Saturday, November 8th 2014

Jack stirred a spoonful of brown sugar into his tea, watching the granules dissolve, anything to avoid looking at Róisín. He could feel her eyes drilling into him from across the café table, unimpressed, arms folded. He had known this conversation was coming before she had text him to meet—he just hadn't expected it to be this awkward.

'Yeah, sorry. I've just been so busy up in Dublin,' he lied. His voice felt thin, weak, like even he didn't believe himself.

Róisín scoffed, shaking her head. 'Busy? Too busy to send a fucking text?'

Jack clenched his jaw, gripping his mug tighter, 'sorry.'

They were the only ones in the café apart from two baristas leaning against the counter, both pretending to scroll on their phones, but he knew they were listening. He wished she'd lower her voice, but she was never one to care about making a scene.

'You had time to check Instagram though, didn't ya?' she added, arching a brow.

Jack exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing his forehead. He knew exactly what she was on about. The photo.

'You've some nerve.'

She blinked. 'Excuse me?'

Jack leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. 'What was that Instagram post meant to be anyway? A dig?'

'Oh, now you care?' she laughed, a bitter edge to her voice. 'You couldn't be arsed texting me back for weeks, but one little post and suddenly you're interested in what I'm at?'

'I just thought it was fucking childish, that's all.'

Róisín scoffed again, gripping her cup. 'You never gave a shit, Jack. Not when we were actually together, not after. So don't act like you do now just 'cause you saw me with someone else.'

'It made me look like a prick, getting pied.'

'Pied? What is this Love Island?' she scowled.

'You know what I mean.'

'Yeah I do. You care because I made you look stupid. But it's OK for you to do the same to me!'

Jack clenched his jaw. He didn't have an argument for that, not one that wouldn't make him sound like a complete prick. But he had to say something. 'We weren't together Róisín. We were just ridin'.'

She leaned forward slightly, frowning, voice quieter now. 'Did you even like me, Jack?' The words hung there, and he felt something tighten in his chest. She stared at him, waiting, but he had nothing. Her expression twisted. 'Seriously?'

'I don't know what you want me to say, Róisín.'

She let out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking her head. 'Jesus Christ, Jack.' She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. 'You're actually unbelievable.'

He watched her stand, watched her storm toward the door, but still, he didn't stop her. A minute later, he climbed into Begs' car, where he had arranged a quick escape, expecting the conversation to go exactly how it had.

'So how did it go, lad?' Begs asked hopefully.

'Don't,' Jack muttered.

'She's a bit of a wagon anyway, in fairness. You can do better.'

Jack said nothing, staring out the window as they pulled onto the road. He wasn't sure if he could do better. He wasn't sure what better even meant anymore.

'Any craic with you, anyway? How's Cork?' Jack asked, trying to change the subject. 'Feels like I haven't seen you or Wham in ages.'

Begs exhaled through his nose. 'Yeah...Wham Bar is...' He paused, searching for the right words. 'I dunno if he's settling in properly. He's barely going to college anymore. Doesn't leave his room much. One of the lads in the house thinks he's depressed.'

Jack sat up slightly. 'Fuck. Really?'

'Ya.'

'That's heavy.'

'Yeah... I'm a bit worried about him, like.'

Jack didn't know what to say. Wham Bar? Depressed? That didn't make sense. Wham Bar was the joker, the lad who always had a smart remark, always took the piss. Always laughing. It was impossible to picture him lying in bed all day, curtains drawn.

'Have you talked to him about it?'

Begs shook his head. 'I dunno what to say to him. You know what he's like.'

Jack nodded. They weren't really the kind of friend group that talked about this stuff. They made fun of each other, sure, but actually talking? That wasn't how things worked.

He thought about texting him later, but already knew he probably wouldn't, 'that's heavy.'

At home, Jack pushed peas around his plate, appetite gone. His mother pottered around the kitchen with a cloth in her hand, tidying up as she chatted to him.

'It's good to see you, Jack,' his mother said, reaching across the table to squeeze his wrist. 'Feels like I never see you anymore.'

'Busy with college, I guess,' he said, forcing a smile.

'Of course,' she nodded, but then her tone shifted—just slightly. 'Just don't let Dublin change you.' Jack froze. 'You know the world is trying to confuse people these days,' she continued. 'I just worry about you, you know?'

There it was. That creeping doubt in her voice, the assumption. Like she was afraid of something. Afraid of him. His stomach twisted. 'I'm alright, Mam,' he murmured, picking at the edge of his plate.

'I know, I know,' she said quickly, her voice softening again, back to warmth, back to normal. 'You're just my baby boy. I guess it's hard to accept you've grown up.'

Jack forced a smile. 'I'll always be your son.' The words felt heavy.

His mother smiled back, content. 'That's my boy.'

And Jack couldn't tell which version of her hurt more—the one who smiled at him, or the one who feared what he might become.