We often treat commenting and kudosing as transactional, but I’d like to propose a different perspective.
A fandom is like a community garden; the plants and trees are fanworks, the paths and benches are structures like ao3 and kinkmemes and themed weeks or months. Comments, and kudos? Those are fertiliser. You don’t necessarily see them at work, but they make the trees grow stronger and the flowers bloom brighter. When you comment on a fic or piece of fanart, you are nourishing our shared garden and helping to make the soil fertile for future works.
I want commenters to feel proud of that contribution. Whether you turn up with a wheelbarrow of the stuff to tip on your favourite flowerbed or just drop a heart emoji in the donations box, you are helping to make the soil richer, the garden more beautiful.
And you know what? Sometimes you need to just sit in the garden without feeling obliged to do anything to maintain it. That’s okay. It’s your garden too! As an author, I don’t want people coming to my stories with a sense of obligation; I want them to be able to enjoy them and be restored by them. If they don’t have the energy to comment right now, that’s okay.
But a comment isn’t the price of an entry ticket to someone else’s garden; it’s an investment in your garden, in your community. You won’t always see it bear fruit, won’t always know what part of the whole it helped grow. But you can know what you put in, and feel proud of being part of the team nourishing and maintaining this wonderful space we all share.
And whatever you do, please—don’t litter, or tell other people they’re enjoying the garden wrong.
you have the right to eat way too many pierogi and make yourself a little sick. you have the right to go skydiving. you have the right to pull an all-nighter building the Imperial City of Tamriel in Minecraft. you have the right to get drunk in your living room watching football.
life is not about making the safest most logically correct choice at all times. you're a blob of salty meat piloting a flesh mech and you get to act like it.
Another thing about the plummeting birth rate in America is that America is just not a pro-natalist country. No paid maternity leave. No paid paternity leave. Children are treated like burdens. Why the fuck would you have a kid if you’re seen as ‘flakey’ for leaving work early to go to their kindergarten graduation? When you live in this ultra individualistic capitalist hellscape, there is no room for a child.
Some 15th-century rainbow-coloured beasts to brighten your Monday: https://publicdomainreview.org/collection/rainbow-coloured-beasts-from-15th-century-book-of-hours
I’m super behind on replies to previous chapters, for a myriad of energy related reasons. I’m sorry my loves - I have read and cherish them all and they make my face do this -> 🥹😭🥰 I promise to do my best to catch up very soon but I didn’t want to deny you fresh meat whilst I do. Enjoy! ♥️
Summary: In 2020, Cillian returns home from London to bad news about Finn. And in 2014, after months of indecision, he finally takes action on ending bis marriage.
Warnings: Relationship breakdown, divorce. Discussion of infidelity. Child illness anxiety. Bad language.
Word count: 7807 PART 33 | SERIES
Part 34: Every End Is A Beginning, Pt. 1
November 2020
His plane from London landed back into the dark Dublin evening and Cillian switched his phone back to life to let Clara know he’d landed. A series of messages popped in and, while he waited for the cabin crew to get the doors open, he scrolled quickly through them, a text from Aoife jumping out amidst the mainly work related queries and group chats.
Finn’s PCR test has come back already - it’s covid
His stomach clenched. Somehow, despite all the chaos since March, his little family had managed to remain untouched by the virus. Swearing under his breath but not quietly enough, the woman across the aisle turning to glance at him with raised eyebrows, he tapped out his reply.
Shit. How is he? Are the rest of you ok?
The three little dots at the bottom of screen began to bounce, and while he waited for her reply, he swapped chats.
Just landed. Eef says Finn’s got covid. Are you still feeling ok? xx
Clara replied in seconds.
Oh fuck.
Yeah I’m fine. But maybe you shouldn’t get too close, just in case 😬☹️
And then:
Can you grab some milk at the airport? I was supposed to go out earlier but I got stuck on calls 🤦♀️
He chuckled quietly, the quiet mundanity of married life helping to soothe some of the anxiety in his chest. Shuffling off the plane, keeping his head down in his facemask and beanie disguise, his phone vibrated again. He fumbled to read it, trying not to drop his little case on his foot.
He’s not as good today. Got a temperature and a nasty cough. I’m keeping Eoin and dad out of the way and doing what I can. So far the rest of us are fine.
Are you still in London?
Worry bubbling back up, trying to type at the same time as not falling down the narrow steps from the plane to the ground, he quickly replied.
Literally getting off the plane now. I can come round and help if you want?
Every fibre of his being wanted to be able to see his son. The only thing he regretted about not still being married to Aoife was the limits it imposed on seeing his kids. Not having unfettered access to them - especially when they were sick - was pure torture. Particularly now, after having spent half the year without being able to see them.
No it’s ok - it’s not allowed and I can only imagine what she’ll think if I let you come here and you get sick too
He rolled his eyes. She indeed. Why was it that even after six years they were still playing this game?
Clara will understand. Plus she might already have it anyway from seeing him at school.
Trundling his little case through arrivals he made his way to the car park, doubling back with a muttered curse when he realised he’d forgotten to get the milk. Finally on the road, he called Clara.
“Hey you, are you on the way?”
“Hiya, yeah, just setting off.”
“I’ll stick the oven on then.”
“Hey, I know I haven’t seen you in almost a week but do you mind if I swing by Eef’s? I want to see Finn.”
“‘Course not. But she won’t let you see him, will she?”
He sighed, pulling a hand down his face tiredly, squinting against the drizzle and oncoming headlights in the teatime rush hour. “Probably not but I’m going to try anyway.”
“Wear a mask. Just to be safe.”
“You sound like her,” he teased, chuckling when he heard her bristle. “But yeah of course I will. I just want to see him with my own eyes.”
“I know, love. Good luck. Lemme know when you’re on the way and I’ll stick tea on.”
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you too,” she smiled, hanging up.
He should probably ring Aoife too to warn her he was coming, but he didn’t want to give her the chance to say no for a second time. Pulling up on the drive behind her car, he cut the engine and made his way to the door, which opened before he could even knock.
“I saw the lights - what are you doing here??”
“Hello to you too. I just want to see him. Just for a minute.”
Aoife blocked the doorway, arms folded. “He’s infectious, Cill. You should just go home.”
“I don’t give a fuck if he’s infectous, he’s my son and I want to see him.”
“Dad..?” Eoin appeared, slouching down the stairs behind his mother. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’m here to see your brother. You alright? Still feeling ok..?”
Eoin shrugged, loitering behind Aoife but already tall enough to look over her head.
“Fine yeah. No plague yet.”
“Can you stop calling it that,” snapped Aoife and he grinned, sloping off towards the living room, tapping on his phone.
“Just let him in, mum. Seeing him for two minutes isn’t going to kill him.”
“But I might kill you,” Aoife muttered, rolling her eyes at Cillian who tried to contain the smirk twitching on his lips. With a sigh, she opened the door wider. “Fine. Two minutes. Wear your mask and wash your hands first. I don’t want you giving him whatever grot you’ve got on you from the plane to add to his lurgie. I still can’t believe you’re flying around when the world is in pieces.”
Cillian sighed, pulling on his facemask. “They’re finally letting me go back to work. There’s not much I can do about that being across the water - I have to get there somehow.”
She tsked unsubtly, following him around as he went to wash his hands in the kitchen.
“How’re ye, Cillian.” Aoife’s father, Gerry, greeted Cillian, coolly, from his spot at the kitchen table where he was chopping onions.
“Alright, Gerry,” he smiled, forgetting he was wearing a mask. “You keeping well?”
“Aye, can’t complain. You’ve been over in London I hear.”
“Yeah, I had a work thing, I was—”
“He doesn’t want to hear about your work thing,” huffed Aoife. “Go on, hurry up and get upstairs.”
Cillian bit back the smart-arsed retort on his tongue about how that wasn’t the first time she’d said that.
“Alright, alright, I’m going. See you later, Gerry.”
Aoife finally left him alone to head up to Finn’s room. Climbing the stairs in the house that used to be his, he had a strange rush of surreal nostalgia. She’d redecorated - probably more than once - since he’d moved out, furniture in different places, but the landing was still mostly the same.
He couldn’t help but glance at the door to his - their - old bedroom, a strange feeling in his stomach. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d been up there since he left, but his conversation with Enda came rushing back and he couldn’t help but remember the night he’d left this house for good.
*****
October 2014
Coming back to Dublin was a struggle but at the same time, he felt strangely lighter, the knowledge that he was finally going to take control of the situation easing the crushing weight that had been sitting on his chest since May. In fact, now he’d decided to do it, it took all his self control not to just come right out with it the moment he walked back into the house.
But, however much just getting it over with was appealing, dropping such a bombshell on a Sunday night when the kids were at home and had school the next day, just didn’t seem reasonable. So he’d spent the few free moments he’d had during the last week of the play to come up with a proper plan.
The next day, after everyone left the house for work and school, he went to see his lawyer.
“Well this is a nice surprise, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, Cill,” smiled Marty McManus, shaking his hand heartily.
“Thanks for fitting me in at such short notice.”
The older gentleman waved him into the comfy chair opposite, sitting down himself, hands folded across his rotund middle. “Don’t be daft, you know I always have time for you. You’ve been away, haven’t you? London was it this time?”
“Yeah, a few weeks in the theatre over there.”
“Oh yes, thank you again for the tickets for back in August, Lynne loved it. You must be knackered after all that running around every night.”
Cillian laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Keeps you fit, that’s for sure.”
Marty leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “So what can I do for you? I’m assuming this isn’t a social call..?”
Cillian shifted a little uncomfortably, crossing his legs, pressing his hands down to stop his knee from bouncing.
“I need your help with a… difficult matter.”
“I see. Take your time.”
He blew out a long breath. “Marty, you’ve been with me a long time and I trust you to keep this private…”
“Of course, you know I would never…”
But before he could finish his sentence, Cillian rushed on.
“I’m getting divorced.”
Marty sat back in his chair, in surprise. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Cill.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, feeling heat warming his face.
“But I’m not a divorce specialist, you know that.”
Cillian shook his head. “No I know, but it’s not like I can just go to anyone, y’know?”
“Whoever you saw would be bound by the same legal privilege and confidentiality as myself.”
“I know but… I don’t care, I don’t trust it. I…” He swallowed. “I haven’t discussed it with Aoife yet and I can’t afford for it to get out before I’m ready.”
Marty’s eyes widened. “You haven’t…”
He held up his hands. “No, I know, and I’m getting there. I just want to be ready when the time comes. And I know it’s not strictly what you do here, but I’m going to need somewhere else to live too.”
Marty cleared his throat, leaning forward again. “Right, well that’s something we can certainly help you with. Do you have anything particular in mind?”
“Not too far away from the house, a rental - short term, I don’t want to be tied into something for a year or anything. I’ll worry about something more permanent down the line. Three bedrooms. I drove past some new flats down near the front earlier, and thought maybe something like that would do?”
Marty made a few notes. “I’ll have someone look into it.”
“They need to keep my name out of it, if they can.”
“Of course. And should anyone connect the dots, we’ll say you’re helping out by putting up some cousins from Canada or something.”
Cillian nodded. “My dad’s got people out in New Zealand I think.”
“New Zealand it is.” Marty drummed his fingers on the heavy ink blotter on his desk. “Cillian… not to be impolite, but are you sure about this?”
He flicked his tongue over dry lips. “I am. It’s been coming for a while.”
Marty nodded briefly. “Remind me, did you do any kind of prenup before you and Aoife got married..?”
Cillian shook his head, with a dry breath of laughter. “I didn’t have anything worth putting in a prenup back then.”
“Have you thought about the house?”
“She can keep it - I don’t want to disrupt the boys like that.”
“Are you sure? She could argue she can’t afford to and you’ll find yourself with two mortgages.”
“I’m leaving her, I think the least I can do is keep a roof over her head.”
Marty fixed him with a serious look. “You need to watch out, Cillian. You’re not a kid with nothing to protect anymore. You’re a wealthy man and she could take advantage of that, if you know what I mean.”
He swallowed. “Why do you think I’m here before I’ve even told her. Though to be honest, I’m less worried about that and more about getting access to the kids.”
“You think she’ll try and keep them from you?”
“No.. not really…”
He shook his head. If he was going to do as planned, and tell her the full truth, then did he really still believe that..?
“Maybe. I hope not, but I think I need to be prepared for a fight anyway.”
“Alright… ok,” Marty nodded slowly. “Look, here’s what I recommend we do. This isn’t my area and I want to see you properly represented on this. It’s important.” He grabbed a fresh sheet of heavy, headed paper, his fountain pen gliding across the page in elegant cursive loops. “These are the names of the people I would trust with this.”
He slid it across the desk towards Cillian, tapping the name at the top. “Sasha is the best you can get. I can give her a quiet call if you’d like me to.”
Cillian nodded, his throat suddenly tight.
“Yeah, please. I trust you, and if you think we can trust her, then make the call.”
“When are you planning on…?” Marty waved vaguely, the words ‘leaving her’ hanging in the air between them.
“This weekend.”
Marty sank back in his chair slightly, his expression softening.
“I really am very sorry that it’s come to this, Cill. These things are rarely easy. I wish you all the best with it.”
Cillian nodded, clearing his throat as he stood.
“I’m gonna fucking need it,” he said quietly, reaching to shake Marty’s hand again. “Thanks for your help.”
“Any time. I’ll be in touch about the accommodation. And I’ll let you know how I get on with Sasha.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
*****
By Friday morning one of Marty’s impressively efficient underlings had already rented him a spacious, furnished flat overlooking the beach only about a twenty minute walk from the house. He didn’t bother going to view it - the pictures looked fine and it wasn’t forever. Plus he didn’t want there to be any possibility of him being spotted viewing a rental property. He simply signed the paperwork at Marty’s office and collected the keys.
Back home, he focused on the uncomfortable task of packing as much as he could manage without going overboard. He knew that by that evening he would have to be elsewhere - no matter how things went with Aoife he needed to take that step. But given he had no idea how she might react, there was every chance he wouldn’t be able to come back to get the rest any time soon, so he needed more than just a few overnight essentials.
Besides, he reflected as he counted out tshirts and jumpers, squashing as much as he could into the biggest of their suitcases, if he’d already packed then there was no way he could chicken out of doing it.
Leaving his bags tucked out of the way in the spare bedroom, and carrying overnight bags for the kids, he went to pick the boys up from school.
“Where are we going..?” asked Eoin when they missed the turn for their street.
“You’re having a sleepover at Uncle Páidi’s. Mum and I are busy tonight.”
“Why didn’t mum say this morning?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Not a very good surprise, snarked the little voice in his head.
He dropped them off, stopping for a very brief cuppa, but his eyes were on the clock constantly, afraid she would get home early and find his suitcases.
“You alright?” frowned his brother when his wife, Lucy, took the kids off to check out their bedroom.
“What? Yeah fine.”
“Cill..?”
“I’m fine, Pád.” It came out more tersely than he expected. “Sorry. I just need to get back. Thanks again for having them. I’ll be over to get them at lunchtime tomorrow.”
“It’s no bother. What’s this big surprise you’ve got cooking then..?”
Anxiety flared in Cillian’s stomach and he shook his head.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Páidi laughed. “Alright, no need to be so cagey. I’d not tell her, y’know.”
Peals of laughter and thumping feet drifted down from the floor above, and he let out a long breath.
“You can’t say anything.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“I mean it, Pád.”
His brother held up his hands, wounded at the suggestion.
Cillian eyed the ceiling, and leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“I’m leaving Eef.”
“What?!”
“Keep your fucking voice down!” he hissed.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No. I’m really not. I need to do this. I…” He swallowed, pulling a palm down his face. “I’m fucking miserable.”
“Jesus… man, I’m so sorry, I had no idea. You two always seem so… together. So boringly normal.”
“Yeah well… looks can be deceiving.”
“Fuck… I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I should go. I want to be there when she gets home from work.”
“Does she know it’s coming?”
Cillian sighed deeply, contemplating his feet. “Honestly? I have no idea.”
“Fuck.”
The thumping of feet suddenly migrated from the bedrooms to the stairs and Cillian rearranged his face into something more cheerful.
“Alright you two, I need to get on. You be good for Auntie Lucy and Uncle Pád, yeah? I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He gave them both a hug, though Eoin’s was more under duress, and said goodbye to his brother and sister-in-law.
“Be good,” he called again before the door closed. “I love you.”
His heart was pounding the whole journey home, the rush hour traffic already clogging up the roads. Every minute that slipped by just made him more and more nervous, his palms sliding sweatily on the steering wheel. It wasn’t until he pulled into the drive and her car wasn’t there that he was able to breathe properly again. Parking up, careful to make sure he’d be able to get out again later without moving her car, he let himself into the house.
For twenty minutes all he could do was pace. Making himself a tea, he forced himself to sit down to wait.
*****
It was a little after six when her headlights flashed in the driveway and his heart began to hammer in his chest again.
Just be honest. Like you’ve practiced. Clear and factual. Stay calm, he ordered himself, hearing her key turn in the lock and his stomach swayed so violently he thought he might be sick.
“Hello,” she called from the hall, her bag thumping heavily on the floor.
“M’in here,” he called back through rubbery lips.
She came in, still shrugging her coat off, the light mizzle that had begun earlier that afternoon clinging in little droplets to her pale blonde hair.
“Where are the boys?”
“I took them over to stay with Pád and Lucy for the night,” he said, climbing to his feet.
“How come?” Her brow wrinkled and then relaxed, a smile twitching on her lips. “Oh I see, what have you been planning?” She came closer, dropping her coat on the chair and reaching up to run her hand through the longer part of his hair. “Has this got anything to do with why you’ve been so jumpy all week?”
Oh god, this really wasn’t going to be easy.
“D’you want a glass of wine,” he said quickly, gently extricating himself from her, heading for the kitchen.
“Sure.”
She looked around the room while he poured two glasses.
“So you haven’t been cooking, I see. Are we going out? Do I need to change..?” Looking down at her workwear she pursed her lips, absentmindedly accepting the glass he gave her. “I should change.”
“Eef… love.. will you come and sit down?” he said, clearing his throat briefly and motioning towards the kitchen table.
She frowned but came to sit with him, sipping carefully on her wine.
“What’s going on? Has something happened?” Her eyes widened. “Mum and dad..?? Your folks?”
He covered her hand with his, squeezing gently. “Everyone’s fine.
“So what’s going on? You’re scaring me, Cillian.”
He nodded slowly, clearing his throat again.
“I’m sorry to make such a song and dance of it all but I wanted to make sure we’d be alone. I— we need to talk.”
Her whole demeanour shifted, fingers curling more tightly around her glass.
“Oh? About what..?”
He studied the contents of his glass for a moment before forcing himself to meet her stare, swallowing quickly.
“I.. uhh… ok. Look there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.”
Her knuckles turned white around the stem of her glass and he took a deep breath.
“Earlier this year I… I had an affair.”
Her mouth opened, eyes widening in alarm but he pressed on before she could interrupt, desperate to just get the words out.
“And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that and I have no excuse. But it made me realise…” He swallowed thickly, watching the colour drain from her face. “It made me realise that we’re not happy, Eef. Or at least I’m not, but I don’t think you are either. And I… I think we should get a divorce.”
“You had an affair..?” she mumbled and he nodded, taking a small sip of his wine to wet his parched mouth.
“I’m sorry. I never meant for it to happen. I’m not seeing her anymore, it’s over.”
She let out a sudden derisive bark of laughter, pulling back abruptly from the table and folding her arms, her glass hugged against her chest.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, I’m just… I’m just trying to be honest. I’m sorry, I really am.”
“Who is she?”
He swallowed, his throat still uncomfortably dry. “It’s not important.”
“I don’t think you get to be the judge of that,” she snapped, colour rushing back to her cheeks, tinging them pink. “How many have there been??”
“Just one.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying. I swear, there’s never been anyone else. And it’s been over for months.”
Her eyes narrowed and he could see the gears turning in her head.
“So it was when you were over there working then?” Her lip curled. “God you’re such a fucking cliché. Some twenty year old assistant was she? You’re a little young for a mid-life fucking crisis, aren’t you??”
“It wasn’t like that…”
“So who is she?”
“No one you know.”
“Tell me!”
“Eef… what difference does it make—”
“You were fucking someone else!” she shouted, slamming her glass down so hard he thought it might break. “You don’t get to decide what I’m allowed to know. Answer my fucking question!”
“You don’t know her, she was just someone from—”
“The ginger girl.”
His breath caught in his throat. “What..?”
“Oh my god, it was, wasn’t it? That girl, your ‘friend’.” She covered her face with her hands, groaning in disgust. “You introduced me to her! You… you…” She looked up, her face contorting with fury. “You brought us to the same party?? What kind of sick fuck are you?! And you… were you fucking her at the same time as we…??”
Her hand clamped over her mouth when he didn’t try to deny it, a desperate strangled wail catching in her throat.
“I can’t believe you would…you unbelievable cunt.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, fidgeting with his almost untouched glass of wine. “I know I am. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you like this.”
“Get out.”
“Aoife, please love, we need to talk about this.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t even look at you. You filthy, disgusting... GET OUT!”
She buried her face in her palm, hunched over the table and he sighed. Climbing slowly to his feet he headed to collect his things. But as he climbed the stairs he heard her follow him out into the hall.
“Where the fuck are you going, I said LEAVE.”
“I am.” His disembodied voice floated down from above before he reappeared with two suitcases and a hold-all slung over his shoulder.
“Fuck…” she whispered, leaning against the wall. “You’re already packed?? How long have you been planning this?”
Dropping the heavy bags by the front door he reached for his coat.
“I know it seems very sudden, but it isn’t for me. And I thought this might be better. I’m sorry.”
She hugged her middle with one arm, her other hand pressed over her mouth, tears bright in her eyes.
“Are you going to her??”
“No,” he said gently. “I told you, it’s over. I.. I just can’t carry on like we are.” He looked up, remorse heavy in his chest at her crumpled, broken expression. “I’m sorry, I really am.”
“Did you… do you love her?”
He blew out a long breath. It would be so much easier not to tell her the truth. Maybe kinder even, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell another lie.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”
She let out a small involuntary wail and he took several steps towards her, but she recoiled away.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “How could you do something like this to us??”
“It was selfish of me,” he sighed. “But I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to cheat on you and she isn’t just some random woman. What I told you about her before was true. I met her years ago, when we were just kids, but we lost touch and then.. then she was just there, at that event of Katherine’s and… and I think some part of me has been in love with her since I was twenty-one.”
“Spare me the gory fucking details, Cill,” she whispered harshly, covering her face with her hands.
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear that, and I’m not saying it excuses any of it, but I’m so sick of lying to you, to everyone. I’m so sorry, love, truly I am.”
He sighed, wrapping his scarf around his neck.
“If it helps, she hates me almost as much as you do right now. She’s not the reason I’m leaving.”
“So she doesn’t want you, but you don’t want me..?” Aoife mumbled from behind her fingers.
“It’s not like that,” he said gently.
“Or maybe you’ve got a taste for it now, have you?” she spat, anger winning against misery again, her shoulders tense. “Well we both know there’s all manner of twenty-somethings out there just waiting to get on their knees with their mouths open for you.”
“No,” he said carefully, closing his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m just not happy - we’re not happy, Eef, and I think you know that too.”
“Stop trying to tell me—”
“Jesus, Aoife,” he cut in, raising his voice but immediately holding up his hands in apology. “When was the last time we had a conversation that wasn’t a row? Or wasn’t just some mundane nonsense about the kids? When was the last time we actually enjoyed each other’s company apart from that one fucking week in Galway back in August?”
She stared at him, eyes brimming with tears, fingers pressed heavily against her lips.
“I’m sorry, I really am. I should never have done what I did - it was shitty of me. But we were already broken before it started, and I can’t pretend everything is fine and just keep going. It’s shit for you, shit for me, shit for the kids.”
“You think their father walking out on them is better?” she shot back hoarsely.
“I’m not walking out on them. I’m still their dad. I’m going to be in their lives as much as possible.”
“We’ll see about that,” she muttered, cold fire burning again in the depths of her eyes and he clenched his jaw.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Don’t bother, I have nothing to say to you. And I don’t want to hear anymore about you and your little whore either.”
“Don’t call her that,” he said sharply, before taking a steadying breath. “We need to talk about the kids.”
Lifting her chin, she glared at him, looking him dead in the eye. “Take your stuff and get out.”
Turning on her heel, she walked back into the kitchen and he heard the rough scrape of one of the chairs being pulled away from the table against the tiled floor.
Dragging a hand down his face he shouldered his hold-all and glanced around the hallway one last time, before wrangling his cases out to the car.
*****
Letting himself into the new flat, he realised there was one fundamental flaw in all his carefully laid plans.
He’d forgotten about bedding.
Cursing under his breath, he dropped his bags in the master bedroom, staring at the bare mattress.
Fuck.
Trudging back out into the large open plan living space, he unpacked the small food shop he’d stopped for on the way, uncorking a bottle of red before he put anything else away.
Glass in hand he surveyed the space. Clean lines. Depressingly neutral decor. Altogether a bit soulless.
And it was too fucking quiet.
In the oppressive silence he was seized with the urge to call Clara. To tell her what he’d done. That he’d finally done what he’d been unable to do when it mattered.
Fishing out his phone, like an addict calling his sponsor, he rang his brother instead.
“Hiya?” Páidi answered hesitantly.
“Are they in bed?”
“Luce is up sorting Finn out now. Eoin’s still up.”
“He should be in bed.”
“Ah c’mon, it’s only half seven. It’s Friday night and we’re his cool uncle and auntie, we let him have an extra half hour.
“His cool uncle and auntie..?”
“Orla likes to think she’s the cool one but she’s not.”
“I didn’t realise there was a hierarchy. What about Sile?”
“We have a complicated unspoken rivalry.”
“Wait,” he said, momentarily distracted from the horrors of his marital collapse, “Orla’s got kids… am I involved in this too?”
“Well you’re a fancy movie star, so that’s not fair.”
“Name one thing I’ve done that any of the kids are old enough to have seen.”
“True. And you’re incredibly boring. So I guess that means you’re dead last.”
“That hardly seems fair. I’m fun…” He pondered the validity of this statement. “I can sometimes be fun. Y’know, with enough notice.”
“Face it, you’re boring uncle Cill. But I’m sure they still love you.” He heard Páidi shuffling, probably moving away from Eoin. “Are you ok? Are you still at the house?” he asked in a low voice.
“No, I’m at… I’ve got a flat.”
“Fuckin’ hell, that was quick.”
“Can you come over for a drink?”
Páidi paused. “Not yet. Let me get him up to bed and then I can. In an hour?”
“Yeah alright, thanks man.”
“Where are you?”
“I’ll text you the address.”
*****
He was already most of the way down the bottle by the time his brother arrived. Except he hadn’t come alone.
“What’s she doing here?” Cillian asked.
“She is bringing you spare bedding you ingrate,” huffed his sister Orla from behind the large duvet in her arms that hid most of her face.
“I didn’t have any spare stuff since the kids are at the house,” said Páidi, clutching pillows and holding out a bottle of wine in apology.
“Is it true??” asked Orla, dumping the duvet on the sofa and turning with her hands on her hips. “You’ve left her?”
Cillian shot his younger brother a pained expression.
“Nice place,” said Páidi trying to help his brother deflect, wandering around as Cillian uncorked the bottle.
“None for me, obviously. Can I have some water?” said Orla, pointing at her heavily pregnant stomach. “So..?”
Cillian sighed, fetching her a glass from the tap before handing wine to Páidi. “Yes it’s true and yes I have.”
“About fucking time,” she said, calmly sipping her water while her brothers looked on aghast, Páidi almost sending wine up his nose.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Orla!”
“Please Cill, you’ve looked fucking miserable for months. Years maybe.”
“That’s just his face,” grinned Páidi.
“Have I..?— Oi!”
“Yeah I know, but even more miserable than usual,” Orla said to Páidi.
“But how can you tell..?”
“Oi!”
His siblings looked back at him with no attempt at contrition.
“How long have you been planning this?” asked Orla, moving the bedding so she could sit down, shifting awkwardly to get comfortable. “I’m assuming it must have been for some time if you’ve got a whole other place to live already.”
The boys sat down too, Cillian swirling the dark liquid in his glass.
“I’ve known for months. But this is all only over the last couple of weeks. And this place is just a bit of fluke. I only asked Marty earlier this week if he could find me somewhere, and got lucky that this place was available immediately. I wasn’t expecting to have somewhere so fast.”
“What happened..?” she asked gently.
He pulled a hand down his face and fought the now reflexive urge to lie.
“I fell in love with someone else.”
“What??” said Páidi.
“Who??” asked Orla at the same time.
He felt heat rise to his face. “Do you remember that girl I told you about, way back when I was doing Pigs in Edinburgh with Enda and Eileen?”
“No,” said Orla and Páidi rolled his eyes at her.
“He’a talking to me.”
“No he’s not!”
“I was actually, do you know who I mean?”
“Sorry man, no idea. That was forever ago.”
“Ahh, you do…” said Cillian. “Gorgeous redhead—”
“Wait! Yes I do,” nodded Páidi. “She was going to uni or something and you didn’t get her number..?”
“Why don’t I know about this?” complained Orla.
“Because you were a baby,” said Páidi.
“I was not!” Orla folded her arms with a sour expression.
“You were like fourteen or something Orla, I’m sorry if I wasn’t confiding in my kid sister about my love life.”
“But I don’t understand, what about her?” interrupted Páidi. “You’ve been in love with her since then and only now you’ve decided to leave your wife..?”
“No, you big eejit. He’s been having an affair with her,” sighed Orla, running an exasperated hand over her swollen belly. “Haven’t you?”
Cillian nodded, sinking the end of his glass and reaching to pour another.
“Are you serious?” breathed his brother.
“For how long..?” asked Orla.
“About four months—”
“Cillian!” she exclaimed, eyes wide. “Mam’ll do her nut.”
“Only if someone tells her,” he replied firmly, raising his eyebrow. “And anyway, it’s over. It’s been over since June but I…” He spread his hands, clearing his throat. “She changed things. I can’t just carry on like everything is fine when it’s not. I don’t love Aoife anymore, or not like I’m supposed to anyway.”
His siblings stared at him, concern written all over their faces.
Eventually Páidi broke the silence. “How did go with Eef..?”
“Not brilliantly.”
“Did you tell her about… y’know..?” asked Orla.
“My horrifying infidelity?” he asked and his sister blushed. “Yes. I’ve had enough of lying this last few months to last me a lifetime.”
“Jesus… what did she say??” asked Páidi.
“I’m sure you can imagine.”
An uncomfortable silence fell again as the three considered this.
“What about the boys?” Orla asked quietly.
“I want to tell them tomorrow so they have a chance to digest it before Monday - and then it’s only a week ‘til half term. But I have to convince Eef about that first. She kicked me out before we got that far.”
“Can’t say I blame her,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Well c’mon Cill, I love you, but you cheated on the woman you’ve been with, for what? Fifteen years?? For four months with some girl you met when you were twenty. I want to applaud you for finally waking up to how miserable you two seem to make each other, but Aoife doesn’t deserve that. She’s the mother of your kids. If Colm did that to me, I’d chop his fucking balls off.”
“Yeah and I’d be next in line,” muttered Páidi darkly.
“Well yeah me too…” Cillian blew out a sigh. “I guess I should be glad Eef is an only child.”
“It’s her dad you need to be worried about,” said Páidi. “He scares the shit out of me.”
“It’s mam I’d be worrying about,” muttered Orla.
“Please can you keep it to yourselves? I’ll tell the folks when I’m ready. I want to settle things with Eef and the kids first.”
“What about this girl?” asked Orla, eyes narrowing in the way that Cillian recognised as dangerous.
“What about her?”
“You said you’re in love with her.”
He swallowed carefully. “I said I fell in love, I didn’t say I was still.”
“So you’re not?”
“No… I am. I think I always will be…” he said quietly, pushing a hand through his hair. “But it doesn‘t matter. The last time I saw her she told me she never wanted to see me again. She hates my guts. ”
“Oh Cill…” she said softly, levering herself up to sit next to him, wrapping her arm around his hunched shoulders. “You never know, maybe she doesn’t anymore.”
He cocked his head to look sideways at his sister.
“I fucked things up really badly. Trust me, she still hates me, and she should.”
Orla sighed and squeezed his shoulder before pushing herself awkwardly to her feet again with a quiet groan, cradling her bump.
“God I can’t wait to get this baby out of me. You hear that twinkle toes?” she said, knocking lightly on her belly. “No loitering in there. Mammy misses a time she could go more than ten minutes without needing a fucking wee.” She turned to Páidi. “I’m going to the loo and then do you want a lift home?”
Páidi glanced at his older brother’s glum face.
“I’ll get a taxi later, thanks though.”
Orla disappeared down the corridor and Páidi fixed his older brother with a look.
“Four months? Really? Was this when you were across the way for work?”
“Yeah…” sighed Cillian. “Trust me, I’m not proud of myself.”
“At least you ended it.”
Colour rushed to Cillian’s face. “I didn’t - she did. I… I made a real mess of things. And I wasn’t ready to leave Aoife.”
“You’ve no fucking bog roll!” shouted Orla from down the hall.
“Fuck… hold on, I do, it’s in the kitchen.” He jumped up and hurried down the hall with the package of toilet rolls, ripping it open on the way.
“Perfectly normal fucking place to keep it,” she grumbled, peeking through a crack in the door, hand outstretched for the roll.
“Sorry, still moving in.”
She shut the door and he went back to the living room.
“Do you think Eef is going to go quietly? asked his brother. “If she knows the truth she could go wild in the papers. Make some cash, make a stink for you. You know the whole ‘woman scorned’ thing..?”
Sitting again, Cillian rested his elbows on his knees, chin on his hands. “I dunno. I hope she wouldn’t because of the boys, but she might. I’m getting a good lawyer.”
“You’re gonna need one because you know she will. I know she doesn’t do that kind of legal stuff, but I bet she knows all manner of slick wankers who’ll be lining up to take you to the cleaners for her.”
“This is really helping, thanks for coming over.”
“He’s right though,” said Orla, reappearing, drying her hands on her jeans. “If I was her and I was a lawyer myself, I’d be working out all the ways to make you bleed. You need towels by the way.”
Yet another thing he’d forgotten.
“You two really know how to cheer a person up,” sighed Cillian, standing up to see her out, Páidi doing the same. At the door she gave Cillian a long hug, squeezing him as tightly as she could over her bump.
“If you need anything, if the boys need anything.”
“Thank you, and thanks for the bedding, I’ll pick up some new stuff and get it back to you in a couple of days.”
“There’s no rush,” she smiled. “And think about what I said. What have you got to lose finding out how she feels.”
“Apart from my dignity?”
“How much of that do you think you have?”
“Fair point.”
“All I’m saying is if you’re blowing up your marriage, shouldn’t you at least know for sure?”
He buried his hands in his pockets and nodded slightly.
“We’ll see. I need to sort the kids out first.”
“‘Course you do, I’m not suggesting you go round there tonight. Anyway,” she smiled, “I’d better get back. Don’t drink too much more - you have important shit to do tomorrow.”
Closing the door behind her, he slouched back into the living room, collapsing back onto the sofa with a sigh, suddenly exhausted.
“She’s right y’know, we probably shouldn’t finish that bottle. You don’t wanna be hungover trying to talk to the kids,” said Páidi.
“Yeah…” Cillian sighed, pressing his fingers into his eyes. “Fuck… maybe you should have gone with her after all, I’m done in. Sorry.”
“I can go if you want, she won’t have waddled that far yet.”
Cillian nodded slowly. “Sorry. Here I’ll ring her and ask her to wait.”
Páidi busied himself downing the end of his glass and getting his shoes on, while Cillian called Orla.
“Hadn’t even made it to the car,” he chuckled when he hang up.
“Where does she live anyway?”
“Who?”
“The girl - also does she have a name?”
Cillian’s stomach turned over. “London. And yeah, she’s called Clara.”
“Did you see her when you were over there for the play?”
“No, she doesn’t want to see me.”
“How on earth did you even find her again after all this time?”
“Apparently the universe thought we needed to meet,” he sighed. “She was at some charity thing I went to back in February over in London. I was just minding my own business and then, bam! Out of nowhere, there she was.”
Emotion pressed thickly in his throat and he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“God you’re totally gone for her, aren’t you?”
“Shut up.”
“You are, look at you, you’re fucking blushing.”
“Alright, feck off, Orla’s waiting.”
“Orla’s right, you should go and see her when the dust settles. You’ll only spend the rest of your life wondering if you don’t.”
Cillian’s phone rang and he held it up so Páidi could see who it was.
“He’s coming now,” he said as he answered, the timbre of Orla’s displeasure audible even from where Páidi was standing. “Yeah alright, I’ll tell him.”
“She says hurry the fuck up or she’s leaving without you. She’s on borrowed time before she needs a wee again,” he grinned.
“See you tomorrow, and don’t worry about the kids. We can keep them for as long as you need to sort stuff out with Eef.”
“Thanks man, I appreciate it. Go on, she didn’t sound like she was joking.”
Closing the door, he turned back into the apartment, heavy silence filling the space once more. With a sigh, he gathered up the borrowed bedding and took it down towards his new bedroom.
*****
November 2020
He knocked lightly before sticking his head round the door to Finn’s room.
“Dad?”
“Hey monkey, how’re you feeling?” Cillian asked, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to test the back of his hand against his son’s forehead, finding it hot.
“Rubbish,” huffed Finn, bursting into a fit of dry coughs. “You’re not allowed in here, I’ll make you sick.”
“I don’t care,” Cillian smiled softly, stroking Finn’s hair back from his forehead, the strands slightly damp. Trying to hide his concern, he reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. “Come on, have a little drink for me, yeah? It’ll help your throat feel better.”
Finn shuffled into a sitting position and took the glass in both hands, sipping slowly. Another bout of coughing overtook him as he tried to swallow and Cillian caught the glass before it slipped out of his hold, shifting so he could rub his back as he fought to recover his breath.
“Is Clara sick too? he croaked.
“No, she’s fine, and don’t you worry about us. You just focus on getting better.”
“It’s ok, don’t try and talk.”
Finn was quiet for a moment, picking at the duvet. Slowly, he looked up at Cillian.
“Am I going to die?”
“What?? No, of course you’re not.” Cillian gave up on maintaining any kind of social distance, cuddling his son against him, heat radiating from his small body. “You’re going to be fine. You’ll feel rubbish for a few days and then you’ll be fine.”
“But on the tv it’s been saying about all those people who died…”
“You’re a healthy little boy, you’ll be ok, I promise,” said Cillian, stroking Finn’s head, praying silently to a god he’d long since ceased to believe in, that it be true. “You just need to rest up and let your body do the work to get rid of it.”
“Mum’s worried. She’s been fussing.”
“Mums are supposed to worry. And Dads too. That’s our job. But that doesn’t mean you should be worried too. You’re going to be just fine, you’ll see.”
“She was really mean to Clara the other day.”
When isn’t she, he thought, biting his tongue before he could say it out loud.
“I’m sure she didn’t mean to be. She was probably just worried about you and wanted to get you home.”
Finn contemplated this in silence for a moment.
“Can Scout come and visit?”
“We’ll see,” chuckled Cillian, leaning down to press an awkward kiss to his son’s head through his facemask. “Come on, let’s get you settled down again.”
He helped Finn lie back and get comfy, pulling the covers up high around him when he shivered, despite the heat coming off him.
“Get some sleep, I’ll come back tomorrow.” Leaning down he pulled down his mask for a moment to kiss Finn’s forehead. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad,” Finn said sleepily, his little brow tightening. “Can I have some more calpol?”
“I’ll ask Mum. See you tomorrow.”
Finn rolled over, mumbling something that might have been goodbye, and Cillian quietly let himself out of the room.
He stood outside the door for a long moment, head down, hands braced against the landing bannister, trying not to let the worry overwhelm him.
“Please let him be ok,” he mumbled to whatever higher powers might be listening. “Just please let him be ok.”
Fear not, Finn is going to be fine! You know this from the more present day series. And look at our man finally growing a pair 🤭 As ever, please come scream in all the usual ways - comments are love 🤍
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