Laura Cassidy: Angel Kiss

Apart from hating the thought of a treble-clef tattoo, Mum had always been supportive of my love for music. She’d spent her entire childhood dreaming of being a movie star. She’d had half a dozen posters of Marilyn Monroe taped to her wall and had watched Some Like It Hot hundreds of times. But my grandparents insisted that acting was just a hobby, and that she couldn’t possibly expect to pursue it as a career. So from the time I was four and had said I wanted to be a rock star, Mum had been driving me to guitar lessons, saving up for music equipment and listening to me singing much too loudly around the house. Her only request was that if I became famous I would dedicate one of my songs to her. I decided that was a fair trade.

I waited until she’d left the caravan, then took Alf Meehan’s letter out from my back pocket. I knelt down on the floor beside my bed and pulled out my suitcase. Mum had allowed me to bring just one suitcase of stuff to the caravan, as there wasn’t room for any more. It was packed full of clothes and a Converse shoebox that held my most prized possessions including a little silver bracelet given to me by my dad, my purple hardback notebook that I wrote my lyrics in, a couple of photographs of my friends and me and a battered paperback copy of The Commitments . I carefully hid the letter in the shoebox and placed it back in the suitcase. I knew Mum wouldn’t be impressed that I’d opened someone else’s post. I didn’t even know why I had, so there was no way I’d be able to explain it to her. But something was stopping me from throwing it away.

When I stepped out of the caravan Des was talking to Mum again. I decided to go over and rescue her. But the closer I got to them the more freaked out I became. Mum was standing close to Des and twirling a strand of her hair. Then I heard her giggle. This was actually making me queasy. I wanted to turn round and go back but Des had spotted me.

‘Jacki, we were just talking about you…’

I faked a smile and walked towards them.

‘Hi,’ I said to Des. A hi that said If you lay one finger on my mother, I will most certainly strangle you . He didn’t seem to notice.

‘So,’ he said, ‘your mum was telling me you like to play guitar? And that you’re in a band?’

‘ Was in a band,’ I corrected him. ‘I had to leave it because we were moving here.’ Myself, Sophie and Ross had played together, but we’d all agreed that there was no way we could keep it up now that I was living so far away. I’d also done a stint in my cousin Steve’s heavy metal band. I wasn’t majorly into heavy metal, but they were all eighteen and I got to play in Whelan’s a few times. The bouncers got to know me, and so Hannah and I had managed to get into a couple of other gigs there on Saturday nights. It’s amazing where a fake ID, a push-up bra and a familiar face can get you.

‘And you like Thin Lizzy?’ said Des.

‘Love them,’ I said.

‘I went to see them in Slane in eighty-one,’ he said. ‘Best gig of my life.’

‘Wow, legend,’ I said limply.

OK, so Des was going up in my estimation. But only slightly.

‘Oh, by the way, Jacki,’ said Mum. ‘You and I are going to the Smyths’ house for dinner in half an hour.’

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘The Smyths. They own the guesthouse on the main street. I met Brigid in the shop and she invited us down. It was so thoughtful of her – she said I must be tired of trying to cook in the caravan.’

I’d never met any of the Smyths but I’d seen the guesthouse where they lived. It was across from Mary’s shop and painted an insanely bright yellow.

‘Do you know the Smyths well, Des?’ said Mum.

‘Ah yeah, Brigid and Pa are lovely people. They have a son your age, Jacki. And I’m good friends with Brigid’s sister, Lydia. She lives there with them too. She’s a dressmaker.’

So they had a son my age, did they? My mood lifted a little bit. I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt and made an excuse to get back to the caravan. Now that it seemed Cian and Nick were in the past, maybe I needed to dress for the future.

The Smyths’ sitting room resembled the chaotic interior of a back-street antique store. I breathed in the stuffy air as I sat on the couch among the tasselled cushions, staring up at the dusty chandelier. I like antique stores. I like rummaging through all the objects to find hidden treasures. In that sitting room I longed to examine the ornaments and the photographs and memorabilia, but I couldn’t, because Colin Smyth sat on the chair across from me, his eyes fixed on the flickering television. He had a thick mop of red hair and his attractive face was covered in pale freckles. He wore a blue shirt and grey cord trousers.

Quite a stylish dresser , I thought. Back in the caravan I’d frantically tried to make myself look presentable. I was wearing a short purple velvet dress that I’d bought in a vintage shop, black fishnet tights and black Converse. Although Colin wasn’t really my type, he had a certain cuteness, so I was glad I’d made an effort.

Colin hadn’t said much during dinner but he seemed nice. He had happily obliged when Brigid suggested that he bring me into the sitting room to watch TV, but he totally avoided making eye contact with me. I don’t normally like people who do this – it makes me uneasy. But I decided to let Colin off the hook, as he just seemed to be a bit shy.

We hadn’t spoken a word since we sat down in front of the TV. I tried to think of a conversation starter as I scanned the framed paintings and prints that clashed with the floral-papered walls.

Several times it seemed as if Colin was about to say something, but then he would just look back at the television, pretending to be enthralled by it. Then when he wasn’t flicking through the channels he was fidgeting with the button on his shirtsleeve. He twisted it round and round and round.

Just think of something to say, Jacki. Anything at all.

Round and round it twirled, then – ping! – the button bounced on to the wooden floor and rolled away, skimming the rug and disappearing from view. Colin’s face went bright red. I stood up to look for it.

‘It’s OK. It doesn’t matt-’

‘I think it went over here,’ I said.

I knelt down to check under a glass-fronted cabinet, but was distracted by the unusual objects inside. These included a perfume bottle, a magnifying glass and a delicately painted porcelain egg with a hinge on the side. I very much wanted to open the egg to see what was in it.

‘Found it!’ said Colin.

‘Thought you two might like a snack -’ Brigid Smyth walked in with a bowl of freshly made popcorn to find us both on our knees on the floor.

‘Oh… thanks,’ I said, scrambling back to the couch.

‘Are you two OK?’

‘Yes, Mam,’ said Colin. ‘We were just looking for my button.’ He held it up to show her.

‘Oh, right,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ She headed back to the kitchen.

Colin took a handful of popcorn from the bowl. I noticed that there were flecks of paint on the backs of his hands and remembered Brigid had said at dinner that Colin liked art, so I decided to spark up a conversation and find out more.

‘What kind of art do you do?’ I said. I liked drawing, but I wasn’t very good at art and I didn’t know a lot about it.

‘Oh, I like lots of different styles. At the moment I’m really into Manga-inspired stuff, you know, like the Japanese comics,’ he answered, shifting his gaze away from the TV and looking at me instead.

‘Wow, that sounds really cool.’ My friend Hannah would’ve been disgusted if she’d heard me say that. Last year her brother had done a twenty-four-hour comic workshop in Dublin with some famous Manga artist. She said she wouldn’t be seen dead going to such a nerdfest. But Hannah wasn’t here now, and I really needed to make some new friends.