Saving 6: Boys of Tommen #3

DECEMBER 25TH 2004

JOEY

SHOOK TO MY CORE, I made my way home on autopilot, barely managing to put one foot in front of the other, while an internal war raged on inside of me.

My heart was demanding that I turn my ass around and go back to her and beg her to forgive me for something that my brain knew I would do again.

Because that’s what would happen.

I couldn’t get out of this.

I couldn’t break the fuck free.

And taking her down with me was out of the question.

Feeling worse than I had in a very long time, I ignored multiple groups of children and young families playing out on the streets with their new bikes and scooters, as I crossed through her estate, and headed across the bridge towards mine.

Don’t do this.

Don’t walk away from her.

She’s the only good thing you’ve got going for you.

She’s the only one who gives a shit about you.

With my hood pulled up, I ignored all of my selfish thoughts, urges, and instincts, knowing that I needed to put her first this time.

And putting her first meant that I needed to put space between us.

Do it for her.

Give her a chance at normal.

Don’t drag her down with you.

She’s too good for you.

“Alright, Lynchy?” Jason O’ Driscoll, aka Dricko, one of the lads from my terrace, called out, as I walked past him. I smelled the familiar scent of weed wafting from the rollie he was balancing between his fingers. “Happy Christmas.”

“Alright, Dricko,” I replied, stopping to acknowledge the lad who used to be in my year at BCS until he dropped out after our junior cert in third year. We had hurled together all the way up through underage club level as well, until life caught up with him. “How’s the small fella of yours keeping? Did Santa come?”

“Luke? Ah, he’s grand,” he replied, as he lounged against the side of his baby mama’s dilapidated house, in a pink, frilly dressing gown. “He’s only a year and a half, so he doesn’t have a notion of what’s happening.” Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he held out the rollie, offering me a drag. “Smoke?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I shook my head, and kept my hands firmly clamped in the front pocket of my hoodie. “How’s Sam keeping nowadays?” I offered instead, as my thoughts cast to another one of my former classmates. “Are you living here with her now?” I asked, gesturing to the council house I knew she’d been given not long after she had his baby.

“Am I fuck,” he choked out a laugh. “I’ve my own life to be living. Sam handles the kid.”

I cocked a brow. “Pretty sure she had one of those too, lad, before you saddled her with your son at sixteen.”

“Ah, you know what I mean.” Dricko hurried to add, having the good grace to look sheepish. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great mam. Luke’s lucky to have her, because I sure as hell don’t know what to do with him, but the girl thinks she owns me because she had a kid off me.”

Again, I just stared blankly.

“Seriously, it’s a fucking nightmare. I can’t move without her, Joe. She’s constantly breathing down my goddamn neck,” he muttered bitterly, casting a narrowing glance to the front door. “I’m surprised she let me come outside for a smoke without chasing after me.”

I shrugged. “Maybe if you did a little more staying, she wouldn’t have to do so much chasing.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he shot back with a chuckle. “When you’ve got that little ride from Rosewood Estate to stay put for. You were lucky that she was there the night of your eighteenth to hide you after you went nuclear on that car,” he continued to give me a dose of my own medicine by adding. “The Gards were scouring the terrace for the culprit.”

I didn’t answer him.

I couldn’t.

Because Molloy’s face was instantly at the fore point of my mind, and my guilt was fucking choking me.

“What have I got to stick around for?” he continued to rant. “Shitty nappies, overdue bills, constant nagging, and a screaming baby?” He shook his head. “Nah, lad, step into my shoes for a week, and you wouldn’t be long coming off that high horse.” The front door swung inwards then, and Dricko released a pained growl. “See what I mean?”

“He wants his father,” Sam snapped, red-faced and teary-eyed, as she stood in the doorway, with a small, dark-haired infant balancing on her hip.

“Yeah, well, his father’s busy,” Dricko tossed over his shoulder. “Tell him that his mother will have to do.”

“He’s your son, too, Jason. It’s Christmas morning. You could at least pretend like you’re interested in him for more than thirty seconds,” Sam bit out, before her gaze landed on me. “Oh, hey, Joey.”

“Sam.” Inclining my head in acknowledgment, forcing myself to take in the sight before me.

Take one look at her, asshole. This right here is how you know you did the right thing, my brain hissed. I felt validated as I locked eyes on the girl that I grew up alongside that had become a mother before her time.

I was no different to Dricko. We shared the similar misfortune of being born to young mothers and asshole fathers. We were cut from the same cloth, but I would make damn sure that Molloy had a different future to the one stretching out in front of Samantha McGuinness. “Happy Christmas.”

“Thanks, and the same to you, Joe,” she replied, giving me a long lonesome look, before turning her attention back to her fella. “Well? Are you coming inside or not?”

“When I’m ready.”

“Jason.”

“Keep nagging and you’ll be eating dinner on your own with the kid,” he warned, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “I’m doing you a favor by being here, Sam. I told you that I’d come round last night to see the kid open his presents, but I’m not your fucking bell boy.“

“You did more than come around,” she spat, voice trembling. “You spent the night.”

“Right, I’m off,” I muttered, striding off down the footpath, before I got dragged into their domestic.

I didn’t have the heart or the energy to deal with anyone else’s drama this morning.

My head was full, and my shoulders were buckling under the pressure of my own shit.

I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket, but I didn’t reach for it.

I couldn’t.

Because if I glanced at that screen and saw her name flashing, I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to reject her call.

“Joey!” Ollie was standing in the doorway when I stepped foot in the garden a few minutes later. “Santa came, Joe! He’s been to our house this year! He came!”

“Did he?” I replied, somehow managing to muscle up the enthusiasm he needed from me in that moment. “That’s because you’ve been washing your ears properly.”

“Uh-huh!” Nodding brightly, my little brother grabbed my hand and dragged me inside. “You were right, Joe. You said he would come if I scrubbed them good and he came!”

“Good morning,” Mam greeted me in the front hall, clad in the same old dressing gown she always wore. The one Darren bought her the Christmas before he left. It didn’t matter that she’d been given a new one since. She continued to cling to the past, and her first born, by wearing the thread worn robe. “Happy birthday.”

“Oh shoots, I forgot!” Ollie yelped, slapping his forehead. “Happy birthday, Joey.”

“Cheers, kid,” I replied, before asking my mother, “Where is he?”

“Bed.”

“Good.” Repressing a shudder of revulsion when my eyes landed on my mother’s stomach, I focused on the outstretched arms of the toddler on her hip. “How’s my Seany-boo?” I asked, lifting him into my arms. “Did Santa come to my Seany?”

“O-ee,” Sean babbled, pressing his spit-slobbered hand to my cheek. “O-ee.”

Sidestepping my mother, I moved for the sitting room, where Tadhg was sitting under the tree, looking exceptionally dejected in comparison to our younger brothers.

“You didn’t come home,” he accused, not bothering to look up from the toy train he was holding in his hands.

“I know.”

“Where were you?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“None of your business.” My brows furrowed. “You got a train?”

Tadhg nodded stiffly. “Yeah.”

“But you’re almost twelve.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t played with trains since you were seven.”

“I know.”

“That’s probably for Sean or Ollie,” I offered, setting Sean down and reaching for the wrapping paper. “Ma – Santa must have put the wrong name on it.”

“It’s not,” Tadhg replied quietly, holding a gift tag up for me. “It’s for me.”

Boy, aged 7-11

the blue gift tag read, and I felt sick, suddenly knowing exactly where the sparse amount of presents under the tree had come from.

Ballylaggin’s charity Christmas toy appeal.

Because in this town, our family was considered a charity case.

“What did you get?” I forced myself to ask Ollie, striving for all I was worth to keep my tone light.

“Oh, I gots this super cool game,” he explained, reaching for a travel-size edition of Connect Four.

“Got,” Tadhg corrected wearily. ”It’s got, not gots.”

“Got,” Ollie chimed back. “And Seany gots this glowing worm.“

“Got!”

“Uh-huh, got,” Ollie repeated grinning up at me. “Want to play, Joe?”

No, I want to die.

“Maybe later,” I replied, “But you should go check my room. Maybe Santa left something in there.”

Three pairs of widened brown eyes locked on me. “Again?”

I shrugged. “You never know.”

“You absolute legend!” Tadhg hooted, bolting past me for the staircase. “

“Come on, Sean,” Ollie squealed, pulling the baby of the family up the rickety staircase after him. “I bet Santa hid the good presents in Joey’s room again this year!”

“Yes!” I heard Tadhg cheer from upstairs. “Deadly!”

Shaking my head, I ignored the vibrating in my pocket and stalked into the kitchen, to where my mother was peeling potatoes. “You couldn’t get them anything they wanted?” I demanded in a hushed tone. “Not even a fucking football?”

“I didn’t have any money left over after the groceries,” she replied, blushing.

“You couldn’t spare a tenner?” I demanded, throwing my hands up. “Tadhg was gutted in there. He’s not a baby anymore, Mam. He knows where those presents come from and it’s fucking humiliating for him. I know. I’ve been him. I’ve been the kid whose friends’ parents donated their unwanted shit to. It’s horrible.”

Mam sniffled. “Yeah, well, I’m sure whatever you bought him will save the day.”

There was an edge to her tone, and it got my back up.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re pissed with me because I saved your ass? Again?”

“No, I’m not pissed with you. I’m embarrassed. I feel bad enough about it, Joey, I really do,” she mumbled, keeping her chin tucked down, as she clumsily peeled the potatoes. “So please spare me the third degree.”

“You can’t afford the kids you already have, so you decided that it would be the perfect time to throw another into the mix?” I couldn’t stop myself from throwing at her. “What’s going to happen to this one if you can’t look after it? Because I’m not doing it again, do ya hear me? I’m not mothering another newborn.”

She flinched like I struck her. “There’s nothing you can say that will make me feel worse than I already do.”

Leaning a hip against the counter, I stared at her and asked, “What about the money I gave you? Couldn’t you have bought them something with that?”

She didn’t respond.

“Mam?”

Nothing.

“What did you do with the money I gave you?”

“Your father owed some money,” she finally admitted, voice barely more than a broken whisper. “It couldn’t wait.”

“Jesus Christ, that was two hundred euro!” Blowing out a breath, I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “It was for you and the kids, not his gambling debts and bar ticks! Do you have any idea how long that took me to save up?” I gaped at her. “Mam, that was a week’s wage to me. I won’t be paid again until the new year – and neither will you.”

“I know,” she whispered, sniffling. “I’m sorry.”

“And if the electric goes in the meantime?” I demanded, feeling panicked. “Or we run out of coal for the fire before either one of us gets paid next? What then?”

“Joey.“

“How are we going to heat them, Mam?” I choked out, heart thumping violently in my chest. “How are we going to keep them warm?”

“I’ll get paid my children’s allowance money next week,” she strangled out. “We’ll cope until then.”

“Your children’s allowance money?” I glared at her in disbelief. “You’re depending on an income that he has always blown on drink to get us by?”

“Your father is off the drink,” she was quick to defend. “He swears it this time.”

“Just stop.“ Holding a hand up, I turned and walked out of the kitchen before I lost it. “I can’t hear another word.”

“Joey, wait!”

“How long are we going to keep living like this, Mam?” I tossed over my shoulder. “Because I’m really running on empty here.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that maybe those kids would be better off in care.”

Moving for the staircase, I ignored my mother’s pleading tone as she begged me to come back and talk to her and hurried up to my room.

“He didn’t leave them under the tree. The silly Billy hid our presents in your wardrobe, Joe,” Ollie exclaimed, clutching the weird-ass Gizmo-looking creature he had begged Santa for – the one Molloy and I had queued up for hours in the pissing rain to secure. “See?” He held up the creepy doll creature for all to see. “Santa’s the best.”

“Mind him,” I warned. Fucker cost me a half a week’s wages.

“Yeah.” Setting his new hurley down on my bed, Tadhg walked over to where I was standing in the doorway and wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me tightly. “He really is the best.”

“O-ee, O-ee.” Pulling on the leg of my jeans, Sean grappled for my attention. “O-ee?” Reaching down, he grabbed his Elmo and held it up for me. “E-mo.”

“Good job,” I praised, sinking down to his level. “And see this fella?” I held the red teddy up to him. “He uses the potty just like Seany.”

“Happy birthday, Joe,” Shannon said from behind me, and I swung around just in time to see her produce a homemade cake from behind her back. “I know you’re eighteen today,” she added with a blush. “But I could only find four candles.”

“Make a wish, Joe,” Ollie cheered. “And don’t tell us what it is, or it won’t come true.”

“You made me a cake?”

Blushing a deeper shade of pink, my little sister nodded.

I cocked a brow. “An edible cake?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” she laughed. “I’ve been cooking your dinner for years and I haven’t poisoned you yet, have I?”

“Not yet.” Standing up, I ruffled her hair. “Thanks, Shan. Did you get the CD Santa left on your nightstand?”

“Yes.” She beamed up at me. “He was most generous.”

“Come on, Joe,” Ollie groaned. “Make a wish and blow out the cangles. I want some cake.”

Tadhg sighed. “It’s candles, not cangles.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Jesus, don’t start this shit already.” Leaning in, I quickly blew out the candles before looking to my sister and saying, “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I would do so much more if I could,” she replied, leaning in for a half-hug, while she batted several small hands away from the cake. “I love you, Joe.”

“O-ee,” Seany crooned, clutching my leg. “O-ee.”

“We all do,” Tadhg begrudgingly agreed. “Love you, that is.”

“Uh-huh,” Ollie added. “So much.”

“Yeah.” I blew out a pained breath and took stock of the small humans circling me. “Right back at ye.”

I was officially eighteen years old.

I could walk right out the front door, and nobody could stop me.

I could leave.

I could be free.

But the four small faces staring expectantly up at me were so defenseless, so utterly dependent on my ability to provide for and protect them, that I knew in my heart that I would never leave this house until I could take them with me.

Whether it was love or duty that kept me shackled here, the lines were too blurred to differentiate, but one thing I was sure of was that I would never become to them what Darren had become to me.

I would never abandon them.

If I could do nothing else, then I would spare them that pain.