Fiona twists a lock of hair between her fingers and bites it, looking down. I reach for her hand and gently extricate the hair from between her lips.
“Come and help me unpack the bags, and we’ll get you a good meal, okay?” I brush her crazy, wavy hair out of her eyes.
“’Tis a mess, this hair of mine,” she mutters.
“Would you like me to plait it before I go?”
She grins. “Please, Sheena?”
“Of course. Now go!”
She runs off to fetch the brush.
A loud, long wail comes from the other room. There’s only two bedrooms, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom here, so we know when the baby’s up.
“I’ll get him,” Tiernan says, shoving his hands in his pockets and trudging off to where baby Sam’s crib sits in the tiny, cramped living room. He comes in a few minutes later with the baby on his hip. One-year-old Sam’s diaper droops, and he’s still sniffling, but when he sees me, he reaches his chubby arms out for me. I won’t lie, it breaks my heart a little.
I move quickly. My mother could get up at any minute, and I don’t want to listen to her yammer on about me and my stuck-up ways. I change the baby’s diaper, wipe his little face, brush and braid Fiona’s hair, and feed them some soup I bought from the shops.
“Thanks, Sheena,” Tiernan says.
I put the groceries away and quickly tidy the kitchen. “Wish I had time to clean up the dishes for you.”
He shakes his head. “Leave it. I’d have done them myself but I just got back from work.” I hate that he’s working. Not only is he too young for a job, but the littlest ones are left unattended in his absence.
“What job do you have now?”
Since he was eight years old, Tiernan’s found little jobs to do here and there. He brings in money and gives some to my mother. I hate that he has to. He should have years of childhood in front of him, but they’ve been stripped away. He stands on the cusp of manhood, and it isn’t fair.
“Been making some deliveries,” he says. “Here and there.”
Fiona sits on the floor cross-legged, the baby between her legs drinking a bottle.
I could’ve slapped my mother when I found out she was pregnant.
A few years back, we lost my father, and my mother took to drink. He’d roll over in his grave to see the squalor they live in now. Though dirt poor, my father was a good man, a boxer who earned his living with his fists.
But I know who killed him. And they will pay for what they’ve done.
My mother went from one man to the next, spreading her legs for the next arsehole who’d pay the rent. The worst of the lot resurfaced last year, early release from jail. They had a one-night stand, and now the result of that night’s sitting in front of me.
It isn’t his fault, though. I can’t deny he’s adorable, the chubby little thing.
“Deliveries?” I ask Tiernan. “What sort?”
But before he can answer, I hear her. Her feet hit the floor and a second later, there’s the strike of a lighter. Fiona looks at me with wide eyes, and Tiernan’s jaw clenches. The baby gulps greedily at his bottle, unaware of what’s about to happen.
“Go,” Tiernan whispers. “I’ve got this.”
“We both do,” Fiona whispers.
I shake my head. I don’t want her taking her anger out on them. And I don’t run from anything.
The heavy sounds of her footsteps approach. Fiona bites her lip. I continue cleaning up the kitchen as if it doesn’t make me nauseous to hear her coming.
“Thought I heard you out here.” My mother’s behind me, and I keep my back deliberately to her.
“Aye,” I say, wiping the counters down. “Brought some groceries, but I’ll be leaving shortly.”
“We don’t need your handouts, you know. You can leave now.”
It’s how it always starts, every argument. The last time I came, she threw a teacup at my head and nearly hit me, because I had the nerve to bring Fiona new shoes.
It wasn’t always like this. Before the baby, we were at least civil. But I was the one that saw to her boyfriend’s recent arrest, and she knows it.
I may not be able to get the courts to grant me custody, but I’ll be damned if I see the son of a bitch raise his hand to anyone. One black eye to Tiernan, and I pulled every fucking favor I had to get the son of a bitch’s arse sent back to jail. I was successful, and she hasn’t forgiven me.
“I know,” I say, trying to keep the mood light. I don’t want to fight with her. Not tonight. Not in front of my brothers and sister. “But I like to visit them, and I like to give them a little treat now and then.”