neill had said the night before:
‘Now, folks, we come to the announcement of King and Queen. Or wewouldif things weren’t a bit different this year.’ There was a rumble of voices around the hall. ‘The votes came in and were counted and our King and Queen, as voted by you, pre-empted their win and, choosing to remain anonymous, have merged their two awards into one award.’ There was another rumble of voices. ‘And this new award is named after its recipient because any other name didn’t seem to suffice. And so the Ronan McCoy Award goes to Ronan McCoy himself who, although not here with us this evening, did receive an amazing amount of votes across the board in every area and so it feels only right, and I must say extremely humble of our secretive King and Queen, that the star of the year is Ronan McCoy.’
There was a roar from everyone in the hall as they all stood up and stamped their feet and applauded while I stood there with tears in my eyes. I had no idea. Mrs O’Neill beckoned me to come up and accept the award on Ronan’s behalf. When I took it and held it high in the air there was an eruption to lift the roof off.
And there, quietly in the McCoys’ sitting room, with Mr and Mrs McCoy in tears and Ronan with the broadest grin on his face, I reached into my backpack and took out the award.
‘Ronan McCoy,’ I said, ‘I present to you the Ronan McCoy Award for being a true original, an all-rounder, a brilliant human being and my best friend.’
I set the award on his lap and he moved his twisted hand to touch it. His eyes were wide open as he glanced down at it but he held his head rock solid as he spoke.
‘Tha … thank-eh-sss … thank-esss … ya-ooo.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Mrs McCoy. ‘Oh my God, Brendan, I’ve never heard him as clear as that before, oh my God.’ She was crying and got up and hugged Ronan and then hugged me.
