sister
an extract from my novel, Mammy
I feel like it’s been a hot minute since I’ve shared any of my creative writing on here and seeing as I’m getting stuck into the second draft of my novel and at a place where I feel comfortable sharing, I’ve decided to do just that! Please enjoy an early chapter in my book called sister—where after Finn returns home from the UK to his small Irish hometown, he meets his sister Aoife for the first time since being back and decides he owes her the truth of himself.
Finn woke to the sound of Jesse’s snores, violent like gunshots.
He’d always swore there was not a thing about his boyfriend that he would ever change, but when it came to his snoring habits, there was a part of Finn that thought he could be convinced.
Jesse was twitching in the twin beds they had pushed together, as he lay dreaming on his back. Now awake, Finn rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned over in the bed, wrapping his arm around Jesse’s broad chest. He ran a finger down his brown skin, circling the little hairs that sprouted from his nipple. Jesse gave one last sudden snore and stirred in the bed, opening one eye to peer at the disturbance.
Finn smiled at him. He seemed to be in a constant state of awe that he had found this happiness in Jesse that he never dared to think was reserved for someone like him. He dragged the feet of his youth along pretending to be someone he wasn’t, and he’d become so lost in the act that he nearly lost himself altogether. It was when he shook himself dry of Ballycross that he got to meet himself all over again. Finn had sworn off the religion that raised him as much as his mother did, but there were times when he felt fleeing to England had been like the resurrection of Jesus Christ, a chance to be born again, and this time upon his forced return he wouldn’t make the same mistake of dimming his shine for anybody else, least of all his mother, least of all Agnes. He’d figured it was an eventual fact that he would end up coming to Ballycross but he hadn’t expected it would have to be quite so soon. But his actions, he had learnt, would always come with consequences.
“Morning,” Finn said.
His voice came out as a soft whisper, because this moment between them was a quiet thing, a private affair. They lived in their own bubble, and he refused to let it be punctured by any sort of interference.
“How come you look so cute when you’ve just woke up? That doesn’t seem fair,” Jesse said, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Finn’s forehead, a kiss so full of potential that a garden could grow.
Finn shrugged, his grip around Jesse’s chest tightening. “Dunno. I guess the company helps.”
“Oh, you guess, is it?” Jesse asked.
Finn considered this, relished in the flirting, tapped Jesse’s nose with his other hand. “Potentially. I suppose it depends on what you’ve got to offer.”
Jesse was silent for a moment, until he sprang to action and hoisted Finn off him. He turned him over on his back, climbing atop with his knees tucked into the sides of Finn’s stomach. He felt himself growing hard as Jesse grabbed his arms with his own hands and pressed them into the bed, leaning down so that they were face-to-face. A smirk pulled at the corner of Jesse’s mouth, and a gleam of light soared across his brown eyes.
Finn had left for England thinking that the romances that he’d grown up on were not made for somebody like him: the quiet, domestic love stories of Ballycross. He was always an observer, and never did he assume he would be the participant. A witness to the act of the love, but never the one to bleed. He’d given up dreaming of sharing that feeling with someone, realising that maybe he was confined to the kind of love that involved shadows and dark corners and grubby, uninvited hands. But Finn realised that the true romance began when the expectation was disregarded, when it came out of the blue.
Voices from outside the thin walls drifted into their room, the early birds that were making the most of the B&B’s mediocre breakfast. But their low voices fell on deaf ears. Finn looked at Jesse with a burning love, almost afraid to take even a breath should it disturb this perfect moment that existed between them.
But it was not the low sounds they had to concern themselves with—it was the sharp staccato knock that rapped on their door. Jesse sighed and collapsed onto his back. Finn begrudgingly climbed out of the bed, adjusting his erection in his pants. The digital clock on the bedside table read 11:37am and Finn already resented the person who was calling at such an early hour.
“Who’s that?” Jesse asked.
“How am I supposed to know?” Finn fired back, grouchy now at their interruption.
He’d never been a morning person, and he’d no intention of beginning anytime soon. Finn picked up one of Jesse’s large jumpers from the little armchair that sat solitarily in the corner and climbed inside it. Had someone made a report? Already? He was suddenly struck with a horrible sense of déjà vu, a sharp yank back to a few weeks ago when the headmaster of the school he taught at had summoned him to his office with an air of obvious hostility.
Perhaps it was the three bottles of red wine they’d shared last night that led to someone moaning about the noise, he tried to reason with himself. There was nothing else it could be.
A knock came again, determined this time. Whoever was on the other side of the door really wanted to speak to them. He barely gave himself a glance in the mirror before pulling open the door, only to be greeted by the large and bulbous eyes of his little sister. She looked like she was half a second away from a stroke.
“Oh. It’s you,” Finn said, turning his back and instantly falling into that comfort that he and Aoife had always shared. He was two steps away from the bed when he froze on the spot, immediately turning a beetroot shade of red. The sight of a naked Jesse in the bed spurred him into action, and he hurried back to the door before Aoife could get so much as a glance. He pushed her backwards and shut the door behind them both. They stood in the little hallway outside the room, and Finn hadn’t even realised he was still only in Jesse’s hoodie and his underwear until he felt the chill of the draft tickle his bare legs.
“Oh, it’s you?” Aoife looked at her brother in disbelief. “Are you for real? That’s how you’re going to greet your own sister after two days of being back in the country and not even so much as a hello, nice to see you?”
Finn brought a hand to his forehead and he realised it was shaking. He was far too hungover for this, hanging on precariously by a loose thread. He heard the daytime telly from the adjacent room, and he felt his head was fit to burst. Christ, he really wasn’t in the humour for this now.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home? And why am I the last to find out? Sure all the Holy Sinners knew before I did—I didn’t even find off Mammy, it was Linda bloody McKelvey, but there’s no feckin’ surprise there. What’s going on?”
“Jesus Christ, officer, any more questions?” Finn asked. “I wasn’t drinking, I swear. Well I was, but sure it was only the one. I drive better with one down the hatch, you know yourself.”
Aoife laughed, but it wasn’t the kind of laugh to suggest she found what he’d said funny, it was an angry laugh. Finn was surprised he didn’t see whirls of smoke curling out from her nostrils. He did feel a bit bad, but his hangover was coming on him strongly and he couldn’t find it in himself to take responsibility.
His sister had mousy brown hair much like his own, and she wore it in a flicked-out bob. Finn decided he could blame the Olsen twins for her adventurous new hairstyle—it was certainly brave for Ballycross.
“You must be having me on, surely?” she continued. “Why are you holed up in this ratty little B&B when your bed is at home? She changes the bloody sheets often enough, even when you’ve been gone for four years! Says the dust will ruin the material if she leaves it untouched for too long. You know what she’s like.”
A little bit of affection started to turn in Finn’s stomach, like the unwrapping of a Christmas present, but he quickly shut it down before it got a chance to unfurl. He had no room for fondness now, especially for those in his life who couldn’t make room for every part of him.
“Look, Aoife. I’m hungover to bits. And there’s a lot I need to tell you. I’m assuming Agnes hasn’t said a thing.”
“Ah, who’s Agnes?” she asked. “She’s our Mammy, not some stranger down the street you’d say hello to in the post office.”
“She’s no Mammy of mine,” Finn said sharply.
“Finn.” Aoife’s voice had turned to worry then. They were cut from the same cloth, Finn and his sister. Both had thick skin from growing up in Ballycross, and both had understood the need to be ruthless enough to avoid being chewed up by their village and its people. They knew to move to the melody of their own song even if nobody else was listening to it. “Have you got something to tell me?”
It was one of those rarer moments in his life where Finn couldn’t find the right words. He considered each one carefully as they fell off his lips. He was done tiptoeing around the truth, especially with someone as close as his sister. She deserved to know all of him, and it was up to her whether she would accept it or not. But releasing it into the space between them meant it would no longer be in his control, no longer be his own secret. That thought alone was terrifying in itself.
“I don’t want to do this here,” Finn said. “Are you free later?”
“I’m really worried about you, Finn,” she said quietly, reaching out her hand to hold his elbow. “Should I be?”
“Not at all,” Finn said. Somehow a tear escaped from his eye and rolled down his cheek. He smiled. “Honestly, trust me. I’ve never been happier.”
“Just please don’t tell me you’ve got your girlfriend knocked up. That’s all we need. We haven’t even met the girl yet.”
Finn went bright red in the face in the way that he tended to do, and hoped that Aoife didn’t notice. In all the commotion of the last few weeks, with the scandal that stained his Birmingham life and returning home with Jesse, he had almost forgotten about the pretend girlfriend he’d concocted for the last three years.
“Look. I’ll be waiting in Fagan’s in half an hour. You might have changed since I’ve last seen you, but no way have you managed to take any less time to get ready. Don’t keep me waiting. It’s been long enough as it is.”
“I’ll be there,” he said. “Go on, away with you.”
The cold was starting to crawl its way up Finn’s legs. He’d give himself five more minutes in the warm bed with Jesse before facing another day. There would surely not be near enough tea in his village to keep him going, but by God it was worth at least the try. It was what the Irish did best after all. A cup of tea and a spoonful of secrets.
He watched his sister turn on her heel with concern clouding her face. She’d only taken two steps before Finn found himself calling her name—gently, bravely. He hurried towards her, wrapping her in a hug.
“I’m glad you came,” he whispered in her ear, and it hung in the air before them. “I’ve missed you.”
He hadn’t realised how much he needed this embrace. He should have known his homecoming to Ballycross wouldn’t be complete without a hug from his own sister, one of the rare people in his life who seemed to fit into his body’s awkward shape without effort. They stood in silence for what was an eternity and yet no time at all. The words would follow later. For now, Finn seized this brief peace.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Aoife said eventually, tearing herself away from her older brother.
This time, Finn let her leave without interruption. He watched as her figure disappeared down the hallway of the B&B, and noticed that she had put on a little weight. Noticed the Adidas tearaway tracksuit bottoms that she wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing when he left. He began to wonder how many of these small details he would notice that had changed in the time since he’d been gone, all these physical differences that were normal to those around Aoife on a regular basis but brand new to him. His parents had already turned their nose up at the sight of him with Jesse, and Finn was sure the thread that he was hanging on by so loosely was bound to snap should Aoife do the same. She was the last person in Ballycross that mattered enough for him to care about her opinion, and today would be the day she was going to find out the truth.
Finn tasted the vomit in the back of his throat and barely managed to make it to the toilet before the acidic bile came hurtling from between his lips, a shooting star across a night sky that was anything but something to wish upon.