Ballylaggin would always be home point for me. Sure, travelling is nice. Exotic. But it’s not home. I don’t see how you can grow up somewhere and up and move - and not miss it, not still call it home.

I think my home was a person. Not my Mam or Dad. Not Claire. Not any of my friends. But my friends little sister.

Crazy little girl Feely.

She’d been just that growing up: tearing down the road on her scooter all summer long, dripping ice cream down her fingers, and cleaning it in the sprinklers. Every part of that girl was wild. Even when she was terrified she would come down the dark bike trail with me, Patrick and Gibs, holding Claire’s hand, telling her not to be scared.

When she joined Tommen she changed a bit. Not badly. Definitely not badly. She didn’t scream as much, made friends with everyone around her - she was likeable. Funny. So smart. Teachers praised her name on parents evening to the point she would blush.

She’d come over for dinner less, but would hang out with Claire more. Always reading together, more so her than Claire, and giggling to each other. When she turned 15 that’s when I feckin’ like, lost it.

I get it. It’s bad. I’m almost 17 and she’s.. Feely’s little sister. But it was my Halloween party and she was dressed up as the Sugarplum Fairy. Lads, I didn’t know pink and purple sparkles could be attractive.

After that party? Yeah, I was a dead man.

We’d ended up in the living room together, nestled on the arm chair, her sat on my lap, everyone playin’ truth or dare. And we’d ended up kissing. I remember the way her hands had trembled slightly against my jaw; it was her first kiss, I think.

I’d tried to be good. But those soft, sugar sweet lips were my downfall. I nipped, licked and sucked at them like they were a candy of my own, and I’d kept my arm around her the rest of the evening. And every evening after that for a long time.

When we were together it was bliss. The world would soften to this gentle hum, instead of roaring, screaming noise. I’d help her study, and she’d talk and talk about the books she read, effortlessly charming me until I was smitten.

But of course life got in the way. I started becomin’ more popular in my later years of school, and it had never been a problem until now. Until the rugby team had to be at every party, every single time.

Our time depleted until it was occasional ‘hi’s’ in the corridor, but she never stopped trying. She’d come and talk to me, message me, call me - but I was busy. School was feckin’ mental and every time I would call her, I’d be dragged out.

And the one time I let myself drink? I ended up with Shania Lawson on my lap, kissin’ my neck. I’d pushed her away, but apparently it was too late. At least twenty people had seen.

I didn’t see her again after that.

There was this study abroad thing, helps you with your exams, and she’d taken French. So off went my girl to France. No goodbye. No hesitation. Gone.

I’d had it coming. Us had had it coming. But I missed the bones off her. I called her. Begged Patrick to ask her about me, but the lad was adamant not to. He wanted his baby sister to heal. Which was fair.

But I was in love.

So come summer after my leaving cert, I booked a plane ticket to Paris and flew over. I scoured the area of the city she was staying in, the entire day. I was lost, confused and exhausted, but I wanted to find her.

When I finally did see her, I faltered. She was glowing, literally, laughing with three other people, students I assumed, speaking fluently in French, and she was dressed differently. Looked.. at home.

And it hit me right in the chest.

Wasn't I her home like she was mine?