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with Julie Clancy thrown over his shoulder. She’s banging on his back telling him to, Leave me down , but she’s laughing so hard she can barely get the words out. He drops her a little and she wraps her legs around his waist, his hands holding her up by the ass as they kiss.
    ‘Dylan Walsh is so gross.’ Maggie’s face is screwed up in a grimace. ‘No offence, J, but I don’t know what you were at.’
    They move ahead of us, chatting loudly about the outfits they’re going to wear tomorrow, Maggie telling Ali she’s thinking ‘lots of checks, you know?’ Jamie has stopped dead, dozens of other supporters milling around her.
    ‘Come on,’ I say, reaching out to grab her hand. ‘We agreed it was best not to—’
    ‘Fuck off,’ she says, pulling away from me. I check quickly to make sure the others haven’t heard, but they’re at the entrance gates, chatting to my dad. He’s still wearing his pinstriped business suit, but has taken off the jacket. He has patches of sweat around his armpits. You should buy him special deodorant, I told Mam last summer. You can get this stuff that, like, means you never sweat. I’m sure I read that causes cancer, she had replied, as if that had anything to do with the conversation.
    ‘There’s my princess.’ He puts his arm around my waist and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
    ‘How are you, Jamie?’ Dad asks. ‘Did you enjoy the match?’ She murmurs yes. ‘That Dineen lad is in your class, isn’t he?’
    ‘You don’t say “class” any more, Daddy. We’re not in national school.’
    ‘Sorry. Your year then.’ I nod. ‘He’s a handy player for someone so young.’ Dad grabs a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at his brow.
    ‘Sean Casey is in our year too,’ Ali pipes up.
    ‘Yeah, but sure he’s only a sub,’ I say.
    Dad’s eyes drift over my shoulder, and he breaks into a huge smile. ‘And here’s the man himself!’
    I spin on my heel, but it’s just Ciarán O’Brien, his shock of hair suspiciously dark for someone of his age.
    ‘Ciarán, congratulations! Great game. Your lad played well.’
    ‘Ah, we were grand. Still a bit weak in the forwards,’ Ciarán says. ‘No chance of Bryan coming back for us?’
    ‘Ah,’ Dad looks embarrassed. ‘He says the UL team is enough for him at the moment.’
    ‘Hmm,’ Ciarán grunts. He looks at each of us in our turn, smiling extra widely when he sees Ali, enquiring after her dad.
    ‘And is one of these lovely ladies your own daughter?’ he asks, and Dad gives me another squeeze around the waist, saying, ‘This is our youngest, Emma.’
    Ciarán looks me up and down. I probably shouldn’t have worn such a low-cut top.
    ‘Well, well, well.’ He winks at Dad. ‘You have a heartbreaker on your hands there, Denis. I’d say you must be bating them off with a stick.’ He tilts his head in a hello to a passer-by, shaking a couple of outreached hands, then makes a drinking gesture at Dad. ‘Pint?’
    ‘God, did you see the way Ciarán O’Brien was checking me out?’ I shudder as we watch them leave.
    ‘Well, what do you expect, princess?’ Jamie says. ‘You’re about to take someone’s eye out.’
    (Jamie and I getting ready in my bathroom. She fidgets nervously with her dress. Do you think it’s too short? she says, spinning around to see herself from the back. Don’t be stupid , I say, handing her another drink. With your legs? )
    ‘You really are your dad’s pet, aren’t you?’ Ali says, a little wistfully. ‘All those hugs and kisses. My dad is so not a hugger.’
    ‘I wouldn’t mind if he was,’ I say. Ali’s dad, James, is an absolute ride. She groans in disgust and shoves me as hard as she can, cackling with laughter when I stumble against a girl walking past me.
    ‘Eh, excuse me.’ It’s Susan Twomey, surrounded by ten of her friends, all slim and tanned, with long hair spilling over their shoulders in various shades of blonde. All of them are wearing what looks like the