Page 6 of To Hell With It
‘He might run off with Maggie Ryan,’ I quipped. ‘Although he’d be no good for Maggie, she likes them married.’
‘That’s enough, Pearl,’ my mother snapped.
And I watched as Niall shifted awkwardly in his chair and my mother scanned the room for something else to talk about.
By the time Niall had cleared his plate, my mother had already served him seconds and my father had told the same story three times.
When it was time to go, I put on my shoes and coat, kissed my parents goodbye three times, whisperedI love you, I love you, I love you(another obsession of mine) and waved at Niall, who followed me out having offered a lift. My mother accepted before I had a chance to and so I climbed into the passenger seat of his red Mini – it was a classic – with my head lowered so that I didn’t hit the roof. It was even more of a squeeze for Niall and I wondered what we must have looked like, the pair of us squashed into his car – as my mother waved us off proudly by the front door like we’d just got married.
A few minutes later Niall parked outside my house.
‘Thanks for the lift,’ I said.
‘No problem at all.’
‘Did you want to come in?’ I asked. ‘For a cup of tea and a biscuit?’ I added. I didn’t want him to think I meant for sex.
‘I should get back,’ he said. ‘Early start tomorrow.’
‘OK.’
‘See you in the morning, Pearl.’
‘See you in the morning, Niall.’
ChapterFive
Once a week, on a Friday, Niall and I did the stock check. I was happy to do it on my own, but Mrs O’Callaghan insisted I hadan extra pair of hands,and I couldn’t exactly tell her no because she was the boss. We’d do it late morning, during our tea break, and then I’d meet Una for lunch afterwards.
The stock check involved me on a stool in the storeroom as I read out every single item to Niall, who stood below with his clipboard recording it all. To most people it would have sounded like hell, but to me it was heaven because it kept things in order, and I liked things in order.
Niall had lived in the village all his life, like me. We went to the same primary school and used to walk home together most days because my mum didn’t like me walking home alone. We’d walk to the shop, and I’d wait there until my mum turned up. Sometimes Mrs O’Callaghan would give me a cold drink and a biscuit. Other times Niall and I would do drawings together upstairs in the flat. He drew bugs, I drew trees, and we’d sit together in the silence of our own little worlds that were more parallel than I realised. We were comfortable in each other’s company, I guess. And all these years later, not much has changed.
Niall has always been infatuated with bugs. Even when we were little I’d see him on the grass in the park with his magnifying glass instead of on the swings with the rest of us. He brought a beetle into school once and the whole class had laughed when he told them it was called a Cockchafer.
I saw a lot less of Niall at secondary school. We’d pass each other in the corridors but that was about it. Apart from science, we were in the same science class. I had hated school. I spent most of my time looking out of the window daydreaming about not being there. When I wasn’t daydreaming, I was making sure my pens in my pencil case (I used a tin one because the zip ones just messed them all up) were lined up and in order. Then I’d count them over and over again until I’d said the number right in my head. It used to take me so long, that by the time I’d finished I’d absolutely no idea what the teacher had been saying.
I think Niall must have cottoned on to that because on a few occasions, when a question would be fired my way, he’d scribble the answer on his school book and tilt it just enough for me to see.
All my school reports were the same.
If Pearl spent as much time concentrating on her schoolwork as she does looking out of the window, she would do really well.
More focus please, Pearl!
Pearl needs to concentrate more in class.
What they didn’t realise was that I was focused, just not on my schoolwork. My imagination was alive even if my brain wasn’t in class. I dreamt of being a writer, spending my days looking out of my window for inspiration. The only subject I enjoyed was English. Mrs Evans, my English teacher, would often tell me how good I was, and I think that spurred me on because I never daydreamed or looked out of the window in Mrs Evans’s class.
Niall handed me a cup of tea with a Rich Tea biscuit.
‘Do bugs feel pain?’ I asked with a mouthful of biscuit.
‘Yes.’
‘Even woodlice?’
‘Yes.’
