Surviving Michael by Joseph Birchall Page A

me again, but I feel like I want to hit him. To punch him in the face.
    ‘It’s okay,’ he says, ‘we’ll get through this.’
    ‘Oh, Danny.’
    ‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’
    ‘I’m so sorry.’
    ‘Hey, it’s not your fault. Or at least it’s only half your fault.’ He attempts to laugh. ‘It happened. It’s going to be great.’
    I look up at him.
    ‘Who did you tell?’ he asks.
    I turn away.
    ‘What’s wrong, Ruby? Who did you tell?’
    ‘Someone else. I’m so sorry.’
    ’Sorry for what?’
    I cry again. This time the tears come.
    ’Sorry for what, Ruby?’
    I look him in the eyes. At least I can do that. His love. His confusion. Hapless adoration. But look him in the eyes, Ruby. At least you can do that.
    ‘It’s not yours,’ I tell him, the words having to crash through the tears streaming down my face now.
    ‘It’s not my what?’
    My head sinks further down, like a criminal awaiting the guillotine’s blade.
    ‘It’s not my what, Ruby?’
Liam
    I’M SITTING IN the back of the car with Charlie, but he keeps lookin’ out the back window at Danny and Ruby, the nosey bollocks.
    ‘Would ye turn off that RTE shite and put on a few decent sounds for fuck’s sake,’ I says to Nick.
    ‘I’m listenin’ to this,’ he says.
    ‘Charlie,’ I says turnin’ to him, but he makes this mad face out the window and I hear Ruby scream. When I turn to look, I see Danny stormin’ towards us and he looks royally pissed off. Ruby is gettin’ up off the ground and calls after him, but he just ignores her. She must of givin’ him the big heave ho, which is a pity actually ‘cause she was an alright bird and at the very least I’m goin’ to miss her tits in those tight summer T-shirts that she always wore.
    When he opens the car door, I hear Ruby callin’ out, ‘Danny please,’ but he just slams the door. There’s silence for a few seconds. I think he’s goin’ to tell us all to get the fuck out, but he starts the car and puts it into gear. Nobody says anythin’ and all I can hear is Marian Finucane rabbitin’ on about those wankers in the banks.
    ‘Any chance of a few sounds?’ I says.
    Nick and Charlie look at me, but Danny changes the station anyway.
It’s a Beautiful Day
by U2 comes on. Fuckin’ deadly song, and I start to sing it a bit, but I’m a crap bleedin’ singer. Danny and Charlie look at each other and then go back to starin’ out the window.
    Haven’t heard a bit of U2 in ages. They’re a bit like beans on toast. Somethin’ that you’ve grown up on and you forget how delicious they are when you haven’t tried them for ages. But then you get bored of it after a while, ’cause in the end, it’s still just beans and toast.
    I’m not too keen on this chat up a chick idea. I don’t know how I let meself get talked into it. Fuckin’ eejit. If I end up havin’ to do it then I’m goin’ to get pissed outta me mind. Perhaps after a few, the lads’ll get bored with it. I can’t imagine Charlie goin’ up to that kip and not wantin’ to ride somethin’ there. Danny’ll be all depressed. He’s always fuckin’ depressed anyway. Least now he’ll have a good excuse.
    As for Nick. It’s hard to know with Nick. Sometimes when he gets his teeth into somethin’ he won’t let go until he hears somethin’ snap. And I’m afraid that it’ll be me doin’ the snappin’.
    I’ve never just walked up to a bird and talked to her. Apart from that hooker that time in Amsterdam, of course. But that was different. Maybe that’s what I should do? Think in me mind that they’re hookers.
    I always get a bit of a slaggin’ that I went to the hooker that time. We were over there for a mate of a mate’s stag weekend, and we were walkin’ home from somewhere at about four in the mornin’, and there they were, just like in the films. Girls in the windows. Blondes, brunettes, blacks, Asians; all shapes and sizes. None of the lads wanted one, but I had to. I’d never been with