The Art of Breathing Underwater

Chapter 6

Her face wan, Nicky mumbled a "hi," and made straight for the staffroom. I noticed she wasn't wearing make-up. Not that she looked any less pretty. She did not. It was like seeing a football jersey without the sponsors' logo; it did not detract from the overall appearance but was conspicuous by its absence. Mark, the manager, called it grease-paint. Ironic, given his hair had more wax on it than a wick, and he smelled like he had fallen into a vat of after-shave.

She slumped into the white plastic Easy chair, body as heavy as the black bags hung under her eyes. Her head fell forward and buried itself in her folded arms.

I returned to loading the compactor.

A soft whimper caused me to turn around. "You okay?"

Nicky looked up, eyes blurry with tears. "I'm late."

I had no clue what she was late for, but I hated seeing her this upset, so I tried being helpful. "Why don't you tell Mark you're poorly. I'm sure he'll let you shoot off early."

She smiled, as a lone tear trickled down her cheek. "I might be pregnant."

"Oh..."

"I don't know what I'm gonna do." The tears flowed.

I dropped the brown box I was holding and went to her, unsure of what to say. Instinctively, I reached out and patted her shoulder.

She started talking as fast as the teardrops fell. "Must've been that party. The one Eddie dragged us to a few weeks back. I got absolutely rat-arsed. We end up going upstairs. Eddie, the eejit, can't find the condoms. Insufferable gobshite left them in the pocket of his other jeans. And he's too wasted to drive. You think I could make him go downstairs? Starts moaning about how he's not asking people he hardly knows for rubbers. Like, I don't know he blabs about our love-life to strangers in the pub. Guys are such wankers."

"Yeah..."

"He's all, What's the big deal? Stop being a pain in the hole. On and on he goes, bending the ear of me. By this stage of the game, I'm half-past blotto. I just wanna pass out in peace. 'Stead of which, I got this manky Barry White, squeezing my tit, telling me he can't get enough of me."

However, after she'd relayed to him the consequence of their night of drunken passion, Fast Eddie couldn't wait to put some distance between them. When Nicky had called into the pub earlier, one of the other barmen claimed Eddie hadn't come into work, despite the fact she could plainly see his meticulously polished Ford Focus parked out front.

She was seventeen and scared shitless. "My ma'll go ballistic if she finds out I've got a bun in the oven. And me Da'll disown me."

She hadn't even told her friends. "They'd act all sympathetic. Come tomorrow half the school would know I'm up the duff."

School. She would sit her Leaving Certificate exams at the end of the year. Nicky did the maths on her fingers. "The baby'll be due then." She gripped my forearm with such strength that I felt sorry for her future midwife. "I might have to fly to England."

"To get an abor—" Nicky raised a stiff hand to silence me. As though mentioning the word would invoke a curse. Perhaps hearing it aloud made it real for her.

"How will I cope with a kid? I can barely remember to brush my teeth. How'm I gonna look after a baby? I want to go to college... This affects my entire future." She started sobbing.

She looked up. "You must think I'm awful..."

"No." I told her about the homeless man, dying alone and unloved. Maybe it was worse bringing a child into the world if you couldn't love it unconditionally. Life is pretty tough, even with a family to care for and support you.