2021 PUSHCART AWARD NOMINEE
Gavin Colton THE LIPPY
Colly was waiting for the bus with Pat. They’d been working on a site in Smithfield that day together. A new block of swanky flats. Two-thousand euro a month for a one-bedroom, and there was Colly taking a dump in the new jacks. They’d never know, the rich bastards. After work, they went for a couple of pints at O’Neill’s to take the edge off. The Liverpool match was just starting when they’d left but Colly had to get home to Nicole to relieve her from the girls. She had her Christmas-do for work in town at the Arlington. She’d have a fit if he came home late. Or worse, in bits drunk.
He was telling Pat about Nicole’s birthday party in the house on Stephen’s Day. “All the oul ones were up doin’ the karaoke,” Colly said.
“Any use?”
“Mary from next door has some pipes on her.”
The 25A turned down Westmoreland Street, filing in behind the line of other buses, big double-deckers, humming along the curb, collecting the masses. It was spitting a bit. People had their brollies up. Colly and Pat were getting rinsed.
Colly was feeling a bit warm in the face now, the cold rain splattering on his cheeks. The pints did that to him, he pictured the big red nose on him. Nicole would notice and go mad.
“You’d know that just looking at her. The pipes, like,” Pat said.
“Yeah.”
“What was she singin’?”
“Celine Dion.”
“She’d want some pipes for that shite. Good for her.”
The rain banged down heavier now, glimmering against the Christmas lights strung around the pillars outside the Central Bank, where a cluster of homeless lads were setting up camp for the evening.
Colly squeezed in under the brolly of some French-looking fella. He didn’t look happy about it. Pat stood there on the other side of Frenchy, rain beating down on him, no hood up. Pat was relentless. Then he spoke.
“Nicole enjoy herself, yeh?” Pat said.
“Ah yeh, she was happy out.”
“Forty, wha’?”
“Ancient.”
“Don’t tell her tha’.”
“Nicole enjoyed herself. The girls made her a cake an’ all. Was good craic, everyone up in the gaf.”
“Good. Ye need that around the Christmas.”
“Some cleanin’ job the next mornin’ though. The state of the place.”
The 25A crawled along, the wipers going ninety, flicking rain at all the pricks waiting on the culchie buses, big bags of shopping with them. Colly was getting soaked waiting, and he’d never make it back for the match at this rate.
“Should have seen Mary from next door, Pat.”
“She’s a bit of problem, doesn’t she?”
“She’s grand, the girls love her. But she ended up vomiting all over the gaf,”
“She didn’t?”
“She did, Pat. Swear.”
“Musta been the Celine Dion.”
“Pure shite.”
He recalled the scene there in the sitting room on Stephen’s Day. All the women, Nicole and her mates. Wagons. All clustered, watching the words on the telly turn from blue to pink—Mary from next door holding the microphone in her mouth like a Loop the Loop—all belting it together.
“It was everywhere.”
“No. On the telly?”
“Yeh.”
“The carpet?”
“Fucked. She even managed to land a bit on the Christmas tree.”
“Some pipes on her.”
The bus wheel popped up over the curb. The doors hissed then folded open. Pat gestured for a woman to get on ahead of him. Colly could see Pat was looking at her arse.
The driver was a Polish bird by the sound of her. Or Romanian. Long black ponytail hanging out of her head, strung back like there was no tomorrow. It was a wonder she could breathe at all. Colly thought her eyes were going to fall out of her face, her skin stretched back like that. She could have been sixteen or sixty. He wasn’t great with these things. He scanned his Leap Card while Pat counted out the change and held it over the hopper.
The bus was already jammers and they hadn’t even made it to Palmerstown yet. Colly could smell the rain. A mix between rotten leather and vinegar. Pat sat down next to him on the upper deck.
There were a heap of fuckers crossing the Ha’Penny Bridge, funneling under Merchant’s Arch—Spanish students by the look of them with their big glasses and stonewash jeans, paying eight-euro for pints. Good for the economy.
Pat spoke.
“I bet Nicole was ragin’ was she? About your one bein’ sick everywhere?”
“That’s the thing, Pat. Nobody noticed except for me and the girls. I don’t think Mary noticed herself, she went on singin’ the words on the telly ignorin’ the reincarnated curry on the screen. Didn’t miss a note, Pat. Evelyn and Niamh went off screamin’.”
“Sounds like a mad one.”
“It was, yeh.”
Colly folded the reusable Aldi bag he’d used to store his sandwiches as small as he could. The girls had made him and Nicole get rid of all the plastic ones in the gaf. The bag was on its last legs.
“Nicole needed it to be fair to her. It’s been hard on her, movin’ the brother into the nursin’ home. He doesn’t remember where he is when she goes up there. Keeps asking when he’s goin’ home and who’s feedin’ the fuckin’ dog.”
“Poor cunt.”
“She has to keep tellin’ him over and over that the dog died years back, then he gets in bits and wants to get back on the drink. She won’t bring him smokes either.”
“That’s a bit much. Would her Da not help, no? He’s fit enough.”
“He washed his hands of the brother over the Christmas after he caught him tryin’ to ride the turkey.”
“Jaysis.”
“Imagine tha’, Pat? Christmas Eve. The girls upstairs, wide awake, waitin’ for Santy’s sleigh bells on the roof.”
“And your man downstairs millin’ the turkey out of it.”
“Up the arse!”
“Givin’ it a good stuffin’.”
They were dyin’, the two of them. Pat creased over himself.
They settled down. Pat placed his hands over his kneecaps, and sat up again, real square. A sheet of condensation blanketed their window now. They were howling, huffing away. Colly looked at his reflection in the window, his fringe combed down his forehead front the rain. Colly didn’t give a shite if anyone could hear them. It was good craic. He stood up and propped open the little window. The bus driver was flying, he could hear breaths of wind rushing in now. She took the bend in the road by Houston Station, trying to beat the amber light. All of Pat’s weight fell into Colly. Colly could smell the sweat and pints on him. He pushed Pat off with his elbow. The bus levelled out and they were still and quiet again.
“Nicole would’ve lost it only it was Christmas and the kids were delighted there under the tree with their presents off Santy the next mornin’. They were fascinated by the biscuit crumbs on the plate by the fire.
“It’s different gravy at Christmas. With the kids there, like. I remember the days.”
“Yeh.”
Colly reckoned this would be the girls’ last year for Santy. He hoped they’d cop on and say something themselves. Santy was getting too expensive, the older they got. Colly regretted all the times he’d told them, if yous don’t believe yous won’t receive. If they knew him and Nicole were skint and couldn’t be buying iPads and Playstations for Christmas, they’d say they were happy to take a hit on the presents. It’d be their idea. They were good like that. But Colly and Nicole kept that stuff well hidden from the Evelyn and Niamh.
The bus had been at the Liffey Valley stop for a few minutes. Colly wiped a hole in the condensation to get a look. An army of shoppers, bags hanging off them—Topshop, River Island, the brown Penny’s ones, and the glossy Marks & Sparks ones. They burrowed their way onto the bus. Once the bus was full, he could hear the Polish driver telling them to feck off and wait for the next one.
It was bucketing down. Colly couldn’t blame them.
Pat craned himself to have a look, then spoke, “You wouldn’t be arsed would you?”
“With wha’?”
“The sales. They’re always shite. It’s only the old stock they fuck out there. It’s like feedin’ the French: Dress up a cow’s langer, call it Bellend Beef Bourguignon and they’ll pay fifty euro for it on a bed of spuds.” Pat was swinging his arm between his legs.
“I’ve to bring the girls at the weekend,” Colly said. “Where?”
“Shoppin’.”
“God help yeh.”
“I promised them. Slaughtered one night before the Christmas. Only home from the pub and they’re up on me lap.”
“Like dogs.”
“Askin’ for a shoppin’ trip with Daddy for Christmas.”
“At their age? What are they now, six?”
“Eight. You were at the birthday, doin’ the broom dance in the driveway.”
“Oh yeah.” Pat started drawing something on the condensation.
“Jesus. Eight.”
“Goin’ on eighty.”
Colly checked his phone. A text from Nicole: DON’T BE LATE! He didn’t respond. The girls would be having their dinner at home, making a mess. Colly hoped Nicole would look after all that before he got back.
“Nicole had me type up little IOUs on the computer and shove them into envelopes.”
“You’re fucked.”
A few lads filtered up the stairs at the next stop and lined the aisle. They were soaked and looked freezing standing there, one hand on their Penny’s bags, the other on their little mickeys. A woman’s voice bellowed from the back of the bus. She sounded sloshed, which made Colly a bit jealous. He fancied another pint himself; all the lads would be there by now, in front of the big projector, the lovely youngone serving them pints right from the table. Nicole didn’t even like most of the people from her work, she was always complaining about them. And the girls would be going mad at home. He had enough of them over the Christmas. Him and Nicole couldn’t wait for them to go back to school. Bit of peace.
At the next stop, a woman came up the stairs and sat down behind Colly and Pat. She clocked Pat on the back of the head by accident with her handbag. Colly looked at his watch. It’d be nearly halftime by now. He could see Salah there, the silky cunt running rings around the Wolves back four. He got a notification on his phone to say Mané had scored. 1-0. Lovely. He had Mané in the Fantasy League.
“Once they get their paws into your wallet you’re fucked. They’ll be wantin’ the good stuff too. Nicole will have them trained,” Pat said.
“She better not.”
“Nothin’ cheap about daughters.”
Nicole and the girls conspired against him. It felt that way at least. The type of pizza they ordered: Fucking veggie. The color that Colly had to paint the kitchen: Blue Whale Blue (What other colors do whales come in? Colly asked the prick at the paint shop). Even the car they bought—the two girls in the backseat of a Toyota Corolla saying they don’t like that there’s no cupholders. They got their fuckin’ cupholders and spilled 7UP all over the backseat in the first week.
“I sat them down to tell them there’d be none of that Victoria’s Secret shite.”
The girls were always looking at pictures of yougones on Nicole’s phone. They had their own little Instagram now. Colly was putting the foot down. The girls were too young for that shite.
“Good on you,” Pat said. “What did they say to tha’?”
“They laughed at me. Gobs hangin’ off them.”
“The cheek.”
“Nicole too. Wettin’ herself.”
“She should know better.”
“Rollin’ around the carpet, they were. Creased.”
“Where Mary chucked her guts?”
“In stiches. I nearly walked out of the gaf.”
The woman behind them shut the window that Colly had propped open. He was still pure sweating there next to Pat, who had his legs spread out and his hardhat sitting over his lap.
“You should’ve texted me. I’d have gone for a pint,” Pat said.
“I tried leavin’. But Nicole got up off her arse and dragged me back before I could get me other shoe on me. When I came back in, the girls burst again. I could’ve slapped them.”
He couldn’t really. But he’d felt like a bollox there in front of them in the sitting room, the girls cackling away at his expense.
“I wouldn’t have blamed you. What were they laughin’ at? What was so funny?”
The bus was hammering down the N4 now. Colly could feel himself being pulled back into the seat. Maybe it was just the pints.
“Nicole explained it later after I sent the girls to bed for laughin’. They howled through the wall for another twenty minutes.”
“Wha’ was it? I’m hooked now,” Pat said.
The oul one behind them spoke now. Big bogger accent on her. Donegal maybe. “Me too. Will you get to it? I’m off at the next stop.”
“Go ‘way, you,” Pat said. He pushed her bag off the back of his seat.
“I thought she was goin’ to tell me that I couldn’t police what the girls wore because they’d only end up wearin’ it anyway, treatin’ the bridge over the canal as their personal dressin’ room. We’d been through that before.”
“What did you say to tha’?”
“I said I thought she was goin’ to say tha’.”
“She’d have been right too.” The oul one was back leaning between them.
“Will you fuck off?” Pat said. He put his arm over the back of the seat, around Colly. He scooted closer so he could whisper to Colly. “My girls were the same.”
Colly turned himself a bit so he could see the woman. Include her, sure she was listening anyway. She’d a mad head of hair on her. He hadn’t expected that. Women never sound how they look.
“They wanted to go shoppin’?”
“You already said that,” the oul one said.
Colly could’ve clipped her.
“They wanted to go shoppin’ for me, but. Nicole said they’d felt sorry for me in me jeans and T-shirts. That the girls wanted to pick out a few nice shirts and a couple pairs of trousers with the nice big crease down the shin. ‘More like Mr. Chan,’ the girls told her.”
“Their teacher? The Chinese fella? He’s a melt.”
“Nicole’s mad for him.”
The oul one stood up. She didn’t seem satisfied with the story. Most stories aren’t satisfying, Colly thought. She dinged the button to let the driver know to stop and began barreling through the lads with their Penny’s bags, down the stairs. Colly could hear her. Excuse me. Sorry. Out of the way, love. Where’d you get money for those bags? Good luck with the shoppin’!
“He’s Irish, Pat. He just looks Chinese.”
“Right,” Pat said. He had that puzzled look on his face. “You wouldn’t know anymore with the immigrants, if they’re Irish or not.”
“They’re givin’ passports out in crisp packets.”
“Let them. It’s not too bad. Bit of culture like.”
“What do you know about culture, Pat?”
They sat there in silence. The bus emptied as it went.
“Well that’s nice of them isn’t it? The girls?”
“I suppose.”
The next few stops pinged on. The pints had worn off and it was getting a bit sweaty next to Pat. Colly and Pat hopped off the bus, thanking the Polish driver. She grunted something at them and Colly thought about calling her a bitch. But he didn’t see the sense in that. Years ago, he might have. He wasn’t arsed anymore.
Pat spoke as they crossed the road.
“I still don’t know wha’ they were laughin’ at. The girls.”
Colly smiled thinking about it. About the girls.
“They didn’t know.” Colly wasn’t arsed explaining.
“Didn’t know wha’?”
“That I didn’t know, like. That the shoppin’ was for me.”
“Jesus. You’d think they’d say tha’ up front.”
“I was a bit embarrassed, Pat, I’ll be honest.”
“I’d be the same myself.”
“So, while I was bangin’ on about Victoria’s Secret, they were picturin’ me in a pair of little knickers. Niamh had whispered somethin’ to Evelyn, who passed it onto Nicole.”
“I can see yeh in a pair of leather ones?” Pat chuckled a bit. “Nicole said she fancied me in a red pair.”
“Big Liverpool crest stretched over your John Thomas.”
“Can you ‘magine?
“Might suit, you.”
“Yeh bollox.”
They stopped outside the Penny Hill. A couple of the lads were outside smoking. Colly gave them a wave.
“Are yeh not comin’ no?” Pat said.
Colly checked his phone. Nicole had put a reminder into his calendar, so he didn’t forget. “Can’t, Pat. Nicole will be at the door waitin’ to go.”
Dunny Kavanagh roared out of a car at Colly and Pat. He was hanging out the window, a cloud of balloons dragging behind him.
“Dunny’s missus must have squeezed the baby out.”
“Good for her,” Colly said.
“Two days, she’s been in there. The little one just wouldn’t let go. Think Dunny was a bit worried there by the end.”
“I’d be the same.”
“We’ll have to get the kid on the Tug-o-War next year so. The anchor.”
Colly imagined a big dirty pint and a packet of cheese and onion. He felt horrible. It could have been the pints in his stomach; the bus home was a bit wobbly in the end. He could drink one pint, wet the baby’s head. Sure, Dunny had done them a favor fixing the boiler before the Christmas, not charging them. What sort of friend would he be if he didn’t show up for a whistler to welcome the baby into the world?
He was at his front door by the time he finished mulling it over. The telly was on in the front room, blinking through the window, the shadows of the girls dancing around, singing that Lady Gaga shite. Mary was out watering her plants, sunglasses hanging off her nose. Mary thinks she’s living in California.
“Are you not watchin’ the game, Colly?” she said. She went on watering her car in the driveway.
“I’m goin’ inside to watch it now, Mary thanks.”
“Is it not on at the pub?” She moved a thumb over the copper rim at the end of the hose and sprayed the hanging baskets over her front windows. Some water splattered onto Colly’s front window.
“I’ve to look after the girls. Nicole’s got a do tonight.”
The girls popped their heads up at the window. Knocking on it and waving to Mary, who was showering the window now. The girls had their tongues plastered on the window. Colly heard a pair of teeth clatter of the glass.
“Send the girls into me,” Mary said.
Evelyn was opening the window.
“Close that fuckin’ window,” Colly said.
Nicole would murder him when she found out that he sent the girls into Mary’s instead of looking after them. He could bribe the girls with something, he knew they could keep a secret. But he couldn’t stop Mary from banging on about it whenever she saw Nicole next. He couldn’t be seen to be lying to Mary.
If he left now, he could catch Pat for a round and get to the pub for the second half of the match and give a little splash for Dunny’s baby. Dunny told everyone that if the baby was a boy that he wanted to call him Leo.
“After your man Messi?” Pat had said.
“Hardly after Leo Burdocks is it?” Dunny said.
The Polish bird had bombed it home on the bus, fair play to her. And Mary had saved the day. It was sorted. He had to hurry her up a bit though. She took ages getting ready for anything. Mary would be expecting the girls at the beginning of the second half.
The blow dryer was roaring in the kitchen. Nicole looked like she’d hung her head out a car window going down the Lucan Road. Hair all over the shop. Colly crept up behind her and popped his face into the mirror, where she was gawking at herself.
“Some head on you,” he said.
He palmed her hair as though it was charged with electricity. Like the experiments the kids did in the RDS before Christmas. That was gas.
Nicole clattered him.
He pulled off his boots and kicked them under the kitchen table. They were wringing from the rain. Nicole would have a fit.
“You didn’t say it was fancy dress, love. I’d have lent you me Scream mask.” Nicole ignored him and went on digging the pencil into her eye.
“You look great, love, you’d want to be getting goin’ wouldn’t you? Traffic was mad comin’ home,” Colly said. She really did look lovely, really. She always dolled herself up lovely, hours hunkered down at the mirror caking on the make-up, squeezing into the dresses, even after she’d had the girls.
Colly tried to give her a kiss. “Fuck off, you. Me make-up.”
He looked at her lips. Big red yokes made bigger by the lippy.
“Is tha’ the one I got you for Christmas?” He’d been hours in a shop on Parnell Street trying to pick a color, holding it up to the youngones faces, imagining it on Nicole’s mouth. He thought about trying it on himself. Just to see.
“It is.” She smacked her lips, which made a little pop. “I told you I liked it. I wasn’t lyin’.”
Colly liked that she was wearing it to the Christmas-do at work. All the blokes would be cozying up to her for a dance, the handsy bastards, and Colly would be there on her lips screaming, fuck off ye prick!
A crash came from the front room, where the girls were. He imagined Mary there banging at the front window with the broom for the girls to come over.
“Good. I’m glad you like it. What’s the name of it again?”
“You’re the one who bought it!”
“But I forgot.”
“Paris Red.”
She said it slow. She sounded pure sexy saying it.
“Ah yeh. I remember thinkin’ in the shop, Paris! Now, that’s a bit of Nicole. Classy like.” He was beaming at her. He fancied a kiss.
“You could do your make-up in the taxi, love. I said about the traffic.”
She clapped her lips together again and compared the color on the stick to her lips.
“Better than socks,” she said. “I got you socks as well.”
“Oh yeh.”
“Did you not like the socks?”
“I did. They’re lovely. I’m not lyin’.”
She kissed him on the cheek. He felt the lippy peel away from his skin. He pictured the bow-shaped stain left behind. He’d leave it there till the morning and watch it dance while he washed his teeth. Nicole would be in bed. Hanging. He’d get a fry on for her. She’d love that. For a rasher sandwich, he could get the leg over. It had been weeks since he’d gotten a ride. They’d been so busy gettin’ ready for the Christmas. Nothing came cheap at Christmas.
“Now fuck off,” Nicole said.
She went back to the mirror, gawking at herself.
In the front room, the girls were screaming at the microphone. There’d still be a whiff of Mary’s insides off it. “Howya, messers!”
He was in their house now, toys and teddies tossed around the carpet, under the sofa, Mr. Buggle buried, headfirst, in the fireplace. Half-eaten plates of dinner set on the carpet like landmines, waiting to be flipped up into an explosion of chicken kiev and Heinz beans. Hadn’t the carpet had enough for one Christmas?
“Da!”
“Colly!” Evelyn had been calling him by his name. Nicole said if he ignored it, she’d eventually stop. It had been three weeks and he was getting used to it.
He plopped onto the sofa where the remote control was—if he didn’t seize it now, he’d never get the match on. It’d be the Polar fuckin’ Express again.
Colly’s phone pinged in his pocket. A text from Pat.
COLLY?
WHAT
NICOLE’S BROTHER
WHAT ABOUT HIM?
WITH THE TURKEY
WHAT ABOUT THE TURKEY?
DID HE WEAR A RUBBER?
FUCK OFF.
Nicole was taking ages. He could hear the blow dryer going again. And the girls were wrestling on top of him. He had them. One in each arm. Squirming. Niamh bit him to get free.
“Ye bollox,” he roared.
“Sorry,” Niamh said. Colly heard the blow dryer go off for a moment, then start back up again.
Evelyn apologized too. Just in case.
He wiped the wet from his arm. A pink arc of teeth marks. Harmless enough, no blood.
He reefed them in again. He heard Nicole bounding up the stairs. She was rushing.
“Did yous behave for your ma?”
“No.”
“Yeh.”
He loved the two of them up on his lap. They were as mad as a bag of snakes, but they’d grow out of that. Eventually. Probably.
Nicole popped her head back in a few minutes later. The hair had settled to a few frothy waves hanging on Nicole’s shoulders. Colly had gotten the match on.
“Give us a look at you, love. Go on. The full shabang.”
“Fuck off! The taxi’s waitin’.”
“Don’t you want to see your ma, full garb, girls?”
They chanted, the three of them on the sofa—Evelyn had started it off. Ma Ma Ma. Faster and louder with every Ma. They were like sheep.
Nicole scoffed a bit then stepped in, pulling the end of her dress down toward her knees. Colly noticed she’d forgotten to shave one knee but decided against sayin’ anythin’ now. A little tuft wouldn’t hurt. She’d be like Monroe with her mole around the office.
“Giz a twirl, Ma.”
“Weapon!” Colly said. He could see her rubying up behind the make-up.
“Gorgeous, Ma,” Niamh said. “I like the back.”
Colly grabbed Niamh with both hands and flung her over his lap.
“What do you know about backs, ye wally!” He pretended to bite her hand while she wriggled. Evelyn hopped on top of them and the two pints from earlier nearly came up. He’d be in trouble if that happened.
Outside, the taxi beeped, then threw the flashers in the front window.
“Righ’ I’m off.”
“Tell your man to fuck off with his horn out there.”
“Yeah, fuck off!” the girls said. One after the other. He didn’t hear who said it first, so he couldn’t punish them for cursing. They were at the window now, flipping the bird at the taxi, the impatient prick. Colly let them at it.
“Have you money, love?” he said.
“Yeh, loads of it.”
The baubles on the Christmas tree jingled when Nicole slammed the front door on her way out. The girls stayed there at the window waving. They were mad things, the two of them.
Colly turned up the volume on the match—he’d nearly forgotten about it. There were thirty minutes left, plus whatever the ref added on for injuries and subs and the fuckin’ VAR checks.
“Come ‘way from the window! The neighbors will think you’re tryin’ to escape.”
They were back on him, one on either hip on the sofa, legs swinging across his lap, kicking each other. He put a stop to it before he caught a flailing heel to the bollox. Grabbed their feet and held them in a boney little knot on his leg.
“Will yous let me watch the match? There’s only a few minutes left.” Evelyn had broken free and was up at the telly now, pawing the thing. “There’s twenty-five minutes left, Da. That’s not a few.”
She was her mother’s daughter.
A text from Nicole:
CANS IN FRIDGE! LUV U XXX
He gave her a thumbs up.
He felt the sofa hug him and pull his arse into the crease between the cushions.
Niamh jumped up beside Evelyn. They’d gotten taller over the Christmas, Colly noticed now.
“Is tha’ Liverpool, Da?” Niamh said. She had her finger on the screen, tracing the movement of the ball around the pitch. He’d bought them both a jersey each for Christmas, but they hadn’t a clue.
“Yeh, love.” He was angling himself to see the telly now. “Get ou’ the way, will yous and sit down!” he roared. He didn’t like roaring at the girls.
Niamh dropped down on the carpet between his legs. He had to spread his feet so Evelyn could sit down in the same fashion next to her sister. He could make out their faces in the reflection of the fireplace. They were the spit of Nicole. They’d be glad of that someday, that they didn’t get his mallet head.
“Good girls.”
He felt bad, roaring at them like that. They were only having a bit of craic. They’d be better off next door at Mary’s burning the ear off the poor woman and sucking the life out of the Werther’s Orginals. They didn’t care about the match. Neither did he if he thought about it long enough. No, he’d get a laugh out of them. They were easy. They deserved that much from him.
He took two cushions.
“Righ’. Now.”
He placed them, one each, on top of their heads.
“You have to balance them.”
“Like the women in the Unicef ads?”
“Sure, love.”
“Or like Mary from next door with her plants,” Evelyn said. The three of them started laughing.
“She’ll hear you,” Niamh said.
They were trying to hold their heads still. It was a game for them. Everything was a game.
Colly sank back into the sofa, laid his legs out long and lowered his calves to the cushions so his feet fell in front of their faces. They’d get a good bang off his socks.
“Steady now. Yous righ’?”
The girls’ chuckling picked up steam. He felt them bobbin’ away there on the carpet. Fuck it, he’d throw on a film for them after. He had a selection box in the fridge he’d share. Nicole would kill him. He’d have a can too. He’d have a look after the match.
Originally from Co. Kildare in Ireland, Gavin Colton is co-editor in chief at New Limestone Review and an MFA candidate at the University of Kentucky. His fiction has appeared in La Piccioletta Barca, Loch Norse Magazine, and the Kentucky Kernel. Forthcoming essay appearing in the Irish Independent.
Find him on Twitter @GavinColton