claire knows there’s something wrong with her daughter.

claire had been lucky enough to have been blessed with a son and a daughter, and she was even more blessed to say that she was equally close with both of them. liam was the rugby player and you loved dance.

she had a close relationship with you — you would do girly things together. she was always there for you in regards to boys, periods, school. she always knew when something was wrong with you — and that’s why she knows there’s something wrong now.

her sensitive and gentle girl was lashing out. you had never argued previously, but a big argument broke out after school. your dad, gibsie, had easily diffused the situation, but you had stormed off to your room, and that was that. claire understood teenage hormones, but you were eighteen now — in your leaving cert year, and also avoiding dance.

and your boyfriend.

claire and gibsie were always content knowing you were with conor kavanagh. the same age, and the son of gibsie and claire’s best friends. it was like something out of a movie. the families were close, and it happened two years ago. claire was supportive, always.

you were so much like her.

a mop of blonde curly hair. so bright, so happy. so full of energy and so kind to everyone. which is why claire knows something is wrong when you’re biting her head off, not to mention your dad and brother’s.

she speaks to her husband about it, but gibsie pins it down to ‘raging teenage hormones’ and says i’ll be grand. claire agrees to a point, but she can’t help but think it’s something more.

she gives you opportunities when she drives you to dance and school, when it’s just you two at home, but you stay silent, and claire’s concern only grows. she realises she hasn’t seen rory in a few days, and she wants to text shannon desperately, but she doesn’t.

she waits. because claire knows her daughter, and she knows that if you need to talk to her, you will.

right now, she’s driving you to dance. you’re quiet, a hand rested on your stomach casually. you look pale.

“are you okay, love?” claire asks softly.

you nod.

she frowns. “love—“

“i’m grand, mam.” you say softly.

claire swallows. nods.

but she knows it’s more.

she just has to wait.