Yesterday I published a short story called Stuff Happened, and now I would like to publish another piece of creative writing called I Will, an extract from a novel manuscript I have been working on that will soon (hopefully, maybe) be finished. Enjoy! 😊

I Will.

Luke’s hair is a rumpled mess. His face is turned downwards in a scowl. He trudges across the school yard, scuffing his shoes along the ground as though he bears the weight of the world on his shoulders. Yet the sight of him – in spite of all his surliness – lifts Derek’s heart. His children have been back at school for nearly a week now, and every minute he has had to spend apart from them has been difficult.

Luke reaches him, head bowed low. ‘Hi, Dad.’

‘Well, Lukey!’ Derek exclaims, lifting him up and hugging him tightly. ‘Are you used to being a big boy yet? First Class, imagine!’

‘I’m not a big boy, Dad,’ Luke replies sulkily. ‘Stop saying that. An’ put me down, you’re so embarrassing…’

‘You’re very cross today, Lukey!’

‘Ms. Donovan gave us loads of homework. An’ she says we need to bring in our PE gear tomorrow. An’ she asked us to bring in home-made cakes for the cake sale on Friday.’

‘Did she, now?’ Derek replies wearily. He has just about mastered a new recipe for chicken stir-fry – the one he made yesterday, using some ham slices, didn’t go so well – but baking cakes is beyond him. ‘Well, we’ll just have to buy them.’ He looks around for Sophie. ‘Where’s your sister?’

‘Dunno.’

"His children have been back at school for nearly a week now, and every minute he has had to spend apart from them has been difficult."

They stand in the yard for a few moments – Derek watching the happy laughter and chatter of the other parents and their children – until Sophie comes striding out of the school with a face like thunder. As she barrels past him towards their car, Derek calls out, ‘Soph! What’s wrong?’

‘I’m never talking to Jessie White again!’ she screams, before climbing into the back seat and slamming the door shut.

Derek sighs. ‘Well, Lukey,’ he whispers, taking him by the hand and walking with him to the car, ‘let’s see what your sister is so cross about, hm?’

‘Dunno,’ Luke replies listlessly. ‘She’s always cross…’

As soon as the car door is opened, Sophie turns to Derek and demands to know, ‘are we eating that stuff from yesterday for dinner again?’

‘It’s nice to see you too, Sophie,’ Derek replies calmly as he shepherds Luke into the seat beside her and buckles his seatbelt. ‘And no, we are not. We’re having chicken stir-fry this time.’

‘Chicken?!’ Luke screeches. ‘Aw Dad, I don’t like chicken.’

‘What? I thought you loved it!’

‘I’m the one who loves chicken, Dad,’ Sophie says with an exaggerated sigh and a roll of her eyes. ‘Not Luke.’

‘Well, Lukey,’ Derek says in an overly bright tone of voice, struggling not to allow his annoyance to get the better of him, ‘maybe you’ll like it when you try it.’

He closes the door, then takes a deep breath as he moves to the front of the car, preparing himself for the battle to come. Sure enough, the second he opens the driver’s door, Luke yells out, ‘I have tried chicken, Dad. I’ve tried it a zillion times!’

‘No you haven’t,’ Sophie scoffs. ‘You tried one mouthful of mine, at Granny’s birthday party, then spat it out on the tablecloth. It was sooo gross.’

"I didn’t even say that I liked him, anyway. I just said he had cool hair."

Luke anxiously clutches the back of Derek’s seat. ‘You’re not gonna put in a load of mushrooms, are you?’

‘I’ll leave mushrooms out of it.’

‘But that’s not fair, Dad,’ Sophie howls. ‘I love them!’

‘Fine then,’ Derek replies, through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll add mushrooms to your portion, and leave them out of Luke’s.’ He turns around and stares angrily at his children, daring either of them to continue with their complaints. When they remain silent, he gives a brief nod and turns back to the steering wheel. ‘Anyway … how was school?’

‘Jessie White is a total bitch,’ Sophie snaps at once.

‘Don’t use that kind of language, Sophie, I’m warning you,’ Derek orders her wearily as he inserts the car key into the ignition.

‘Well, she is a bitch, Dad! She told Rob Farrell that I liked him, and now he’s making fun of me, and the rest of the boys think I’m totally weird, and I didn’t even say that I liked him, anyway. I just said he had cool hair.’

‘Rob Farrell?’ Luke exclaims with disgust. ‘Is he the one who has long hair like a girl?’

Derek hears Sophie whack Luke across the arm. Luke lets out a howl. ‘Sophie, stop that,’ he barks, whirling around in his seat and glaring at her. ‘I won’t have you hitting your brother. Now will you both be quiet for five seconds, while I get the car started!’

A thick, resentful silence descends over his children as they slowly pull out of the car park and join the lengthy queue of vehicles preparing to emerge from the gates.

‘Auntie Moira is coming over this afternoon.’

‘Will Cillian be there as well?’ Luke pipes up excitedly.

‘And Louise?’ Sophie asks with interest, leaning forward in her seat.

Derek heaves a sigh of relief. Finally – something that will please both of his children. ‘Yes, they’ll be there.’

✭ ✭ ✭

Who is this Tiernan Henderson person? Derek can't remember who he was, amongst the uncountable crowd of well-wishers who turned up to the wedding over a decade ago. Sifting through the enormous pile of letters, bills, tax files, email printouts, training notes, and upcoming match schedules before him, he picks up a different card: this one from a couple called Robert and Susan Blake. Susan was an old school friend of Anne-Marie's, he thinks, though he only met her once or twice before the wedding. Perhaps it was the same story with Tiernan Henderson. He heaves an enormous sigh and leaves both cards to one side.

The excited screeches of Luke and his cousin Cillian have been drifting over to him from the garden for quite a while now. Glancing out the window, he can't help but smile at the sight of them, as they zoom down the new zipwire together for what must be the hundredth time.

‘Those boys turn into a real pair of clowns when they get together, don't they?’ His sister Moira, sitting at the other end of the table, looks up at him, her eyes filled with mirth.

‘I know. It's great to see Luke enjoying himself out there. He's so withdrawn, normally. Especially when he and Sophie argue. She definitely bosses him around!’

‘I was the same, when I was her age. Ran rings around you.'

‘I like to think I held my own.'

‘You were five years younger than me, Derek. You never stood a chance. I could run faster than you, I could pin your arms behind your back…'

‘Don't tell that to Sean Dwyer, or I'll be kicked off the squad!'

‘Remember the time I locked you in the wardrobe for an entire afternoon?'

‘Ah, yes. That day has been seared into my memory banks forever.'

‘Dad nearly killed me.'

‘Sweet revenge…'

‘And now here I am, sorting out your taxes!'

‘Thanks for this, Moira. Really. It's such a help to me.'

‘You don't have to thank me, Derek. You know that. What's the use of having an accountant in the family if she can't be put to use organising your taxes now and then? Hm?’

‘Still. If you weren't here, I wouldn't have gotten a scrap of work done…'

Derek has now picked up a different card. The handwriting within is vaguely familiar to him, but he can't quite place where he has seen it before…

‘Who's Bríd Donnelly, do you know?'

‘Bríd?! Who's Bríd? Ah come on, Derek, you must remember her. She used to come in and help Mam with the housework, that time she was ill.'

‘Oh … yes.' Now that the memory has slipped into place, Derek, too, is wondering how on Earth he could have forgotten her: the rotund, sparkly-eyed woman who used to bustle around the house – putting everything to rights and providing them with generous bags of penny sweets – whenever she visited them all those years ago. ‘I don't know … my brain just isn't working the way it used to.’

Moira's eyes soften as she reaches out to squeeze his hand. ‘That's understandable.’

Derek nods, then abruptly looks away and reaches for his half-finished mug of tea. Moira regards him for a few moments, then says, carefully, ‘are you sure you’re up to this, Derek? I mean, going through old wedding cards is a big step. You don’t have to do it today.’

‘Better to get things organised.’

‘You know, Derek … please don't take this the wrong way, but it might help if you were to go and talk to someone about all this.'

His gaze falls upon the printout of an email sent to him a few days previously, by Dwyer. He has read it several times now, but still can't make sense of it. Why would Dwyer have chosen Frank Caffrey, of all people, to start out as a flanker for the next match?

‘Mam was telling me about this lovely woman called Orla Fallon. She does consultations near here, and I just thought … well, I know how much pressure you're under, with the championship coming up, and the kids and everything…'

Jamie Corcoran will be out of action for a while – because of that knee injury he sustained against Scotland – so this puts them at a disadvantage. They can't afford any slip-ups against Italy, and Derek is afraid that placing Frank Caffrey towards the front will be a fatal mistake. He needs to have a word with Dwyer about this. Perhaps, if they were to introduce Declan Quinn to the line-up instead…

‘Derek?'

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Moira heave an enormous sigh, pick up her handbag, and root around in it for a second, before pushing a card of some sort towards him. ‘This is her number. Will you please take it?'

He clears his throat. ‘I will.’

A few seconds' silence – thick as treacle – passes between them.

‘Mam is worried about you, Derek. Will you call up to her some day soon?'

‘I will.’

‘And do give that Fallon woman a ring, okay?'

‘I will.’

‘If you lose that card or anything, you can always text me for her number. I have it stored on my phone. Actually, I may as well text it to you now, just to be on the safe si–'

‘I will, Moira, alright?!'

Moira stares at him for a moment, before turning away to pick up her bag. ‘Okay. Listen Derek, it’s nearly six o’clock. Dermot will be back home soon. Your August stuff is nearly done now –’ she gestures at the pile of tax documents before her ‘– and I can do the rest on Wednesday. Is that alright?’

‘Of course. I’m sorry, Moira … I didn’t mean to shout.’

Her eyes soften. ‘Ah look, it happens. Don’t worry about it.’

‘And listen … thanks so much for coming by.’

‘It was no trouble. You know that.’ Rising from her seat, she calls in the direction of the staircase, ‘Louise!’

Her daughter’s voice drifts down to them from Sophie’s bedroom. ‘Whaaaat?’

‘We’re off!’

After some muffled grumbling, the girls trudge downstairs, and Derek is amused to note that both of their faces are plastered with a copious amount of bronzer, eyeshadow and body glitter. ‘Louise! What have you done to your face?’ Moira exclaims. ‘Come on. Let’s wash it off…’

"‘Call me if you need anything. Alright?’
He nods, but cannot speak."

‘Mam, no, let me keep it on until Catriona’s party, please…’

‘Absolutely not!’

‘You can wash your face too, Sophie,’ Derek orders her as severely as he can, though he is still struggling to suppress a smile at the sheer amount of make-up on her face.

‘But Dad! It took us ages to do the makeover!’

‘No buts,’ he insists, and begins to steer her towards the sink.

‘MOIRAAA!’ Luke yells, charging in to them from the garden with Cillian – a slim, fair-haired young boy, slightly shorter than him – hot on his heels. ‘Moira, Moira, Moira, are you going? Don’t go yet. Can you give me one last piggyback ride?’

‘I’m afraid not, Lukey. I have to get back home.’

Luke slumps, then brightens. ‘Can I have a sleepover with Cillian soon?’

‘Maybe.’ She glances at Derek, who gives her a brief nod. ‘Alright then, Luke. How about next Friday? You and Sophie can both stay over.’

‘That’s a whole week away,’ Luke begins to moan – but, on catching a warning glare from his father – quickly adds, ‘thank you very much, Auntie Moira. You are very kind.’

‘Very,’ Moira replies, glancing at Derek with a flicker of amusement in her eyes. ‘Okay, Louise, you have all of that stuff off your face now? Good girl… Yes, I know you wanted to look cool for Catriona’s party, but you’re too young for make up at the moment … I don’t care if you think you’re mature for your age – I am your mother and I get to make the rules. Yes, I’m uncool and terrible and out to ruin your life, I know … We will revisit this subject when you’re a teenager…’

Fifteen minutes later, Moira and her children are at last on their way out the door. Just before closing it behind her, she touches Derek’s arm and smiles a little sadly at him.

‘Call me if you need anything. Alright?’

He nods, but cannot speak.

Image Sources:

Father holding son's hand: Forbes

Sulking child: Lonely Planet

Boy preparing to go on zipwire: KidsGuide.co.uk

People sharing tea: Irish Central