Mars? Yeah Right!

Chapter 11

11

I didn't tell Teresa about what happened with Eamonn in the dressing room. For one thing, I didn't really feel like talking about it, I was still too furious.

And for the other, I couldn't have gotten a word in if I'd tried.

She talked non stop about Connor for the rest of the night and when she wasn't gushing about how wonderful he was, she was in a corner eating the face off him.

It was nauseating.

I couldn't help feeling worried though, as I listened to her rabbit on in the car home about how he had promised to call her the next day. Connor didn't exactly have a very promising track record when it came to girls- he was one of those I'll go out with her for a week then dump her when it gets boring sort of guys. You know, the kind that every girl wishes they could hang by their toes in a dark, cold dungeon and bludgeon repeatedly over the head with a heavy baseball bat?

I didn't want Teresa to get hurt because of some creep who couldn't be arsed to think of anyone else's feelings but his own. Something like that would kill her. She came across as strong, but I knew for a fact that she still got her Dad to leave the hall light on until she fell asleep because she was nervous of the dark. How could a girl like that  possibly survive a guy like Connor?

Teresa kept up the blow-by-blow account of her and Connor's 'wonderful evening' all the way to my house. I swear, it was a miracle I lasted that long without strangling and/or maiming her just to have some silence. I saluted Pat as he pulled out of my driveway- he was on his own now, poor man. 

I literally fell into bed when I got in the door and probably would've slept straight through the rest of the following day had Dad not arrived into my room at half ten in the morning clapping his hands and yelling, "Get up my princess, get up! There's work to be done!" about ten centimeters away from my ear.

I rolled over and groaned. He was starting the whole "Daddy-Daughter Chore Day " crap again. Still, I was way too tired to argue the toss with him, so I got up and dressed in some old clothes in preperation for whatever torture he had in store for me.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the wild, damp, unpredictable phenomenon that is the Irish Summer, I should probably explain now that the chances of there being even one hot, sunny day in the entire season are slim at best.

So that was why Dad decided to take advantage of the practically news worthy twenty two degree weather and ordered me to go out and paint the garden shed while he went into town with Mam.

Yippee.

It wasn't too bad though. Like I said, the universe had apparently imploded without me noticing  since it was a genuinely hot day, I had Linkin Park blasting in my eardrums and a few hours all to myself. Or at least that's what the day started out like.  

I had one whole side of the shed done and was halfway through the Hybrid Theory album, when something tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped about a mile in the air and spun around, the brown paint on my brush splattering everywhere....including all over Eamonn Daly's rather expensive-looking Dr. Martins.

He looked down at them, then back at me, grinning. "Interesting greeting, Corcoran. This a normal thing for you?"

  I ripped out my earphones and stared at him, painfully aware of my dishevilled, paint-covered appearance. Finally, I found my voice. "How the hell do you know where I live?"

"I asked around." His lips once more quirked upwards into a slightly mocking smile, and I noticed that one side was slightly swollen and bruised. My handy work, I presumed.