But that wasn’t enough. In her eyes, it was priceless. After all, it was Nuala’s father’s house, and his father’s before that, who helped build it from scratch. Her mother offered it to her and her little family after her husband, Nuala’s father, died, saying it was too big for her to fart around in on her own. Since Kealen showed no sign of moving back from Australia with his wains, it would’ve gone to waste.
Relieved to see the tractor veering left into an old country lane, Nuala pushes the car into fourth gear and gives it the welly as she crawls back to 60, just to be met with a 40 speed limit sign ahead, shortly followed with a men at work sign behind it. The sooner all this is done, the better, she thinks, growing agitated and checking the time on the clock on the dashboard. Even though there are talks it could take another few years.
They’re on their way to Belfast City Airport to drop Danielle off for her second year at university, the bulging suitcase with half her wardrobe fit to burst in the passenger seat beside Nuala. Newcastle, she chose, despite Nuala’s nagging that Coleraine was both closer and cheaper. What with only being less than an hour up the road and yet to be hit with the £9k student fees that the mainland adhered to. Nuala just hopes she’ll return after her studies, unlike Ritchie, her eldest son who had shipped off to Cardiff and got a job there even before his graduation. Now she’s lucky if he’s back at Christmas or an odd weekend during the year. They’d went to see him a few times, of course, but the Welsh accent gave her a migraine, she doesn’t know how he can stick it. But after having a fortnight-long argument a few months back with Michelle about having to continue her education and not having her laze about the house watching Netflix all day every day come September, they finally settled on the North West Regional College, or the Tech as the young ones call it, in the city. It seems she has no plans to fly the nest just yet.
Spoilt rotten, Nuala thinks as she looks back at her, mirroring her sister with both their attentions engrossed on their phones. They hadn’t had it easy, none of them had. Between Aaron’s disappearance and the intense search for months afterwards. Then, finally having to admit defeat that he was dead and try to move on, whilst battling with the government to keep their home. Now, they rent a lovely house in Altnagelvin, unable to find a good enough one to buy just yet and not wanting to settle for one they’d grow to resent and regret. For the first time in a few years, life is good.
Chapter Two:
The boisterous cheers of the lads follow the smash of the glass as the barmaid reaches down to retrieve the broken pieces, beetroot faced. Even more embarrassed that she must bypass their table to get to the kitchen, where she receives a few more wolf whistles and misogynistic jeers. As the door through to the kitchen swings shut behind her, Chris turns his head back to the table of friends and pints. It’s been a while since he’s been out with the boys, work taking its toll on him. Wanting to spend the weekends getting overtime rather than enjoy himself. Too physically exhausted to even cook when he finally crawls through his front door, the Dominos app telling him his pizza is out for delivery, never mind get a shower and go out on the piss.
“Your round,” Dave winks at him as he smacks his lips and slams his empty glass down on the table.
Rolling his eyes, Chris slugs from the table over to the bar, where the barman gives him a disgruntled look, obviously aware of how himself and his party treated his colleague.
“Give us five pints of Bud there, would ye hi?”
Nodding with pursed lips, he pulls a few shiny pint glasses out of the cupboard and lines them up in front of the tap. Chris can feel his brain swirling in his head as he steals another glance at the boys talking excitedly about the Liverpool match tomorrow night behind him. It had been too long. Sure he hadn’t even seen Travis since the Christmas night out, where they all adorned slimy jumpers brandishing laddish slogans like ‘tickle my xmas balls’ and ‘if found return to pub.’ He had got a right slagging when he’d landed with a snowman with makeshift eyes that goggled about when he walked. The only one left in Primark in his size as it seemed the entire city had the same idea as him. That had been a good night, just like tonight has been. He needs to make time for them more often.
“24 quid lad.”
Tapping his card off the contactless machine, he’s just trying to engineer how he’s going to lift all five pints at once
