Chapter 1: “This isn’t your garden; it’s mine.”

The cat was yowling.
The alarm clock beside my bed glowed intrusively as I peeped out from under my pillow.

1:00 AM.

Moonlight streamed in through the gap in the curtains, casting a strip of light across the blankets on my bed. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been lying there, conscious of the racket caused by our moggy, but my hopes of falling asleep were beginning to dwindle somewhat. In contrast, the house seemed silent; obviously my brother and mother could sleep through the noise.
Why we’d even got a cat in the first place was beyond me, but if it kept on like that, I’d have it stuffed above the mantelpiece. Oh, yes; in my penguin patterned pyjamas and piggy slippers, he was about to realise he was making a powerful enemy. My footfalls rang out through the silence of the house as I made my way down the stairs, unruly bed hair flopping over my face. The clock in the living room ticked innocently as I flipped the latch on the French doors, letting the cool autumn air assault my face as I slipped outside. It rippled through my thin nightwear, causing a chill to run up the back of my neck.

However, any thoughts of coldness evaporated from my mind as the sounds of muffled, laboured pants echoed up from the bottom of the garden. Eyebrows raising up under my fringe, I picked up the first thing that came to hand; the shovel that had lain discarded since my brother decided that digging to Australia was far more effort than it was worth, and raised it over my left shoulder. I crept over the neatly cut lawn, the darkness covering my every movement, making my way towards the moans coming from behind the large oak tree.

"Oh, Niall, don't stop!"

It was me who stopped; dead in my tracks with the spade held high over my head and a disgusted expression on my face.

Someone was having sex. Someone was having sexual intercourse in my garden. Someone was copulating under my tree.

I didn't know whether to turn around, go back to bed and let them get on with it, or ask them politely if they could take it somewhere else. There were several things to weigh up; going back to bed and feigning ignorance in the morning when my mother discovered anything left behind seemed to be a safer option.

"What the hell are you doin’ in my garden?" His voice, deep, brooding and very Irish, rang out in the darkness, making me jump slightly. Great; now I’d have to say something.

"Your garden?" I squeaked. “This isn’t your garden; it’s mine.”

"Nah, number 11, Franklin Drive," the man said matter-of-factly. A loud groan escaped from his partner’s lips. "That's my house."

"You’re in the wrong garden!” I blurted out, perturbed by the entire situation. “Number 11 is next door!”

A moments’ silence.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," I grumbled.

"Well, now that that's cleared up," he said brightly, "could you piss off and leave us alone; it's not a spectator sport."

I gaped at the trunk of the tree, behind which the pair seemed to have just started up again. Of all the things to happen-

"Or you could join in, darlin’?"

A squeak of outrage rose up my throat, and I made a beeline back towards the house, trying to ignore the roar of laughter coming from the Irish Shagger. And once I’d engulfed myself back into the warmth of the house, it didn’t take long to crawl back to bed, trying desperately to think of anything but the couple having sex behind my tree. I was almost asleep when...the cat started meowing again.

It was going to be a long, long night.

***

The common room was warm when I reached school the next morning, the bright strobe lights beaming onto the cheap laminate cheerfully. Someone – no doubt Sian – had been brewing coffee, so that the delicious scent of freshly ground beans hit me as soon as I had opened the door. This particular Monday morning was one where I fully appreciated Sian’s hatred of instant coffee.

As I’d left the house, I’d nearly been hit by a moving van reversing into next door’s drive; the woman who had come darting out of the house like a small dog had starting cursing at the driver in a rough Belfast accent.

Mum had taken all the expensive figurines off of the window sill in case.

I guess my new friend from the bottom of the garden was still in the house, recovering from last night’s sexcapades. The idea of him being blissfully asleep whilst I trudged towards school made me want to simultaneously hit something and burst into tears.

Thankfully, the girls had bagged one of the squashy sofas in the corner, their bags strewn across the surrounding floor to show that it had been claimed for the rest of the day. Sian lay with her legs dangling over the edge of the armrest, grinning cheekily as she teased the boys opposite her with brief glimpses of her knickers.

“Evie, have you done the work for Ms Rafferty?” Jen asked frantically, flicking through pieces of paper in her folder. “I forgot we had any!”

I flopped down next to Sian, rolling my eyes at Jen and nodding, passing her my answers nonchalantly; Jen could sulk like no other, so it was better to just let her copy your work and be done with it. At the end of the day, she didn’t need University like the rest of us; her parents had enough money to support a small country, but Jen had never quite mustered enough intelligence to get into the various private schools her parents had suggested.

“Jen, is there much point in you being here?” Sian asked coolly, casting a withering gaze over in Jen’s direction. “You never do anything…” Her voice trailed off suggestively, absently twirling her tie around her fingers. Jen flushed and muttered something about going to the study room before disappearing, leaving me, Sian and Veronica sitting in an awkward silence.

“You don’t have to be so cruel to her,” Veronica said finally. “She tries her best.”

Sian just snorted disdainfully, swinging her legs round so that she was sitting properly on the sofa. I knew that Veronica didn’t expect me to back her up on this; Sian and I had been best friends for years, and there was little chance that I was going to argue with her about something as petty as Jen’s lacklustre approach to work ethic. Not when Sian had been the only one there for me when things had taken such a dramatic downturn in my life.

No, Sian McIntyre may have had her faults in life – her free-love attitude to sex, sarcastic nature and binge drinking habits – but she was my best friend, and despite what was said about her, there was very little that would ever change that.

I sat back on the sofa, sighing softly. I was so tired, and the low rumble of conversation in the common room was making me want to nod right back off. Instead, Sian’s sharp intake of breath caused me to glance over in the direction she was looking.

Through the yellowed-glass of the Sixth Form office, I could make out a tall, dark-haired boy. From this distance, it was very difficult to work out what Sian was getting so excited about; there were plenty of students in our year with dark hair. However, as he said something to Mrs Chambers, the secretary, he moved from where he was standing, stepping out into the common room.

Oh my.

There was no denying that this particular specimen of the male species was good looking; I would never dispute the obvious. His eyes were a bright green, twinkling slightly with the mischievous look that a puppy might give you. They gave way to a sprinkling of fine freckles which spread across his nose and upper cheeks, while his angular jaw had just about every girl in the room gawping.

Not like I was studying him or anything.

 “He’s just a guy, Sian,” Veronica said under her breath, flicking through her book.

The loud yelp that followed, the cause of which was Sian hitting Veronica hard in the leg for even toying with the notion that this… Adonis was just a guy, made his head jerk in our direction. A grin spread across his lips, his eyes meeting mine as though there was some private joke between us.

Butterflies – goddamn butterflies, I tell you – started to jitter in my stomach, something which hadn’t happened since…well, it had been a while. And the fact that he was smiling just seemed to emphasise just how nice his face w- Oh dear God, I was turning into Sian. It wasn’t even nine in the morning, and I was sat salivating over some new student.

The bell rang, ending what had now become a very awkward staring competition between me and New Boy. I shuffled off towards the tiny room set off of the library, hoping for a bit of calm before the storm. Unfortunately, my registration teacher had had the same idea, standing in the doorframe, arms folded across his wide expanse of chest. Mr McCrae, all eighteen stone of him and wearing the same shirt he had been wearing since the beginning of my secondary education, glowered down at me, just as he had done for the last five years. He seemed to be Queens Academy’s answer to Shrek; all he was missing was the green skin. Questionable hygiene, abnormally large ears and a bad tempter were all checked and accounted for.

“Morning, Evie,” he said curtly, moving out of the way. “Stayed out of trouble?”

It was routine. That was his question, every freaking morning. There would be a day – at one point during my schooling career – that I would turn round and tell him exactly the sort of trouble I had gotten into since I’d last seen him. But today was Monday, and after coming in on a limited amount of sleep, I decided against it.

“Yes, sir,” I trilled, sitting down in my seat. It was only when I was seated and settled that I realised that the new boy was standing in the doorway, casting a lazy gaze around the room. Mr McCrae crossed the room, more of a waddle than a walk as his vast size compromised his gait.

“You new?” he asked, looking the boy up and down. God, if that was how we introduced new students than I was surprised there were so many at this school.

“Niall Gallagher,” the boy replied sticking out his hand.

A frown settled over my features. Irish. New boy was Irish. My sleep deprived brain scrambled around to work out why that was so familiar. Irish. I glanced at Niall, eyebrow quirking upwards. I’d already deduced that he was good looking. Good looking and Irish.

Oh hell.

Niall’s eyes met mine, full lips curling into a soft smirk. Like he knew. Oh yes. He definitely knew. Without much thought, my palm flew to my face, fingers digging into the skin slightly painfully. New boy- handsome, attractive, deliciously sexy new boy – was the Irishman from my garden last night.

Chapter 2: “I’d love to see his peacock.”

“You live next door to a God,” Sian said matter-of-factly, running her fingers along the metal bars of the fence. “Like, an actual God.” She blinked, tucking a strand of dirty blonde hair behind her ear. “A God with an Irish accent.”

I rolled my eyes, dragging my feet against the cobbled pavement. Of course she’d find it hilarious. Hell, it was hard enough to convince her not to come over and peer through the window at him.

Besides; Niall Gallagher had become the talking point of Sixth Form by lunchtime. Girls cooed and squealed about his accent and the lads nodded curtly in a macho way of saying “you’re alright.” I, however, found it difficult to look him in the eye. Had he no shame? If I’d been caught in the position he’d been in, mortification would probably have prevented me from leaving the house for several days. But there he was; flaunting and strutting about like it was his God given right.

“I think you’re over exaggerating,” I pointed out. “Just slightly.”

“Oh, come on, Evie!” Sian snorted. “You were just as keen as the rest of us when you saw him! Just because he’s your neighbour doesn’t mean you can’t think he’s fit; if anything, you’ve got the best chance with him!”

“Sian, the guy had some woman up against my tree last night; I don’t want any sort of chance with him.”

Sian stopped, taking hold of my arm to stare at me. Confusion settled over her features, lips pinching and a dimple appearing between her eyebrows. Oh man…

“Sian,” I said slowly, resting my hands on her shoulders. “Looks aren’t everything; I like a bit of class in my men.”

“…Is that why you got with Denny?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes had lit up slightly, as though she knew she’d struck a nerve. Of course she did. She knew what sort of reaction she was about to get.

“This is not about Denny,” I said as calmly as I could. “This about my morally repugnant neighbour who seems to think of himself as some sort of preening peacock.”

“I’d love to see his peacock.”

Ew.

“Goodbye, Sian.” I rolled my eyes, turning down the entrance to the estate. I didn’t need to look back to know that she was standing there, considering following me. Which was exactly why I picked up speed, diving down a side alley that would act as a shortcut.

Normally I didn’t mind the company of my best friend. But today she’d been insufferable, just like the rest of the girls. It was like being friends with a pride of lions who had just been tossed a juicy great antelope.

A warm breeze rippled through the estate, a nice change from the cold weather we’d been having as the autumn weather had begun to take over. In the overgrown gardens stood long washing poles, sheets and clothes fluttering slightly as the wind took them. Children from the park across the green could be heard, laughing and screaming as they took advantage of what was left of the lighter evenings. Soon it would be cold and dark, and they’d be trapped in their houses, much to their chagrin.

I knew that my home was not where most people wanted to leave; a lot of the residents were only there because the council had had nowhere else to house them. But there was something halcyon about summer evenings on the estate, something rather magical about the way we united together.

Of course, there had been times where fights had broken out. There had been a couple at the bottom of our street who had been big drug users – heroin, pot, ketamine…you name it, they probably had it – who had been known to brawl outside their front door when they were high. The estate wasn’t the nicest place in the world, but I had grown up there, which instantly made me defend it when people at school decided to have a jibe.

The estate sort of set everyone on a level-playing ground. The old biddy on the other side of us had the same style of house, same size of garden and the same stretch of driveway; she had no reason to look down on us, and we had no reason to look down on her. It didn’t stop her glowering at me as I fought to put the key in the lock of the door – that manic, disapproving stare that says, “Why aren’t you at school?”

Our little house was well suited for the three of us. Three bedrooms, semi-detached, tastefully decorated. Albeit, the carpet was a little worn in the hallway where the traipse of many a visitor had graced it, and there were grubby fingerprints on some of the walls from when Tommy had melted chocolate on his hands and decided to try scented finger-painting.

I pushed the door open, immediately greeted by the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Laughter? In the day time? Laughter before wine o’clock?

My mother was sat at the kitchen table, cup of coffee in hand, laughing uproariously at something the woman in front of her had evidently said. The woman in question had painted red lips and dark curls that cascaded over her shoulders, and uneven bottom teeth. She looked up at me as I walked in, baby blue eyes lighting up.

“Oh! Evie!” mum trilled, getting to her feet. “This is Pam from next door!”

The woman – Pam – didn’t need to even open her mouth for me to know whose mother she was; it was obvious that this was the woman who had spawned the Adonis. She stuck out her hand to shake mine, the smile never leaving her face.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said, getting to her feet. If the nauseating niceness hadn’t set my teeth on edge, it was the friendly hug that she engulfed my mother in that had me recoiling in horror.

Hugs! With someone we hardly knew! I tried to remember the last time I’d seen my mum hug anyone. Tommy and I were her children and we hardly ever hugged the woman! Who was this strange hugging creature?

And why was mum letting her?

“So have you met Niall?” mum asked when she’d returned from showing Pam out, turning the oven on. I looked up from my homework, pondering the best response.

“He’s in my registration class,” I said slowly, nodding my head in time with the words. “And he had sex in our garden last night.” I turned just in time to seem my mother snap her head round to look at me, eyes wide.

“Pardon?”

“Him, Niall,” I said, nodding out the window at the house across the fence. “He had sex in our garden last night.”

There was a lot of colour starting to form on my mother’s face; a reddish, purplish amalgamation that spread over her cheeks and had started to travel over her neck before she opened her mouth again.

“Oh. She spoke about him as though he was a nice boy.”

“He’s handsome,” I mused, helping myself to the contents of the fruit bowl. “Sian’s planning a seduction.”

“Sian is always planning a seduction.”

I laughed; my mother knew my best friend as well as I did.

“She’s invited us over for dinner,” mum continued, going into the freezer. “Friday night; you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll sit that one out!” I trilled brightly, trying to ignore the dread pooling at the bottom of my stomach. Was this how it was going to be? Bosom Buddies with the next door neighbours. Bosom Buddies with the Adonis who had sex in the bottom of the garden? Yeah, right.

There was no way that I was going to dinner with the Gallagher family. No way, no how.

Chapter 3:

“And you’re positive you’ll be back in time for dinner?” Mum asked for the fourth time, standing with her hands on her hips. “Because you can’t agree to come and then back out.” Pushing away the inadvertent innuendo, I nodded, pulling a coat over my jumper.

“Yeah, I’m only going to drop something off at Sian’s,” I told her. Again. She pursed her lips together, glancing at the clock with the air of someone who definitely disapproved of how fine I was cutting things. She’d spent all afternoon getting ready; the house reeked of cheap perfume and she had donned her favourite salmon-coloured long dress. It had been so long since she’d gotten dressed up to go somewhere, that neither Tommy nor I had had the heart to tell her that it looked like something you’d find hanging in my grandmother’s wardrobe.

I was only making an appearance to support my mother. That alone should have had her trusting me. Alas, trust had been a fickle thing between myself and the woman who had birthed me due to several instances with Denny. So I had to take what I could get.

My feet bombed it down the sodden pavement, trying to put as much space between myself and the house as humanely possible. There was no-one about, really; at six in the evening on a Friday, people (sensible people) were probably having dinner.

The dinner at the Gallaghers’ had been the source of much conversation between Sian and I. Niall had yet to acknowledge her existence and there I had been, about to pass up an opportunity to spend an hour or two in his presence. So as well as trying to butter up my mother, the evening would be a case of taking one for the team.

A Sian-oriented team.

However, when aforementioned best friend opened the door, bleary eyed and smelling like a brewery, I realised that hospitality was probably not the first thing that popped into her head. In fact, what Sian needed was a good long hot shower and possibly a make-up wipe.

The panda look was never going to catch on around this part of town.

“What?” she rasped, clutching a tanned hand to her forehead. “Can’t you see I’m dying?”

“I can see you never fail to lose your love of exaggeration,” I replied, raising an eyebrow. “Parents home?”

Sian went to shake her head, only to think better of it and wince instead, leaning her hip against the doorframe.

“Brother broke his leg skiing; they’ve had to go out to pay the medical bills.” She said it so matter of fact, as though the fact that her big brother was in some country on his own with a gammy leg. It was hard to imagine her worrying about anyone, especially seeing as she didn’t give a damn about her family.

“So, can I come in?”

She moved out of the way, pulling the thin blanket she had around herself tighter in protection from the non-existent chill.

The house of Sian epitomised her very core; it was grand and expensive, every surface garnished with some garish silk patterned cloth or nude sculpture. It was miles away from the cosy semi I’d grown up in; pictures of her parents hung in the entrance hall, beaming down at us both with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sian mused, leading me through to the kitchen. Oh. Sian thinking. That never ended well. This one time, she thought too hard and managed to make herself pass out during a maths lesson when we were younger.

“Yeah?” I mused, raking in my bag for the sheet of notes she’d missed today at school.

“We should have a party!”

There were several things that she could have been thinking and all of them were probably better than her suggestion. My eyes rose slowly from the paper in my hands to her face, sucking my cheeks in.

“A party?” A lump rose in my throat as I thought about the last party I’d gone to. The last party I’d been to had been the last time I’d seen Denny.

“Gotta take advantage of the ‘rents being gone!” Sian exclaimed, falling back onto a seat at the kitchen table. She looked up at me expectantly, evidently forgetting the fact that I was a social recluse. How? I wasn’t sure; she’d spent enough time nagging about it.

“I might sit-”

“Evie, we’re having a party, and you’re going to be there.” She stared at me, lips set into a thin, straight line. “You can’t sit around hiding from people forever.  Denny is gone and he won’t be coming back if he knows what’s good for him. Get a grip.”

I was torn between storming out of the house and never speaking to her again, or truly appreciating the fact that she was right. If you listened to my mother, I was lucky to have gotten out of that relationship with just a bruise.

But then again; there was no point of being alive when you weren’t letting yourself live the life you had.

“Fine,” I muttered reluctantly. “We’ll have a freaking party.”

***

“I know, I know!” I said as shot through the door. “I was later than I said I’d be!” Mum’s disapproving glare followed me up the stairs as I tore towards my room to change. Hell, after agreeing to host a party with Sian, her disapproval was the last of my worries.

Frantically ripping my clothes from my body in favour of fresher counterparts, I couldn’t help but panic about what was to come. My life had suddenly become a running of events that I didn’t want to partake in.

I needed a crash course in saying no to people. Immediately. Sign me up for that shit.

“I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, scrambling down the stairs. Mum and Tommy stood at the bottom, both of them staring at me in disbelief. Well, if they would arrange to do things on a Friday night. Mum opened the door, ushering us both out into the sticky heat. There was a thunderstorm brewing above our heads, dark clouds merging into a grey mess.

Mother straightened her dress self-consciously, glowering slightly at the fact that Tommy and I had refused to change into anything better than our jeans, and rang the doorbell. What did she want? A freaking ballgown?

There was scuffling behind the door, a woman shouting at the top of her voice, before it swung open and the Irish Shagger stood in all of his glory, smiling down at us all.

Tommy kicked him in the shins.

"It's fine, it's fine," Niall said, rubbing the area where Tommy had got him as mum apologised profusely. "Nothing I haven’t had before." With a swift wave of his hand, he’d let us across threshold, mum’s smile stretched far too wide for her face.

"Alright, darlin’?" he murmured in my ear as he shut the door, his breath tickling the fine hairs on the back of my neck.

Don’t think about Denny. It’s not Denny. It’s definitely not Denny.

"Eww,” I muttered, leaning my face away from him. Petnames? Really? He simply smiled once more, unperturbed by the lacklustre response, and directed mum into the kitchen before steering me down a narrow corridor and into what appeared to be the living room. Due to the semi-detached nature of the buildings in our street, the room mirrored ours, and despite the boxes piled up in the corners, there was little to disguise the old, worn carpets that had once belonged to the previous neighbours. Behind Niall’s head, the wallpaper was peeling away from the walls, yellowed and dull. And although he wasn’t my favourite person in the world, it saddened me slightly to know that he had been waking up to this every morning since moving.

On the battered-looking sofa sat an older version of Niall, who waved jovially as we entered, and a little girl on the floor with fiery red hair, transfixed by whatever cartoon was playing on the television.

"Alright?" the older Niall asked. He flashed me a smile, not unlike his brother’s, and shifted slightly so that I could sit down next to him. I nodded, choosing to perch on the edge of an armchair in the corner. There was no way that I was putting myself in the position of being next to a strange man willingly.

"It's Evie, right?" he asked, looking right at me. I nodded once more, hugging my knees protectively

"I'm Declan!” Declan peered at me, tilting his head to the side like an inquisitive child. "You're awfully quiet, aren't you?"

"She's not like this at school," Niall said before I had time to think of a witty reply. "Never done talking." He winked, and a smile tugged at my lips; friendly banter was something I could handle. As long as there were no perverse comments or inappropriate touches, I could handle a relatively functional tolerance of Niall.

"So did you two meet at school, or what?" Declan asked, looking between us. I bit my lip to stop myself snorting with laughter; there was no way that he was going to admit to having sex in the wrong garden, no way that he would let that slip.

"I took Fliss back to the wrong house the other night," Niall explained. "Evie very kindly came out and told me straight." Laughter erupted in my throat, bursting into the room in response to how blunt Niall was about the night before. Declan chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And what happened to Fliss after that?"

"I think she might have gone home; I'm not sure. I wasn't in the mood for giving her a lift."

"Classy," I muttered. My attention turned back to the television. I was sure I could get through this evening by merely focusing on whatever soap was blaring in the background. Halfway through however, the little girl came right up to my face and just stared at me from the floor. The red curls tumbled down her back and freckles adorned her round face; she smiled, flashing the gaps in her teeth as she pulled her lips back.

"You're pretty," she told me. I just looked back at her, stunned. "I'm Mattie." And then she clambered up next to be, sitting on my knee to watch the rest of the programme. It took me by surprise; Tommy never wanted hugs; he was too much of a boy. It was alright; he never hugged mum either. But this was nice; someone actually acting like you were a human being.

"Dinner!" A woman called out. I let Mattie slide off of my knee and stood up, closely followed by Niall, Tommy and Declan.

The kitchen was huge and it was easy to tell that this was where Niall’s mother’s domain was. The walls were almost completely hidden by pictures hanging from hooks, and in almost every photograph there was a beaming child. It seemed clear that Niall’s mother’s proudest achievement was her brood, and from the way she smiled broadly and ruffled Declan’s hair as he came through, it didn’t seem to lessen with time.

"I want to sit next to you," Mattie announced, slipping her hand into mine. Touched by the love of my newfound friend, I pulled out the seat for her and sat down next to it, helping her clamber onto the chair. Niall flopped down on the other side of me, winking as he passed me the jug of water that had been set out on the table. The amount of winking he had done tonight, it wouldn’t have been surprising if someone had mistaken it for a nervous twitch.

"This smells delicious," mum breathed. She was sitting next to the matriarch of the Gallagher family. She beamed at us all, as though genuinely excited about our being there. It was such a startling contrast to my thin, anxious-looking mother, that it almost caused a twinge of jealously when I saw how much love she seemed to have for her family; our family had felt less like a family in recent months, and more like a prison sentence.

"Thank you," she replied brightly, her accent making the already cosy room feel a lot warmer. She passed the dish of lasagne around the table, the gentle lull of conversation causing a wave of relaxation to engulf me, easing the butterflies that had been darting about nervously since we had arrived. It was a nice feeling; the unity of the Gallagher family was like a much needed break from the cold, hostile environment that had bred its way into our home.

The lasagne was, of course, delicious. By the time we had put our cutlery down, I had a feeling that I was going to have to be rolled out of the door. God knew how Niall and Declan could shovel down seconds. When Pam had chided them affectionately about eating her out of house and home, they merely laughed and helped themselves to more; it was obviously a recurring event.

And as it got darker outside, the warm feeling that had settled in the bottom of my stomach had gone nowhere. For this moment in time, I was content with just sitting here and enjoying the company of people who had stories to tell and had seen places I had never heard of.

“Of course, when Michael and I split up, we were originally going to sell the house,” my mother slurred hours later, clutching the glass of wine in her hand. “I didn’t think I’d be able to afford the payments on the mortgage on one income.”

Ah. My mum’s favourite rant; the absent father. Pam nodded, leaning in to hear the conversation better as Tommy disappeared through the house with Mattie.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” Niall said suddenly, his palms clamped together in a praying gesture. His eyes flitted to meet mine, teeth raking through his lower lip. “Genuine mistake.” I tried not to focus on the fact that this was the first time he’d attempted to speak to me. And I certainly wasn’t about to lose myself in the gentle lull of his accent.

So I nodded diminutively.

“So what subjects do you do?”

“English, Psychology and Law,” I told him curtly, already anticipating the quip about not taking real subjects. Like everyone wanted to be an astrophysicist or surgeon; it was a daily struggle to deal with the toffs and boffins who seemed to believe that the only career choice was one that required four A* grades in the most difficult subjects.

But Niall Gallagher simply nodded his head slowly.

“Interesting mix; you like ‘em?”

“Yes,” I murmured defensively.

“You’re gonna make me work for this, aren’t you?” A faint smile played along his lips, eyes lighting up with the challenge. I had the grace to look slightly ashamed; at least he was trying.

I was about to apologise for my behaviour when a snatch of my mother’s conversation had me frozen to the spot, mouth falling open in horror at her words.

“…Michael and I had no idea that this Denny boy was treating her like that. If we’d known, it would have been knocked on the head. Poor girl suffered in silence for months…”

“Mum!” I exclaimed, eyes widening. “Shut up!” She jolted slightly, wine sloshing over the rim of her glass as she realised just where she was and what she was saying. Her lips pressed together nervously as she pushed her drink away, cheeks flushing.

It was bad enough that people at school knew what had happened. We didn’t need to tell people we had just met.

Niall looked between us curiously, head tilted the way a dog may look at you when it doesn’t want to do what you say. Oblivious to everything but getting my mother out of the house as quickly as I could, I got to my feet.

“It’s been a really nice night,” I gabbled, pulling mum up hastily. “But I think it’s time to go!” Pam gaped at us momentarily; it must have been quite a sight seeing me haul the life and soul of the party from the room unceremoniously. And mum must have known she’d said too much, because she remained silent, allowing me easy access to the door.

“Tommy! We’re going!” I called, voice sounding frantic and strangled. I was beginning to feel clammy, t-shirt sticking to my back and chest starting to tighten as the reality of mum’s conversation hit me. They were going to think I was a complete and utter nutter.

Once I’d managed to get Tommy out of the house and into the driveway, and had delivered my rushed goodbyes to Pam, mum shrugged my hands from her shoulders.

“I can’t believe you,” I muttered darkly, stalking towards the front door. “It’s not your business to tell.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind me. Fingers curled themselves around my forearm, dragging me back to her.

“Do you think it doesn’t affect me too, Evie?” she demanded, once-immaculate make-up smudged. “Finding out what he did to you-”

“We don’t need to talk about it now, mother!” I shouted, pulling her hand from me. “It’s in the past! Just bloody leave it there!” My chest rose and fell with the outburst, and mum looked as though I’d just slapped her one. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. All that mattered was the buzz of anger that was settling over me.

Mum didn’t meet my eyes as she walked past me, giving me a wide berth as she herded Tommy into the house. She shut, or rather slammed, the door, leaving me standing in the front garden like a lemon.

“Hey, Evie?”

I jumped, trying to work out which hedge had learnt the art of speech. Instead, my gaze fell on Niall, who was leaning across the fence as though I hadn’t just interrupted what had been a reasonably good evening.

“I-I’m really sorry,” I stammered. Eyes, why choose now to leak, I berated silently, hoping that it was dark enough to wipe the damn tears away inconspicuously. Niall shook his head in the darkness, his body illuminated by the light of his kitchen flooding through the window.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You okay?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the door behind me.

“I’ll be fine,” I breathed, stowing my hands in my pockets. “Thanks, though.”

We stood in an awkward silence, neither of us knowing what to say to the other.

“You know where I am if you need me,” Niall said with an air of finality, bracing himself off of the fence and starting to turn to go inside.

If it had been a film, I’d have run after him and smothered him with love. Unfortunately, such behaviour would have probably ended in my being sectioned. So I stared after him for a moment before turning to go back inside in myself.