Chapter 1

Sinead was so proud. She was only just eighteen. On her birthday, Samuel Jackson had proposed. He had the ring and everything. The teachers had been patient as she wore her big diamond ring to school for a couple of days, then the deputy pulled her to one side and diplomatically said that it might make other girls jealous and would she mind not wearing it any more. She did mind, of course, but she was reasonable enough to see that other girls might be jealous of her for marrying at eighteen and becoming a housewife and (probably) mother before she was twenty. Jealous, fuck! Sinead was probably the only girl in the school who still thought that that was the career choice to have. Even Rashmi, who had a marriage arranger negotiating in India to find a good, clean boy of the right caste, even she could see that there was more to life and had told her parents that she would have to finish her degree before marrying. Mrs Padmore had two more reasons up her sleeve if that first one hadn’t worked. Firstly the school was shit scared that she’d lose the ring and sue the school. Their insurance would not cover the loss of a student’s jewellery. Secondly, the school rules forbade wearing of jewellery; they had turned a blind eye to small ear studs; they hadn’t challenged belly button rings because they weren’t visible (except when Tracey Horobin wore that ridiculous top); they had tolerated nipple rings because, again, they weren’t obvious; they had pulled all the girls in and told them that any girl with genital piercings could find a different school, though how they intended to check was not made clear. The girls had started a petition to demand that boys were given a similar order – which was fine because no boy was stupid enough to get his todger pierced with a Prince Albert. Even Kevin Ambherst had his limits, and he had an earring, a navel ring, and a nose stud.

“August? You’re getting married in August? Is it ... you know ... because you have to?” Mary was talking to Sinead.

“What? No. Of course not. I’m a good Catholic girl, I’m still a virgin.” Sinead said this as Kevin walked past.

“I can help you with that if you like?”

“Fuck off Kevin. I don’t want to catch anything do I?”

“I’m clean, I’ve got a certificate to prove it.” Which was true, but the certificate was two years old. He had had to be treated after he’d paid a woman down where the docks used to be. He had thought that would be the way to finally get some oral sex. He did, but he also got a communicable disease.

“Anyway, no. That’s not the reason. Well, it is. I want to, you know, before I’m too old to enjoy it.”

Miss Kimble was walking past as Sinead said that, Miss Kimble just rolled her eyes, the girl was eighteen, not sixty. Miss Kimble was thirty, and aware that to girls like Sinead that meant she probably needed a walking stick and a hearing aid. “You will come, won’t you? Say you will. I need some friends as well as relations. My relations are all nice, but, well they think Joseph Locke is the only good singer who came out of Ireland. My Great Aunt bought me Dana’s Greatest Hits for Christmas!”

“Joseph who?” asked Mary. Damien Rice was walking past, and stopped to give chapter and verse on the history of Joseph Locke. Damien knew everything about everything. He was a genuine information sponge who would one day win Brain of Britain, or Mastermind, or Eggheads, or something like that. “Okay, let’s talk about this somewhere else, this corridor has too many interruptions.” When she got home, she asked about Joseph Locke, and was amazed to learn that her mother knew all about him too. She made a note to see the film ‘Hear My Song’, but only when she had absolutely nothing better to do, like darning socks or weeding the garden.

Rupert came up to Amelie two days later, “Hi, umm, I’ve got an invitation to Sinead’s wedding. It’s in Ballyboley or somewhere.”

Mary and Amelie looked at him: “Ballymoney, and you have to go. We’re going. It’ll be fun. Say you’ll come too. We can see the Giant’s Causeway. It’ll be fun. There’ll be lots of drink. It’ll be -”

“Fun, yeah, you said. This isn’t a sneaky Catholic trick to lure me away from the safety of my good atheist parents and force me to recant all my sins and convert is it?”

“You are a stupid fu- Sorry Mrs Manfred – you are stupid. First, we would only be there for four days, that wouldn’t be long enough to recant ALL your sins; second, Sinead’s boyfriend, I mean fiance, Sam’s parent’s are Ulster Protestants from Ballymena; thirdly, Ballymoney is pretty Protestant too. Fourthly, I didn’t know Mr and Mrs Bearstow were atheists – I’ll wear my crucifix when I come round next time. They might suck my blood.”

“Vampires are, by definition, not atheists. They believe in an evil overlord, so they must believe in the opposite. Stands to reason. Mum and Dad are not so much atheists as entirely devoid of any beliefs I think.”