At Seventeen
Chapter 13
Kian returned home showing little or no emotion. What a night.
He had started it off consoling Shane and now he was trying to console himself,
because he had got off with Bryan's girlfriend. Nice. And, he thought bitterly,
he had thought that he was so worn out that he wasn't up to doing anything for
himself tonight. Well he certainly hadn't done anything for Bryan.
What am I going to do, he thought, as he eased the key into the door. Thank God
there are no fans around - as he looked over his shoulder. No, no one. He didn't
expect to see his mother sitting up for him in the kitchen. She hadn't done that
since he was.... well a long time anyway. His suspicion was immediately aroused.
"Mam? What's going on?" "Bryan rang several times for you but you
weren't here," she said. For a moment Kian felt he would keel over - surely
Jane hadn't told... had she... He was awakened by his mother's words:
"Mark's been rushed to hospital with meningitis."
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They cruised slowly now, because Shane had realised that there was such thing as
the speed law. She's very quiet, he thought. And quickly realised that he didn't
know anything about the girl. Which wasn't a usual occurance, when he met
people. They were usually only dying to get to talk about themselves. Shane from
Westlife was a very famous person, who might be able to get them a record deal,
or perhaps, in the girls' case, go out with them. He cringed at the remembrance
of such occasions, when he and the band had come across such people. But Eimear
was different - quiet, aloof and, seemingly, shy. He decided to try and talk to
her.
"You're Eimear, so. How do you know Bryan?" It was a stupid question,
he immediately told himself, but it was the only thing he could think to say.
"Actually, I don't know him very well at all. I only met him today."
Oh. That wasn't a very good beginning. What was he to say to this? "But you
know him a bit, surely." "It's more my friend Jane who knows him. I've
more or less tagged along. She's what you could call very taken with him."
"As he is with her," said Shane, relieved that they had found
something to talk about, even if it was Bryan's love life, which he personally
did not feel very comfortable talking about.
"Em, Eimear," he began, "what..." He didn't know how to put
it. Eimear turned to look at him earnestly for the first time. Her eyes told
what he had been trying to say to her. "What's wrong with Mark?" she
prompted. "Yeah." She let out a deep breath and looked away from him
again. He waited in agonised suspense, when finally she spoke in a controlled
voice. "Meningitis."
He stared at her, horrified, while she finally did what she had been needing to
do ever since Bryan had rang her - break down in tears. Shane, realising that
they were now in the hospital car park, and had been for the last few minutes,
turned off the engine and attempted to make sense of the situation. Her sobbing
went on. "But... if you only met Bryan today.... then you only met
Mark..." "Today," Eimear managed to say. "But... he was so
nice. And he listened to me for the whole time I was there - I only met him
once, but..."
Shane quickly remembered, in one of those memory boosters that come to you in an
instant, like the ones he had occasionally, and luckily, got when he had done
exams. That's right. Hadn't Mark been looking, talking and listening to her all
night, he had thought Mark had really liked her. And now he was in this state -
and if Eimear felt the same way - then, God knows, what she was going through.
Though his mind was going through turmoil, he slowly put his arm around her, as
she wept for the sweet, kind and tender Mark she had known for all of a few
hours. And his own throat grew heavy when he thought of his friend lying in that
hospital bed.
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Georgina wanted to go home. But Nicky didn't. To save themselves from having a
public argument, Georgina pulled him over into a corner. "You may want to
stay up all night," she hissed, "but I'm tired. And I have college
work to catch up on." That, she mused, might make him think of someone else
other than himself. He looked guilty. "Georgie, I'm so sorry, I should have
thought of your studies. I thought you were having just as good a time as
me."
Oh what's the point, she thought. After all I've given up for him, and he still
wants to stay on. "I'll get a taxi," she said roughly. And she pushed
past him. "I'll ring you," he said, looking at her hopefully. She gave
him a quick kiss and walked outside, to dial the cab company's number. Nicky
sighed as he watched her leave. What was wrong with her anyway lately? It wasn't
the same Georgina that he knew. It was someone different.
Someone tipped him on the shoulder. He turned to face them immediately. Nicky
trusted his instincts - it was something he had learned when over in England as
an apprentice footballer. He had had little else to trust when there. It was
Tara McGovern, he realised - luckily Georgina wasn't here to see her. She looked
like she had stepped off the pages of Rolling Stone. She beckoned for him to
join him, over in a corner where no one was looking.
"I've been longing to see you, Nicky," she whispered. Nicky gulped.
Why had he even got himself into this mess? He'd had a one night stand with
Tara, a sister of one of his ex-teammates at Home Farm, and hadn't told
Georgina. That, he presumed, would be it. Except Tara didn't seem to think so.
And what had been in Nicky's mind to be just a one night thing, had turned into
several.
"Tara, I'm busy," he said, pointing to the drinks over on the table.
"As you can see for yourself." "But Georgina's gone, isn't
she." It wasn't a question - of course Tara had watched Georgina's
departure with some delight; she had probably been watching the couple for the
whole night. Nicky looked at her levelly and said something he had been longing
to say for a long time. "Tara, I'm just not interested. Why can't you get
it into your head. I'm with Georgina. And you have a boyfriend already."
He wasn't too sure of that, but he remembered vaguely her telling him about some
guy - both of them had been drunk at the time. John, a year younger than her,
who she'd "nabbed" (she had said that with some relish) off a kid of
only 17, who "he shouldn't have been going out with anyway". I know
what I'd like to call Tara, thought Nicky. I suppose she makes a habit of it,
nicking other girls' boyfriends. And she thought she'd taken Georgina's as well.
Me. Not likely.
Tara looked insulted. "You know that's not true, Nicky. Remember the first
night? The second? The third? John means nothing to me, haven't I told you. He
was just a bit of a laugh, that's all. We are so good together, you know that.
You told me how much you hate being with Georgina." I did not, thought
Nicky angrily. I never hated being with Georgina for one second in my life.
"Get away from me, Tara," he muttered. "Stop fooling
yourself." And he made a dramatic departure, sweeping past her, and not
even bothering to look at her. This time, she didn't try to reply, or even to
follow him. The cold night air felt perfect after the hot, clammy atmosphere of
the PoD. Georgina had obviously left. He dialled his mobile. "Hello? Yes,
taxi please."