Page 6 of London, Can You Wait?

MARK

Thirteen years earlier

Dublin, October 2004

“Mark Keegan! What the hell?” Fifteen-year-old Grace snatched her brother by the ear.

“Ow! Christ, Gracie!” Mark dropped a half-empty bottle of cider onto the grass and his eyes flew to his recently acquired friends, a group of boys known for drinking, skipping class, and talking back at teachers.

“Swigging booze in the park during lunch? Jesus, Mark, you’re only twelve!”

“Let go of me—”

Mark’s friends laughed and taunted him. “Oooh, Keegan, gettin’ beat up by your sister? Ya big wuss!”

“Gracie! Let go!”

“Embarrassed are you, Fappy? Tough!” She yanked his ear and marched him out of the park, their feet crunching and kicking through piles of crumpled brown leaves.

“Where are we going?”

“Home for a bollocking, you little wanker.”

“But class starts in ten minutes—”

“Like you care! No wonder your grades have sucked lately.” Grace exchanged his ear for the arm of his jacket and dug in her fingers. “Shut up and be thankful you’re dealing with me and not Mum. She’s doing a double shift at the dry cleaners, so your arse is mine.”

“You can’t do this.” He tried to shake his sister off. “You’re not in charge of me!” Mark tugged his arm away, sending a packet of cigarettes to the ground.

“Jesus!” Grace snapped up the evidence. “Smoking, too? What else have you been doing? Have you been getting high with those idiots? Because I know all about them, Mark. They’re losers. They spend most afternoons in detention—”

“Lay off, Gracie. You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand all right.” She waved the cigarette package in his face. “Every night last week? You weren’t at footy practice, were you? You were in detention, admit it!”

Mark swiped at her hand but missed. “Gracie, give them back. Please don’t tell Mum. Come on! Give ’em, back!”

She stashed the cigarettes in her bag. “Was it for leaving school grounds during lunch like today? Or mitching class…or drinking? Is that what you do these days? Sneak off on the way back from gym class? Meet your new eejit friends in the park, smoke some fucking weed?! Tell me, or I’m marching you straight to Mum right now!”

Mark had never seen his sister so angry with him and knew she wasn’t bluffing. “I’ve only tried it a few times…”

“Once is too bloody many!” She shoved him towards their semi-detached house. “Get your arse inside before someone sees you.”

Grace slammed the front door behind them. “Mark, what the FUCK! Are you really this thick? Don’t you see that you’re throwing your life away? What’s Mum gonna say? Do you have any idea what this will do to her?”

“Don’t tell her then. Christ, Gracie, just…leave me the fuck alone!”

“Listen, you have to stop this shit, NOW! Dad’s been dead for nine weeks, and you going off the rails like this, becoming a bad lad—that’s just not you, Mark.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ll stop—I promise.”

“A promise? From you? That’s worth NOTHING, and you know it. All you do lately is lie.” She shook her head furiously. “I can only hide so much of your crap from Mum. Are you hell-bent on hurting her? Didn’t you learn anything two weeks ago?”

“I didn’t do that on purpose—”

“Oh, come on. That was a dirty tackle. You almost broke that poor kid’s leg, and everyone saw it. Do you think your coach suspended you for nothing? Look, I know your heart is broken with everything that’s happened, Mark—mine is too! But you can’t take out your anger on the football pitch or hang around with those louts, trying to blot out your feelings with drugs and booze.”

Mark’s cheeks grew pink with anger. “So, what? You want me to smile? Pretend everything is great? Act like happy little Mark, the way I was before he…” Mark swallowed heavily. “Sorry, Gracie, I can’t. No, I won’t! I like hanging out with Cathal and his mates. It’s not hurting anyone, so mind your own business.”