Mam and Bridget went to visit Dez in Kilkenny for the month to clear their heads, and so I’m still tremendously alone. I write songs, sing them on street corners, get offers, and turn them down. Then I go home, and since my mates won’t talk to me, and since I stopped sending letters to Rory, as per her request, I no longer reject Kathleen’s attempts to spend time with me. I can’t afford to avoid her.

Sometimes she studies while I write.

Sometimes we feck with the lights off, always with a condom, and she lets me chant, “Rory, Rory, Rory.”

Most times, though, we share dinner and watch whatever is on the telly and I drive her back home before it gets too dark.

Today Kiki shoulders past me, into my living room, seeming to feel right at home. Unlike me, the living room is in a good condition. The rest of the house is pretty tidy, too.

She sits at the table, and I follow her with two glasses of water. I have no particular reaction to the news she delivers. I’m not happy, nor am I sad. I had a feeling it was going to happen. I’ve used condoms every other time we had sex—despite her protests—but apparently, I have super sperm, at least where the O’Connell girls are concerned.

Now, I’m just waiting to hear from Kath if she’s going to keep it or not. My chest feels tight, but I don’t want to assume.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, sliding the glass her way.

She takes a small sip, her eyes clinging to my face, trying to read me.

Why can’t I love her? Why can’t I love the girl who’d never leave me? The girl who’d die for me?

“Good. A bit nauseous, but good. Thanks for asking.”

“When’d you find out?”

“This afternoon. I went in to buy the test after school. Called Heather and Maeve to come with. You know Maeve is dating Sean now? I think they make a cute couple. Heather is fit.”

“So they know about the pregnancy,” I say, keeping my temper in check. And here I was under the impression that baby daddies are the first to learn of the news.

“Yeah. Hope it’s okay. I didn’t want to take the test alone, and I knew you were busking and didn’t want to bother you or freak you out for no reason. It could have been negative.”

“Are you going to keep it?” I ask, flat out.

Her face morphs from happy to shocked, her eyebrows dropping.

“What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m going to keep it. I’m bloody Catholic, Mal.”

I nod.

“I think it’s more a question of what are you going to do.” She sits back, folding her arms over her chest.