DECEMBER 31, 1998
“WHO’S READY TO WELCOME THE NEW MILLENNIUM?” GIBSIE ASKED WHEN HE SAUNtered into my room on New Year’s Eve with a party streamer balanced between his lips. Laden down with a stack of leftover selection boxes containing his favorite chocolate bars and with a party hat perched on his head, he nestled down on my beanbag, armed and ready to ring in the New Year.
“You’re a year early, Gibs,” Feely replied, focusing on the game we were playing.
“Yeah, Feely, I know,” Gibsie huffed, sounding annoyed. “That’s what I meant when I asked who’s ready towelcomeit.”
“He means the new millennium begins in 2000, Gibs,” I explained calmly, as I continued to kick Feely’s ass onFIFA. “We’re still in 1998, lad.”
“The how comehesaid it’s next year?” he argued in a disbelieving tone.
“Becausehe’sright,” Feely shot back dryly. “Itisnext year.”
“But how is it next year when you said it’snotnext year?” Gibsie complained, sounding skeptical. “Are we getting a new millennium or not?”
Feely shook his head and muttered, “You’ll have to take this one, Hugh.”
“It’s eight o’clock in the evening on the very last day of 1998. When the clock strikes midnight, it’ll be 1999.” Pausingthe game, I turned to our friend and continued to explain. “So tonight, as in right now, it’s 1998, and in four hours’ time, it’ll be 1999. The new millennium comes at theendof 1999, not at the start.”
“Sonextyear?” Gibsie asked, brows furrowed.
“Yes, Gibs.” I nodded eagerly.“Exactly.”
“Okay, that makes sense.” He looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to scowl at Feely. “Why didn’t you just say that at thebeginning, Patrick.”
Feely opened his mouth to protest, only to think better of it and mutter the words “give me strength” under his breath instead.
It was at that exact moment my bedroom door opened inwards, and my father’s head appeared. Of course, he didn’t look like the father I used to have, with a full, untamed beard and sunken eyes. The parts of his face that weren’t covered in hair were gaunt and hollow. He looked like the definition of a shell of a man. “Are you all settled in for the night, lads?”
“Pete!” Gibsie cheered, looking as thrilled to see my father as Claire did when he made one of his sporadic appearances. “That’s a fancy shirt.”
“I thought I best make an effort given the night.”
Make an effort.
What a fucking joke.
“Are you and Sinead going to Old Hall House for the night?”
“We are, Gibs.” Dad smiled before turning his attention to me. “Are you all set for ringing in the New Year with your friends, son?”
Choosing to ignore him like he did me, I resumed playingFIFA, while my eyes burned holes in the television screen. Feely, sensing my discomfort, nudged my shoulder with his in silent solidarity.
Because he got it.
“Pete! The taxi’s here, love!” I heard my mother call from downstairs, followed by, “Claire! Lizzie’s here with Caoimhe.”
My heart started to gallop almost as loudly as my sister’s heavy footfalls as she thundered out of her room and down the stairs, screaming “Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie!”
Yeah, Baby Sister.
Me, too.
“You know what I just thought?” Feely announced several hours later. “If Caoimhe marries Mark, then Liz and Gibs will be family.”
“Shit, you’re right,” I muttered, brows creasing. “They’d be in-laws.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” Gibs protested, sounding horrified. “Because he isnotmy brother.”
