The Crowley Girl
‘Oh, hello,’ Keelin said when she arrived home to find Nessa Crowley in her kitchen yet again. The girl was leaning against the Aga, those endless legs in frayed cut-off jeans despite the autumn chill. Keelin lifted her shopping bags onto the marble island and began to unpack the groceries. ‘We weren’t expecting to see you so soon, Nessa,’ she said, gesturing at her son to move out of the way so she could put the sliced pan in the bread bin. ‘I thought Alex’s grind wasn’t until eight.’
‘I got my times mixed up.’ Nessa stood up straighter, pulling the shorts down her thighs. ‘I thought we said four. Alex was free so we just did it earlier.’ Her cheeks turned pink. ‘The grind, I mean.’
Keelin checked the Salvador Dalí melting clock on the opposite wall. It was six thirty p.m. now. ‘I’m sure you’ve better things to do than hang around here all evening though,’ Keelin tried, but Nessa shrugged and said she didn’t mind, with a side-glance at Alex that made Keelin’s jaw clench.
‘Where’s Henry?’ she asked, looking between the two of them. She wanted her husband here as a witness. I’m not being paranoid, am I? she would say to him. There’s something going on, right?
‘He went down to Bluebell and Foxglove.’ Her son folded his arms across his chest. ‘The Final Screams checked out yesterday and he wanted to get an estimation of the damage.’ He tilted his head at Nessa. ‘Punk group,’ he said casually, as if he were a band member himself. ‘Lots of drugs, crazy shit.’
‘I thought you were in charge of inspecting the cottages, Alex. That’s why we give you so much pocket money every month, remember?’ Keelin said, ignoring Nessa’s giggles.
‘Henry said he’d do it for me today. Because of the grind, like.’
‘And your sister?’ Keelin asked. ‘Where has she disappeared off to, may I ask?’
‘She’s in the playroom watching a DVD,’ Nessa said. ‘I bought her the new Narnia one. Henry mentioned he was reading the books to her so I thought she might like it.’
‘That was very kind of you,’ Keelin said, looking at the clock again, pointedly. There was a moment of silence, before Nessa grabbed her satchel and said she should be on her way. ‘Let’s do some trigonometry next time,’ she told Alex. ‘Have a go at last year’s exam paper and we’ll look at it together when I see you.’
‘Cool,’ he replied. ‘Thanks, Ness. I’ll walk you out.’
Keelin hovered at the back of the hall, hiding behind a bouquet of white roses, watching as the two said goodbye on the front porch. She couldn’t hear, but her son must have made a joke because Nessa threw her head back in laughter, hitting Alex playfully on the upper arm. They leaned in to hug and – Keelin’s heart beat slowing to a dull thud – she thought they might have kissed but she couldn’t be sure from this angle. Alex closed the door, leaning against it, his eyes half closed.
‘What?’ he said, when he saw his mother standing there, staring at him.
‘Is something going on with you two?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said. This was Alex’s reply to everything Keelin asked him these days. Did anything strange or startling happen in school today, mo stoirín? No. Do you want to go for a walk with me? No. Do you want to invite some friends over to the house? I could cook a pizza. No.
Separation was a natural part of adolescence, she reminded herself. It was an important step in her son’s psychological development. But they had always been so close, she and Alex. She hadn’t realised how much she’d liked it that way until Nessa Crowley had arrived into their lives and it became abundantly clear whom Alex preferred.
‘I’m not sure I feel comfortable with Nessa giving you grinds if there’s some kind of . . . romance happening between the two of you. That’s not what I’m paying her fifty euro an hour for, Alex.’
‘Mam,’ he snorted, ‘you sound about a hundred. Next you’ll be asking if we’re doing a line, or if I’m taking her out courting.’
‘Please don’t talk to me like that. I think I’m allowed to have some reservations about you dating a twenty-year-old woman, especially one I’m employing to help you study.’
‘Oh my God, Mam! She’s my friend. You were the one who was so anxious for me to make friends here, and now that I’ve found one, you don’t like it?’
‘Of course I want you to have friends.’ But not like this, she thought. Keelin wanted her son to hang out with boys his own age, a gang of lads sheepishly waving hello as they snuck cans of beer into the house. Friends who could see past Alex’s intense, awkward manner and appreciate how sweet he was, how funny he could be. She didn’t want him spending all his time with a college student, and a disconcertingly beautiful one at that. ‘I just . . .’ She paused. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt, Alex.’
‘Why do you have to assume that I’d be the one to get hurt?’ he asked as he pushed past her, taking the stairs two at a time, slamming his bedroom door so loudly that it shook in its frame.
Because, she thought, stopping at the foot of the stairs and looking up towards his room. Because I know girls like that. Girls like Nessa Crowley don’t fall in love with boys like you.