Not My Problem

When I got home, Mam wasn’t there. Monday was her day off so immediately I was stressed. I charged my phone to call her and sat beside it for the longest few minutes, waiting for it to have enough charge to turn on again. My stomach twisted and my head pounded. She could not do this to me again.

When the phone finally came to life, I went straight to my call list. But a flurry of messages came through. Missed calls and texts from Kavi and Meabh. I hesitated. Then I opened them. It would only take a second. Mam would still be doing whatever she was doing in a second. Even though I’d already fought with Kavi and Meabh, I felt growing dread as I began to read. They started off jokey and telling me to come back to school, and then got increasingly worried. I cringed thinking of how I’d let these messages pile up like they meant nothing. Meabh had even messaged me about what happened with the video. She’d sent me a link to it. I pictured her upset and vulnerable and hoping I’d respond. I clicked through to the page but it had been taken down already. I wondered if that was because the person who put it up felt guilty or if it was because they didn’t want to get in trouble. I didn’t like that I didn’t know the answer to that.

A hard knot formed in my chest. It hurt and I wanted to cry. I knew Meabh was right and I hadn’t been there for her. It didn’t matter why. It only mattered that when things were bad I had been too wrapped up in my own problems. And Kavi was right too. If I didn’t ever tell them what my problems were, then how could I expect them to understand? But the thought of telling them everything was too awful. Right now everything was in my control. What happened with Mam, who knew, where I lived, how we managed it. I was managing it. I had so far. I couldn’t be friends with people who would take that away from me. And they would. They would want to “help.” The road to social workers was paved with good intentions.

“Are you home?” I heard Mam’s voice as she came in the door. Relief and fear mingled. She was home. But had she been drinking? I almost tripped in my haste to get to the hall before she could hide anything she’d bought.

She was taking her coat off when I reached her and was hanging it up on the hook.

“See, I remembered,” she said, expecting praise for not leaving it at her arse. I followed her into the kitchen, where she flipped the switch on the kettle and sighed. She flinched when she turned and saw I was standing right behind her.

“What the fuck, love?” She laughed. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”

“Where were you?” I asked, aware that I sounded angry even though I hadn’t planned to. I felt like a bottle of Coke all shook up, ready to explode, and I couldn’t pretend to be calm.

“I’ve been at work,” she replied slowly, either not getting why I was annoyed or pretending not to. She loved to do that.

“It’s Monday. The salon is closed on Monday. That’s not even a good lie.”

“Excuse me?” she said, affronted. “We were doing a stock take.”

Mam poured boiling water into her mug and added milk.

Suddenly adrenaline flooded through me, making me shaky and reckless.

“Have you been drinking?” I asked. I hadn’t in my whole life ever asked her that question directly. We tiptoed round it. But I couldn’t do that anymore. If she was going to lie I wanted her to do it right to my face.

Mam was surprised. For a long moment she searched for a way to answer me. That’s how I knew she was searching for a lie. You don’t need to come up with a good truth.

I opened the cupboard nearest to me. Then the one below. The fridge. The one under the sink. When I didn’t find anything I moved to the living room.

“What are you doing?” Mam followed me, hands on hips.

I looked behind the TV. Got down on my hands and knees and looked under the sofa. I upturned a vase, letting a bunch of dusty plastic flowers fall to the ground.

“Aideen!” Mam said, annoyed. “Stop it.”

In the hall I looked inside Mam’s boots and in her coat pocket. She didn’t follow me this time. I lifted the lid off the cistern and shook out the rolled-up towels. I looked under her bed and in her pillowcase. I felt in her chest of drawers and pulled the bottom one off its rail so I could see inside. I looked in the bottom of her wardrobe and in an old sports bag she uses to “hide” Christmas presents every year. I even looked in my own room.

When I went back into the living room she was sitting on the sofa with her arms crossed, her tea half drunk.

“Are you quite done?” she asked. She didn’t sound mad exactly but she wasn’t happy.

I threw myself into the armchair and glared at her, but my adrenaline and my confidence that I was right were already ebbing away.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I said. I couldn’t look at her as I said it. I looked at the TV instead. It was off and reflected my mam back at me in its black glossy screen. One degree removed from watching the hurt on her face.

“I know,” she said. “But it was one slip. I was sad. I’m sorry.”

I’d never heard her say before that she was sad. Of course I knew Dad made her sad. That’s why I hated it so much when he came back. She’d be doing well, on her feet, and he’d come around and ruin everything, and it would take no more than a few days.

“Mam, the thing is, there are always going to be things that make you sad. So what then? Do I have to worry every time . . . something bad happens?” I avoided his name.

She appeared to think about that.

“I don’t know about what’s going to happen in the future. I’m sorry. I wish I could give you a guarantee. All I can say is that right now, I am doing okay. I’m not drinking. I promise. I know you don’t have any reasons to trust me after all these years. But I’m asking you to please try.”

I looked at her, properly this time, not through the TV, trying to figure out if I could believe her. It was possible. She promised.

She’s promised before.

But that didn’t mean that this time, her promise wasn’t real. Trust is funny like that. It’s like faith. If you have proof then you don’t need trust. You need trust when you have doubts. I said a silent Hail Mary and hoped that faith would come.

ORLA

I need to talk to you. Meet me before registration in the bathroom on the first floor.

“How’s things with your secret boy?” I asked, yawning and leaning against a sink while chugging a Coke for breakfast. I was already PMSing and the early morning hadn’t helped.

Orla looked in the two stalls, checked behind the doors, and didn’t answer me until she was sure there was no one there.

“We broke up,” she said, though she didn’t look devastated.

“Did you get caught?” I asked, remembering her strict dads.

She shook her head. “No, just turned out he was a gobshite. Fellas. You know how it is.”

I did not.

But I nodded anyway.

“I think I fancy Ali, you know, in my year? But I don’t know if she likes girls.”

“Only one way to find out,” I said.

She looked at me as if to say, And that is?

“Ask her if she liked Fiona Apple’s latest album.”

“Of course.” She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “But look, that’s not why I asked you here.” She took a folded piece of paper out of her skirt pocket and handed it to me.

I unfolded it. It was a printed-out article from the school paper.

Talus what really happened!

Presidential hopeful Meabh Kowalska’s recent ankle injury took her off the camogie team where she has served as captain for three years, but a source informed us that this impairment may have been self-inflicted.

I turned cold all over. I scanned the story for my name. It wasn’t there. Reading closer, I realized it sounded as though Meabh had simply launched herself down the stairs. Who knew about that? How did they find out? It wasn’t the full truth, but as far as I knew only Kavi, Meabh, and I knew what had happened that day. Meabh wouldn’t tell anyone, for obvious reasons. It didn’t even occur to me to doubt Kavi; there was no way.

“What is this?” Although I knew what it was, of course. What I meant was, how do you have this, who wrote it, and what the fuck am I going to do about it?

“I was sent a draft of the new paper late last night. It’s not being printed until tomorrow night but they always send it to me early so I can check it over.”

“Who sent it to you?” I said, cutting her off.

“Jill, of course. She’s the editor.”

“There’s no byline on it. Do you know who wrote it?”

Orla squirmed. “No . . . but I may have overheard something. Just after the last issue came out, when Holly had just stepped down. There was an article Jill wasn’t sure about writing, and Holly told her to.”

The same conversation I’d overheard that day after my laps with Ms. D.

I skimmed over the article again. This would destroy Meabh. It was due to come out the day before the election. She would look ridiculous. She would definitely lose. Her dad would know and if I knew anything about Meabh, it was that disappointing him or embarrassing him was not an option for her. And she’d already been through this with the video. I didn’t think she could handle another scandal. And this one was much worse. I could not let this get out.

“Can you stop this from being published? I mean take it out before it’s printed. I will owe you anything you want.”

Orla looked pained. “I would do it, of course I would. Meabh helped me when I needed it, and she’s been through enough the last week. I know what that feels like.”

I remembered Orla saying she’d been bullied over text and I thought she probably knew how Meabh felt better than most of us.

“Holly always checks the first copy that prints. Jill’s probably going to do the same thing now she’s editor.”

I nodded, already onto the next possibility. I opened the door to the bathroom to leave, so focused on how I could possibly get around this that I forgot to even say thank you.

“If there’s anything I can do . . . ,” Orla said, her voice trailing off as I ran down the stairs. I couldn’t waste any more time. I needed to go to the source.

For the rest of the day I stalked Jill. We didn’t have many classes together but she had most of her classes with Holly so I knew where she would normally be. Unfortunately it also meant she was always with Holly. Finally, though, I passed them both in the hall and heard Holly say she was going to the toilet. I hid among a throng of taller students headed in the opposite direction so she didn’t see me. Then I doubled back and caught up with Jill.

“Hey,” I said casually.

“Uh . . . hi—oof!”

I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into a caretaker’s closet.

“What the hell?!” She pulled her hand away. “What’s wrong with you?”

“We need to talk,” I said.

“In a cupboard? Are you serious? I have class.”

“Yeah, yeah, Jill, we all have class. You’re not special. Look, I know about the article about Meabh.”

“What article?” Jill asked. She was bad at playing it cool. Her voice sounded strained.

“The one about Meabh breaking her own ankle.”

“How do you know about that?” she asked.

“I heard it around,” I said. I couldn’t show her the article or she might suspect Orla, but there were plenty of people on the paper who could have blabbed.

“No one knows about that article but me.”

And Holly. And Orla. But that wasn’t enough people. She’d realize eventually if I didn’t cover for Orla.

“I hacked into the system,” I lied. “Okay?”

She pursed her lips, skeptical of my abilities. “You can do that?”

“Yeah, I invented an . . . algorithm. I call it Flubberygiblets.”

Jill rolled her eyes. “I’m going to German. I’ll see you later.”

“No! Please. I’ll tell you the truth.”

I really needed her. I couldn’t see how anyone else could take the article down, other than the person who wrote it, the editor of the paper. This was my only chance.

She paused and I made one clarification.

“Off the record.” Thank God I’d watched enough TV to know to do that.

Jill nodded reluctantly. Her journalistic curiosity was getting the better of her. Even if she wasn’t going to be able to publish it, I’d just let her know I had a story of some kind.

“I’ve been doing favors for people. I fix something for them, and then they owe me one. One of my favors involved breaking into the computer system. Someone else did it for me because they owed me. That’s how I saw the article.”

“Bit convenient,” she said doubtfully.

“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s the truth.”

“Well, I still don’t get why you needed to kidnap me.”

“I need you not to print that article. It isn’t true and it isn’t fair. “

She folded her arms. “I have it on pretty good authority that it is true. I have a source.”

“Who—”

Jill held up a hand. “Don’t even bother. I would never tell you.”

“Your source is wrong,” I said. Technically that was true. “And come on, Jill, don’t you think this is too far? Hasn’t Meabh been through enough? Or do you hate her that much?”

Jill shifted her weight. “I don’t hate Meabh. I mean, she’s—”

“Annoying, yeah, I know.” The word irritated me now.

“But I don’t have a problem with her.”

“If you print this, don’t you think it’s going to look like you’ve done it to help Holly win? Isn’t that kind of unethical?”

She bit her lip and I smelled weakness. Time to swap my stick for a carrot.

“And I’ll do you a favor,” I said.

“I don’t need anything,” Jill replied.

“You don’t need anything. But what about something I think you’d like?”

“And what would I like?”

I smiled. “Revenge?”

I texted Laura, the girl I’d got the pill for, and called in my chit. She was surprised to find that all I wanted was a piece of the letterhead and some literature from her dad’s pharmacy, and promised to get it for me at lunch. That just left one person to get on board.

I found him leaning against the wall after school, waiting for the bus. He was alone, and a few feet away half the Gaelic team were surrounding Ronan as he ran his fingers through his blond curls and told a stupid story.

“Your cousin is a knob,” I said.

He looked at me, smiled, and then dreamily stared off into the distance. “Sometimes I dream about smashing his face against a wall and watching the blood drip down the bricks.”

I laughed, then I straightened my face. Dylan and I weren’t friends exactly but we’d had a few classes together over the years.

“You have to spend a lot of time with him, though, don’t you?”

“Every day after school. I go to his house and wait for my dad to pick me up after work.”

“Your parents don’t let you stay home by yourself?”

“Ronan and I used to be friends. I used to like going. I love my aunt. She’s a bit of a Holy Joe but she’s really good to me. I don’t want to tell her what he’s been doing.”

“But your aunt is really strict, isn’t she?”

It was one question too many. Dylan gave me a sidelong glance.

“Why do you care?”

I had nothing to lose. Except the last thing I needed to make sure that article went away. I took out an envelope and handed it to Dylan.

He took it, bewildered, and opened it up.

Crossan’s Pharmacy

101 Castle Street

Ballyeden

Dear Ronan Walsh,

Due to your recent prescription for azithromycin, it is our pharmacy’s policy to follow up with information regarding sexual health and well-being. Please find enclosed some literature on sexually transmitted infections and prevention.

If you require any further information or would like to speak to your pharmacist regarding sexual health you can drop in to our branch on Castle Street or you can visit the website.

A copy of this letter has been forwarded to your GP.

Kind regards,

Crossan’s Pharmacy

Dylan looked up after reading it with the biggest grin on his face.

“Is this real?!” he hissed, keeping his voice low. Ronan and his friends weren’t far away, though they were not paying any attention to us two losers. “Oh my God, his mam is going to kill him. She’ll absolutely murder him. How did you get this?”

He was giddy with joy. Perfect. That was the petty energy I needed right now.

“It’s not exactly real . . . but it could be.”

He was less giddy now. He turned the envelope over.

“It’s got a used stamp on it.”

I’d nabbed a letter from the school office, steamed it open with a kettle from home economics, and then ironed it nice and straight. I’d put a blank label on top of the school’s address and filled it in with Ronan’s address.

“It’s got Mrs. Walsh on the front,” Dylan said.

“Oops. Typo.” I smiled serenely.

We exchanged meaningful looks. I nodded. Dylan nodded. A silence of understanding settled.

“Sorry, I don’t get it,” Dylan said.

I guess not.

“Okay, you bring this letter with you to your aunt’s house. You set it where she will see it. It has her name on the front so she’ll open it and then . . .”

“Then Ronan will be in deep shit.”

I was particularly pleased with finding a way to get back at Ronan for cheating on Jill and for the way he’d treated Ms. Devlin. I wondered if he’d remember when he saw this, the way he’d tried to shame her for the exact same thing.

Dylan grinned. I realized I’d picked someone so fed up of Ronan’s shit that I didn’t need to offer him anything in return. He’d earned it, though.

“As payment for this favor, I will do something for you.”

“What?”

“I’ll make it so that everyone wants to be your friend.”

Dylan raised his eyebrows. “I’ve heard about you, you know. Doing favors for people. Why are you doing this though? I didn’t ask you for anything.” He frowned then. “Did someone else ask you to set up Ronan?”

“Maybe,” I said.

The humiliated ex-girlfriend would probably come to Dylan’s mind sooner or later but I figured he’d be on her side anyway.

Dylan looked thoughtful. “Why do you do it?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I like helping people.”

“There’s lots of ways to help people. There’s lots of people to help. Why this? Why do you want to fix their problems?”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said the only thing that came to mind.

“Because I can fix their problems.”