When You Wake up and Scream

"I was trying to see if I had anything decent to eat, but I don't." Conán replied smoothly, standing up and pulling the fridge open to back his story up. "Well, we've got some bacon if you want that? I think I've some round somewhere. That's if you're feeling all right?"

"I'll be fine," Naoise replied. "You have any painkillers?"

"Over there," Conán signalled behind him, his head still in the fridge as he rummaged through the other things in there and found the bacon at the back. He was breathing heavily and his heart was still thudding, and he mentally scolded himself and told himself to be more careful in future.

"Thanks."

Conán heard her running the tap and he pulled the bacon out, closing the fridge door and going to the cooker, flicking the grill on.

"You've not got a bad place considering you're tight on money." Naoise told him, looking around.

"Well, I save up, you know? I get depressed if I have to come back to a crapshack."

Naoise laughed.

"'It's hardly a crapshack. You should see where I'm living. It's a dorm and we don't even have our own bathroom. We have to go down the hall in the middle of the night if we need to toilet, and it's freezing and creepy and there's these bunch of cows at the top who always jump out and scare you."

"Really?" Conán raised his eyebrows. "You should set a booby trap or something."

"If only." Naoise grinned wistfully. "I would, but Mary wouldn't be able to be bothered and the other pair are complete stuck-up geeks. You're lucky to live here by yourself."

"Am I?" Conán asked dryly. Naoise looked at him surprised.

"You don't like it?"

"The grass is always greener on the other side, dear." Conán told her simply. "I'll admit, sometimes it's fantastic, you know? Not having anyone else to look after apart from yourself, you can stay out all night if you like, or you can just laze in bed and not worry about being disturbed. But sometimes, when I'm feeling down, it's depressing to come back to an empty flat. You feel really alone, and you can hear the cars driving by and people talking and laughing and you wonder to yourself if this is your lot, if you're just going to sit and be a hermit for the rest of your life. I've always been alone. Sometimes I just want a little company."

"Well, you've got me." Naoise told him softly, and Conán smiled. It was a genuine smile, one of the first Naoise had seen from him. It transformed his face, made him look a lot different. He had one of those smiles that lit up his eyes, and she realised how strange it was that, even though they were so dark, they had a bright glitter to them, a glint of something slightly strange.

"I suppose I do. But what are you doing hanging around with a bum like me, eh? You should be out with your own age group."

"You're only two years older than me. And I like you. I find you interesting."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"In what way? In a, 'I think you're a complete freak' way or a, 'Hey, you're actually a really cool guy' way?"

"The cool guy kind of way." Naoise laughed, and Conán smiled again as he put the bacon under the grill. "I just think you're more intelligent than you're letting on. You come out with some cool things."

"Do you not find me slightly depressing?"

"No. That sort of thing had never bothered me. And it's no surprising, really, considering your upbringing."

"I suppose not." Conán pulled a face. "God, that woman was a bitch. But anyway, I don’t want to think about her. She's dead and buried and burning in Hell."

"Do you not ever want to find your father?" Naoise asked delicately, wondering if Conán would react badly.

He had suddenly stopped, staring at the counter, and then he shrugged.

"I don't know." he said, and he sounded calm enough. "I mean, I have this vision that perhaps I could find him and we'd get along and live happily ever after and all of that, but that's only a fantasy, isn't it? He probably wouldn't want anything to do with me, and that's even if I ever found him. Connolly isn't even his surname, from what I gather, but I've already told you about that, haven't I?"

"Yeah, you said your mother probably made it up so the nurses wouldn’t know that she didn't know the father's name."

"Sounds like something the old slut would do."

"So you wouldn’t bother?"

"Probably not. He's probably got his own family anyway, half-brothers and half-sisters, no thanks. That's if he wasn't into the same crowd as my mother. If he was, he'll probably be in jail or dead by now."

"So you might be an orphan. That's so sad!"

"You don’t miss what you've never had." Conán smiled thinly. "I mean, if your parents died now, you'd be devastated, because you’ve grown up with them and they cared for you and you have a relationship with them. I hated my mother and I never knew my father. I don't even know his name. I was glad when my mother died because I knew she'd never be able to hurt anyone ever again. My father … well, it's not his problem, is it?"

"Of course it's his problem! He knocked your mother up. It takes two to tango."

Conán laughed.

"Two to tango." he repeated. "There's a disturbing thought if I ever had one. My mother was a whore, Naoise. It's her fault if she gets knocked up."

"I guess I feel sorry for you. I hate the thought of having nobody."

"Don't you feel sorry for me, lovie. I can look after myself."

"If you had the chance, would you look for your father?"

Conán paused.

"Probably not, you know. I guess I just wouldn't want to. I'm scared, you see, it's –" Conán broke off, realising what he had said. "Bacon's ready." he said quickly, hoping to distract Naoise from what he had said, but she wasn't having any of it.

"You're scared? Why?"

"Looks pretty good as well." Conán said, pretending he hadn't heard. He picked up the tray without a tea towel over his hand and swore, burning himself. "Damn it! Watch out."

He dodged past Naoise and stuck his hand under the cold tap.

"What's going on, Conán?" Naoise asked him, an eyebrow raised, and she took the tea towel and lifted the tray onto the draining board.

"It's nothing." Conán muttered through clenched teeth, his burn throbbing.

"What are you scared of?"

"It's nothing!"

"It's hardly nothing. You were so distracted by it that you picked up a tray from under the grill with your bare hands. You should talk about these things, you know. It's no good keeping it all in."

"I haven't known you all that long. I can't burden these things on you whenever I feel like it."

"I'm going into psychology as a career, Conán. I think I'll probably be hearing some serious problems when I'm older."

"Well, this isn't serious, all right?" Conán sighed, wetting some of the kitchen roll and wrapping it around his hand. He winced at the sodden feel of it. "I'm just scared of … of rejection, all right? I can't stand rejection. What if I find him after ages and ages of searching he turns round and says he doesn’t want anything to do with me? I wouldn't shake up his family life anyway, if he has one. Can you imagine if I turned up on the doorstep and he's a wife and some kids? What's he going to say? 'Oh, hello, dear wife of mine, this is my long-lost son Conán who was conceived twenty years ago when I slept with a whore'?"

Naoise sighed.

"I suppose you're right." she told him. "It would probably be too awkward. And you don’t really want to find him anyway, do you? I shouldn't be coming in here encouraging you to do things that make you uncomfortable. Here, get that down you."

She handed him a couple of bacon sandwiches and took her own.

"Thanks. Naoise?"

"What?"

"I know you mean well. You're a sweet girl."

Naoise smiled.

"Well, thanks. I do have busybody tendencies, though, so if I pry too much, just tell me to shut up."

Conán laughed.

"I'll remember that. Hey! Good Lord. Do you know what I just remembered?"

"What?"

"We totally kissed last night."

Naoise paused, thinking back to the many out-of-sequence and grainy memories floating around in the back of her head. Then she laughed.

"I suppose there's worse people to drunkenly kiss."

"Well, there's a compliment. Come on, let's go and see what's on the idiot box."