Something About You

Two. September, 2003.

Niall's birthday wasn't supposed to be like this.

The plan had been for him, Da, Mully and Greg to go to a Derby match today. It would be Mully's first time going to a match in person and Niall had lent him one of his favorite jerseys to wear so he'd fit right in. Da said he'd buy them both ice cream at Pride Park too, even if it was cold, and Derby were sure to win against Walsall. It was going to be the best 10th birthday anyone had ever had.

And then Da got a stomach bug.

And then Mully's mam said he couldn't come over anymore because she didn't want him to catch the stomach bug too, just in case.

And now it's all gone to shite.

And now Niall's here, walking along the canal, annoyed, and alone on his birthday. He hasn't even had any cake and no one's offered to make him any—Mam is too far away and Greg would probably burn down the gaff if he tried, anyway. He supposes he could call the Devines or Nicky or anyone else, but he feels a bit tired, his feet a bit heavy, every task a bit too much. He's finding it hard to stop doing this: walking, aimless, hands in the pockets of his windbreaker, feet kicking at the rocks along the canal. He's got that new Black Eyed Peas song called Where Is The Love? stuck in his head and he's humming it mindlessly as the wind pushes him forward along his walk. Autumn is coming—the grass along the canal is looking a little browner than it is green, and Niall can smell the change of the seasons in the breeze. It makes him a little more annoyed. He's never liked the end of summer.

He's in the middle of a daydream about Derby winning the championship when the barking starts.

Niall snaps back into it with barely half a second to spare. He swerves a little to his left as the dog—big and white with muddy paws—comes straight at him, wagging its tail and swinging its tongue. He only just manages not to scream.

'Sorry, sorry!' Someone is running after the dog, a familiar voice with a familiar laugh and—oh. Isla.

'Oh,' she sounds just as surprised as he feels. 'Hiya, Niall. Happy birthday! Sorry about him,' She tugs at the dog's lead, which is trailing behind him. 'Púca just wants to be friends, he's easily excited.'

'S'alright,' Niall shoves his shaking hands back into his pockets before Isla can see. She's a little too bundled up for the weather today, a puffer jacket zipped all the way up, a bobble hat pulled over her ears. Her cheeks are flushed pink even though it's not that cold and she's been biting at her lips. Niall's tummy does that thing it does around Isla sometimes, and he feels a little floaty.

'I'm just walking Púca with my mam,' Isla looks back behind her and Niall's eyes follow. He recognizes Mrs. Boyne from school pickup and drop off, although it's been a while since he's seen her. First Class feels like a million years ago, now—like it's been forever since Isla handed him her peanut butter sandwich. 'What are you doing here? Sean Mulholland has been nattering all week about going to England for a football match with you today.'

After that first day, one of the things Niall cottoned onto quickly is just how friendly Isla is. She's helpful, and curious, and she treats everyone like they're special. Niall reminds himself of that, sometimes, when he starts to think she's only asking him these kinds of questions. Instead, he says, 'My da got ill. He's been throwing up all day so he can't take us.'

'Ick,' Isla scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. 'I'm sorry, that's not very fun. You must be sad.'

She's the first person to say that to Niall all day. Da had apologized this morning, sure, and Mam had called to do the same, but no one had said it—had simply, thoughtfully, easily put it into words for Niall like that: he must be sad. He is sad. And Isla is the only one who'll say it.

He doesn't even have to admit it, though. Isla just carries on: 'you could play football in the park with your mates? Or you could go home and watch the match on telly, but that might make you even more sad. Or you could walk with mam and me, if you want. You shouldn't be alone on your birthday.'

'I—' Niall's weighing the options. He thinks he probably should want to play football with his mates, but something about walking with Isla and her mom sounds so nice. He wouldn't want to intrude on their family time but—

'Isla, pet, are you—oh, hello, Niall, dear, how are you?' Mrs. Boyne's caught up with them now. Niall smiles politely, opens his mouth to tell her he's very fine, thank you very much for asking, ma'am.

Isla beats him to it. 'It's Niall's birthday, mammy. He was meant to go to a football match today in England with Sean Mulholland but his da is too ill to take them. Can he come walking with us?'

'Oh, you poor thing,' Mrs. Boyne puts a hand over her heart, shaking her head. 'That's no way to spend your birthday. Come along, we're nearly home again. I've got supper on the hob and made extra—you'll take some home for yourself and Greg.'

Niall had a handful of protests at the ready, but then Isla smiles and he can't think of them. Can't think of much, really, other than the way she reaches out for his arm. Her hands are freezing cold as they wrap gently around his bicep—he can feel them through his windbreaker. She squeezes it gently and when she says 'come on, then,' Niall has no choice, really, but to follow her.