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Back Before My Actual Heart Breaks Save as PDF
Chapters (48)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 2007
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 1973
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 1982
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 1998
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 2004
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 2007
  44. 34
  45. 35
  46. 36
  47. Acknowledgements
  48. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

–  Oh, it’s only you! Get changed into your work clothes now you’re done gaddin’ about! Spuds don’t dig themselves, y’know?

11

Joe and me tried to talk about Gortnahook but both of us nearly passed out with embarrassment. He thought I was being cold because he hadn’t made it into the gardens. I couldn’t stand to talk about it because it made me feel like a bitch in heat who’d been locked in a shed and Joe couldn’t win because he was the useless randy dog who failed to dig himself under the tin.

Poor Joe, who even though I said no, no, no, thought I hated him because he’d been a dose over the poor dead soldier. He was showing off. He hadn’t meant to say that shitty thing about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Father Kevin had insisted he make a confession and he had, he had made a heartfelt confession right there and then in the retreat and he had been forgiven for his malicious words. He’d done a fucking ton of penance! Why couldn’t I forgive him?

I lied and swore that I did. When we tried to get the kissing back on track the taste of pineapple cubes on his tongue made me gag; it was too sweet. My tastes had changed. I craved bitter things and lied to myself about why I had a stash of them under the bed.

Lizzie Magee and the rest of the class were devastated when Jacques went back to France without so much as an au revoir a month before summer term ended. I wasn’t bothered; I had enough on my plate with my nine O levels and the growing numb terror that not all of him was going home.

The fear grew with the sickness as I dashed for the loo before anyone was up in the morning. Back under the covers, I hoped against hope that the low dull ache in my guts was the start of a period but I knew it was just the fear growing eyes and legs and arms. My stomach was still as flat as a pancake and I thought I should be able to hide it ’til ‘it’ came out and then I’d leave ‘it’ somewhere. ‘It’ would not last long at The Hill. ‘It’ would need somewhere safe, somewhere where ‘it’ would be cuddled and cared for and told that ‘it’ was something.