Kenzie. In my bed. Kenzie Lynch. Jaysus, fuck her dad’s gonna kill me. And maybe even my dad too. “Weak girls are stupid, don’t get close with ‘em.” He’d always say, referring to my mam. Poor woman got beat basically to death. Did, actually get beat to death. Shane’s never been one for affection.

Kenzie had come back to my flat after we went out for dinner, she had a track meet today, did well, won all her races, so we went out to Biddies, then we saw, Rory feckin’ Kavanagh, her cousin. He cussed me out a bit, and told her to go home, before he told her da. We left after that.

Now, she’s lying in my bed, on my chest. Her hair is sprawled out all over my chest and my pillows. The long, soft curls looking messier than they did this morning, while she was getting ready. She has got the most beautiful curls, but she always says she hates ‘em because she’s got what people call “Irish curls” which no shit, baby. You’re Irish.