“Table number six.” Mae pushed a tray of burgers and coffee towards her youngest son who had returned from college about fifteen minutes ago. Brandon knew he would not be able to carry on with college alongside the band for too long, but he still tried.

He nodded, took the tray his mother offered, and made his way through the tables and chairs to arrive at his destination. The customer smiled, asked him about Pentoniac, and congratulated him on his success. It was a small town and everyone knew everyone. He did not mind the local people showing interest in his career. It was only when the girls sat there for hours and refused to move that he became annoyed.

Yes, he liked girls, had always been a bit of a ladies’ man, with girls drooling over him because of his voice and handsome features. But ever since their sudden fame, girls of all shapes and sizes had been hounding him. At first, it was exciting. But six months on, it had started to become bothersome. It was a good thing being appreciated and recognised, and another thing to lose your privacy.

“Was Emily home when you went yesterday?” His mother asked when he returned to the counter. His sister Mairead and brother Liam were waiting tables in the meanwhile and his father was flipping burgers.

He shook his head. “Izzi said she was on her way,” he replied, pouring himself some coffee.

“I’m happy that Elsa is around to take care of her.” He heard his mother sigh as she arranged the food on the trays. A customer came in for a latte, and Brandon quickly fixed it for him. “Is she okay? She wasn’t here yesterday.”

“She’s okay,” he nodded. “As fine as possible. She just wants to be on her own. Maybe the crowd here doesn’t suit her anymore.”

“That’s what I thought.” The short-haired, willowy sexagenarian turned, handing a tray to Mairead. “I wish you and Ben could give her more time. Being alone isn’t good for her.”

“She doesn’t like people around her, Mam,” he reasoned.

“That isn’t the point. Her safety is more important than her moodiness.” Mae passed on some ingredients to his father at the stove. He did make the best burgers and fish and chips in town. “I was worried when they brought her to Sligo. This is a small town and newcomers don’t fit in very well. But people did take very kindly to her.”

“For the most part.”

“What does that mean?” She looked at his face. “Is she having a hard time here? Is there something I don’t know?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He rose from the stool and took a few long gulps of his coffee. Mairead came around with another order, then turned and smiled when her eyes sighted the door of the restaurant.

“Look who’s here,” the golden-blonde girl whispered to her brother. Brandon’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Isabel at the door, adorable in her blue school uniform, gloved hands holding a book, eyes searching for an empty corner. She resembled a young Emily Barrett to such an extent that he would have thought she was her own daughter if he did not know better.

“Go.” Mairead thumped him on the back. “She’ll turn away if she doesn’t find an empty seat.”

“Bring her here, will ye?” Mae asked him. “Haven’t hugged her in a while.”

“Mam.” Brandon rolled his eyes, making his way through tables to the front door. Isabel had not seen him, her eyes still scanning the place for a quiet corner.

“Hey.” He waved when he was close enough to her. She raised a hand in acknowledgement.

“My seat’s taken.” She sounded like a child who had just been denied more candy. Brandon looked around to find no empty seat. The restaurant was usually crowded all the time, but ever since his big break, it did not thin even during the afternoons. Sitting at the café was a chance to see his home for many people.

“Umm… do you mind hanging out in the kitchen for the moment?” he asked. “The customer occupying your seat should be gone by then.”

She looked around again without replying, impatient for a place to sit and read. “It’s okay, I can go home and eat lunch.”

“You haven’t eaten lunch?”

She shook her head. “School lunch is bland. I thought I’d drop in here and grab a bite. But—”

“Izzi!” Mairead called out from the corner, waving. Isabel waved back, then stared up at Brandon when his sister motioned for her to come over.

“Come on,” he smiled, taking her hand. It felt strange holding her gloved hands. Until six months ago, when he could feel her soft palms against his, it always seemed like a proper connection. But now, it was only a piece of black silk against his skin.

He took her through the maze of tables and chairs to the counter, where Mae wasted no time in engulfing her in a huge embrace. Brandon often felt embarrassed by the way his mother showered his friends with unabashed affection. One would not think she had seven children of her own.

“Oh, my little girl,” Mae said to her when she finally let her go. “I missed you yesterday. Are you alright?” She cradled her face between her palms, smiling. “You’ve lost so much weight. Wait till I fatten you up with crisps.”

Brandon noticed a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She had always been slender, but of late, she looked pale and waifish, and they all knew why. His mother, however, was still in her relentless pursuit of trying to fatten her up. Isabel loved their potato crisps, and they had an unending supply. But they were yet to see any weight on her.

“She hasn’t eaten lunch yet,” Brandon mentioned, drawing a concerned look from his mother.

“Oh, is it so?” Mae turned to disappear inside the pantry just behind the counter. “Come in here, sweetheart. Pick what you want to eat.”

“Go on,” he whispered, giving her a slight nudge. She slowly made her way in, disappearing behind the brown Dutch door. When Brandon returned to her after serving a few more orders, she was seated on a high bar stool, her legs neatly tucked at the back, a plate of his father’s famous rasher sandwich in front of her, which she was nibbling on while reading her book.

“Okay?” he asked, walking over to her. She nodded, looking at his face for a fleeting moment. He did not tell her that Elsa had called to ask if she was indeed at the restaurant. She was there and she was alright. But her family worried about her all the time, fearing she might do something stupid again. They all did.

“I never expected you to love these rasher sandwiches so much,” he teased, pulling a stool to sit next to her. “That’s the only thing you ever eat here.”

Her mouth twitched but the smile failed to find a way. “I probably wouldn’t have known how much I loved bacon if not for these sandwiches,” she said, casting him another glance. “Your hair’s back to brown.”

“I’m glad,” he laughed. “It was never a good idea. When Louis asked me to dye my hair blonde, I thought you’d never want to see me again.”

She gave him a questioning stare. “You don’t dig blondes,” he explained.

“You’re not blonde. It was only temporary.”

“I only wish the colour had gone before Peter’s wedding. I cringe when I look at the pictures.”

“Don’t regret it. You can always tell people the history behind it.” She licked mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth. “It got you into the band.”

Brandon smiled at the memory of the first audition. He had been out drinking the night before and fared miserably at the audition because of a bad hangover. Three months later, at the second audition, he made it by dyeing his hair blonde and getting a tan to turn into a different person.

“It was Louis’ idea,” he said. “He knew it would work, and I was surprised it did. I don’t think I’ll ever forget being slapped by him after that first audition.”

“Uh-huh,” she spoke around a piece of bacon, her eyes on the book. “You’re spoilt.”

“Being the youngest of seven will do that to you,” he chuckled.

“Isn’t it ironic? All you ever wanted to do in life was sing and your mother finally gets hold of Louis after months of trying. And you’re the one who makes a complete hash of the opportunity.”

“Yeah.” He watched her turn a page of the book, her long fingers dancing across the lines like butterfly strokes, the same strokes he had seen her perform on the piano a long time ago. He often wondered if her fingers had healed and if she’d be able to play the piano again. “I did not think of it then, but now I do.”

“You’ve covered ABBA on this album, right?”

“Yes. I Have A Dream.” Their first album. Fifteen songs—two covers and thirteen originals. He had not stopped singing the songs since the recording. “Remember when I asked you what your favourite ABBA song was? I thought you’d say something predictable like Dancing Queen or Super Trouper, but you surprised me by saying it was Andante Andante.”

“It’s not a very famous ABBA song, I know.”

He swallowed, his skin suddenly tingling. “I came back home and went through my ABBA collection to find that song. And now I cannot stop associating it with you.”

Reaching over, he gave her hand a soft squeeze. “You are my music,” he whispered. “You are my song, and I want to play you time and time again and make you strong.”

Isabel’s hand tensed underneath his palm, a flush of colour entering her cheeks. “I want to make you sing, make you sound,” he continued. “Slowly, gently, I’ll tread lightly on your ground. Slowly, gently, I swear I won’t let you down.”

“Hey!” The door opened and the lean figure of Kyle appeared, blonde locks falling into his blue eyes. He was one-fifth of the band, a talented singer, guitarist, and piano player, and Brandon’s high school buddy, who lived closer to downtown. “You two flirting again?”

Brandon let go of Isabel’s hand and sighed. “I’m just keeping her company,” he explained. “What’re ye doing here, Hagan?”

“Meself and Mark dropped in to see ya,” he said, leaning against the door frame, his gaze turning to Isabel again. She had wrapped her arms around her bag and appeared stiff.

Until the band formed, Kyle was a cheeky little troublemaker, always getting into scuffles and fights and calling others names. He had fancied Isabel for a while, but Ben was protective, Brandon was already in love, and Isabel showed no interest in him. He had moved on to other girls soon enough.

“Mark’s also here?” He rose from the stool but hesitated to leave Isabel alone, lest Kyle bothered her. Even though they were friends, he could still be mean sometimes.

“Yeah. He got tempted by the chips there.” He gestured at the counter, from where Mark was walking towards the pantry, still chewing.

“Hiya, folks. How’s it going?” He brushed past Kyle and entered the small room, engulfing Isabel in a bear hug. Mark Flanagan was another member of the band, tall and stocky, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a dimpled smile. The four of them- him, Mark, Ben, and Kyle- had first put the band together in high school. Then Mae had got in touch with Louis Walsh and it had all rolled from there.

“Did you know that Mark has a pet donkey now?” Kyle mentioned with a snicker. Brandon started to laugh.

“Really?”

Mark frowned. “It isn’t my donkey,” he said. His voice was deep and husky, more fit for blues and soul than pop. If people closed their eyes and listened to him, they would not be able to tell he was a white lad. “It’s sick. We’re taking care of it.”

“Why?” Kyle asked. “Are you a donkey hospital?”

“Donkey hospital!” Brandon was in stitches, his cheeks turning red and eyes watering. Kyle was laughing too, and Mark joined in. Isabel’s eyes snapped to Mark’s face when he put his right index finger in his mouth.

“Don’t bite your nails,” she said, firmly. “It’s unhealthy.”

“Sorry.” Mark sat on the stool Brandon had vacated. “Aren’t you participating in the concert at Hawks Well?” he asked. “It’s going to be grand.”

“I’m sure it is.” Isabel packed her bag, zipped it up, and rose from the seat. “It’s just not for me.”

“Change her mind, Folan,” he said to Brandon. He shrugged with a quiet laugh, watching as she picked up the plate, went over to the sink, and quickly rinsed it. Isabel was a simple girl, sincere, hardworking, grounded. Despite having spent the first sixteen years of her life in London, she’d adjusted seamlessly to this small Irish county. She never seemed to miss Britain or the world she had left behind.

Isabel wiped her hands, put her gloves back on, and turned to leave.

“See ya, lads.” She walked past Kyle, slinging the bag on her shoulder. Brandon followed.

“Where ye goin’?” Mark called out, to which he only gestured with a wave of his hand and walked out of the pantry. Isabel was with his mother, probably trying to pay for the meal, but Mae was vigorously shaking her head. Defeated, she put the money back inside her bag and told her something, at which the older woman smiled and patted her cheek.

“Izzi.” He caught up with her just outside the green front door of the café. She turned, her big doe eyes on him.

“Yes?” She pulled the scarf around her neck, wrapping it neatly. “Did I forget anything?”

“No.” He hesitated. “Can I walk you home?”

“It’s fine. You’re needed here.”

“It’s close. It won’t be too long.”

“Exactly. I can go, Brandy.”

“Please?” He did not want to plead, but it was out before he could help. Isabel sighed.

“Okay.” She nodded, turning to walk again. Brandon started walking beside her, looking down at the girl next to him. He had first met her two years ago, when she visited Ireland for the first time. She had affected him differently, which was quite a surprise because all the girls he ever went out with were blondes. In the three weeks that she had spent in the county, Ben’s parents had allowed him to take her to the lake, teach her horseriding, and introduce her to the delectability of homemade food. She had even picked up bits and pieces of Irish, a language she had no prior knowledge of.

Since they were three or four years of age, Brandon and his brothers trained and participated in showjumping, and his sisters did Irish dancing. But Isabel’s jaw-dropping ballet and tap dance moves were unlike anything that town had ever seen. It had flooded him with pride, admiration, and other sensations that he had never felt before. He had failed to stop thinking about her, suddenly losing interest in all other girls. The next time she visited Sligo, their friendship had only grown deeper.

The Isabel who moved to Sligo six months past was different. If she had been quiet and private then, she was distant and unfeeling now. No one had seen her smile in months. The antidepressants had somehow made her quieter.

When he looked back, he felt foolish to never have seen the signs of the danger she was living in— the long sleeves, the reluctance to talk about her life in London, the fear in her eyes when he casually asked about the scar across her hairline… 

“Can I ask you something?” he said, their feet making crunching sounds as they stepped on dry leaves on the road. She nodded. “Is everything okay at school? I mean, do they treat you normally?”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Everyone. Teachers, students…”

“Hmm-mm. Everything’s fine.”

“Sure?”

She looked at him, her feet stopping awkwardly. “What’s there to be sure about?” Her voice was hard. “Who would want to hang around with a girl like me? I’m mental. Weird.”

Brandon frowned, his hands fisting at his sides. He had finished school a little over a year ago and not forgotten what the students could be like. Small-town children were less civil than city kids. They often forgot decorum and manners. He had always been the popular guy. But he had seen Mark get bullied and Kyle bullying. It was not something he wished for anyone.

“Do they say that about you?” he asked, the frown still sitting on his brow. She shrugged.

“Not to my face. But I understand.” She started walking again. “I don’t want to hang out with anybody, anyway.”

“Izzi.” He reached for her hand and slowly drew her close, until he could properly hold her in his arms. Isabel stared up at his face, not surprised, not delighted, not embarrassed. Her face was a blank sheet of paper. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you’re ever bullied?” he said to her. “You won’t hide it. Promise me?”

“I don’t promise.” She turned from him. “I’ve never been bullied, so I won’t even know.” She glanced back at him. “Stop worrying. No one worries about me.”

“You couldn’t be more mistaken.” He crossed his arms, walking over until he was in front of her. “Everyone worries about you. Dr Barrett, Emily, Ben, my family, Mark, his family.” He sighed. “I worry about you. Because I care. We all care. And we want you to be safe.”

“Safe.” She repeated the word, as if hearing it for the first time. Brandon shook his head, knowing the mistake he had made. He tried to catch up with her.

“Izzi. Wait.”

Isabel stopped and looked at him with eyes that were dark and scary. For a moment, she simply stared. Brandon half-expected a slap, but instead, she opened her mouth to speak.

“Why did no one care about my safety when I’d been locked in the attic?” she asked him.

He opened his mouth, tried to come up with the right words, but nothing formed. Isabel walked away, tightly folding her arms around herself. Brandon stood watching as she disappeared into the lane on the right, the sight of her black hair and blue skirt lingering in front of his eyes.

“Still hanging out with the city lass, eh?” A hand fell on his shoulder. It was Damien, his former schoolmate. Brandon did not reply. A hoarse laugh came from his mate.

“She’s a fine thing, but she’s away with the fairies,” he whispered to him. “Ye’re the ladies’ man. I thought ye’d know better.”

“It’s none of yer business, Damien.” He tried to not be angry. “Stop saying that about her.”

“I don’t care,” he shrugged. “I’m just saying ye deserve better.”

Knocking his hand away, Brandon turned to walk back home. He knew Isabel’s reality. And he was going to be there for her no matter what.