Page 108 of Releasing 10
THE FEIS, THE FEELS, AND THE FAMILY DAY OUT
Hugh
JUNE 8, 1997
“THIS IS THE BEST BIRTHDAY WEEKEND EVER,” LIZZIE DECLARED EXCITEDLY AS WEwandered through the crowds at the county fair on Sunday afternoon.
She was turning nine tomorrow, and we couldn’t have asked for a better day to celebrate. The sun was splitting the stones, her mother was looking healthier than she had in months, and the girl holding my hand was glowing. I meant that in the literal sense. Lizzie wasglowing.
Keeping a firm hold on her hand, I weaved through the crowd at the ice-cream van, with our two 99 ice-cream cones secured. Our families were at the other side of the fairground, waiting on the feis to start.
“You should have asked for the mint syrup on yours,” she said, licking the green slime trickling down her cone. “It’s so good.”
“No thanks. I’ll stick to plain old vanilla,” I tossed back, looking over my shoulder to smile at her.
Liz looked nothing like the other girls at the fair. She wasn’t wearing a poufy dress or pink Boyzone shorts—which, apparently, were all the style considering the number of girls wearing them—and she didn’t wear fancy bows in her hair.
Clad in her statement oversized denim dungarees, white T-shirt, and high-tops, she looked better than every other girl at the fair. She had her hair pulled back in a single plait that fellto the middle of her back. Her blond hair was a lot darker now, streaked with flecks of honey and golden brown. I’d never seen hair like hers, with so many different shades going through it, and thought it suited her better than the white it used to be.
My sister labeled the color asdirty blondonce, and while I had no clue about hair shades, I was sure Lizzie’s one was my favorite.
But the very best thing about Lizzie had to be her fearlessness. She didn’t scream when we got stuck at the top on the Ferris wheel or bawl like a baby when someone crashed into her on the bumper cars. Instead, she laughed and went hell for leather right back at whoever bumped her. She had zero fear of heights, just like me, and that made her the ultimate companion at the fun fair.
We’d spent most of the afternoon running back and forth to our parents to scavenge money and went on every single ride at the fair.
“What time are Gibs and Claire onstage?” Liz asked, dragging me from my thoughts. “It has to be soon, right?”
“Yeah, it should be any minute now,” I replied, craning my neck to get a better look at where the feis was being held.
The feis was an Irish-dancing competition, and they held one every year at the county fair on the bed of an articulated lorry. I’d been dragged along to countless feis competitions over the years and wasn’t that excited, but this was Lizzie’s first time attending. She was buzzing with excitement to see Gibs and Claire take the stage, while I was just happy to see her smile.
Pushing through the crowds, we skipped past the fairground rides and stall sellers until we reached the stage. Weaving through the rows of chairs and picnic blankets, we found our families near the front.
They were sitting near each other on a few blankets strewn over the recently harvested ground. All too familiar with howthose prickly straw spikes the farmers left in the fields after baling felt on bare skin, I quickly scoped out room on her sister’s blanket. While I detested the asshole sitting next to my babysitter, I was wearing shorts today and had no intention of spending the rest of the day itching and tearing my skin raw.
Ignoring Mark and Caoimhe, who were eating the faces off each other, I settled down on the blanket with Liz and steered her attention to the stage and pointed. “Look, Liz, they’re coming onstage.”
“Woo!” Lizzie cheered, clapping and squealing in delight when Gibsie took to the outdoor stage with my baby sister in tow. “Yes, guys!”
I felt a surge of pride when the people around us started to whisper and point them out. It always happened when Claire and Gibs took to the stage, and I often wondered why the other dancers bothered competing against them.
“They’re all older than them,” Liz noted, pointing to the other competing couples lined up beside them, with all the male dancers standing behind their female counterparts. “They look so small next to them.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, eyeing the older teenagers onstage. “Don’t worry, though,” I added, knowing that none of them could take the shine off our guys. “It’s in the bag.”
Claire’s curls were pinned to the top of her head, and she wore a green velvet, traditional Irish-dancing dress. Standing behind her, Gibs wore black trousers with suspender straps and a white shirt. His hair was combed smartly to the side, and his shoes were black and shiny with a clicky heel, while Claire had the black ones with the laces that went up her shins.
Even though she was smiling, I could tell my sister was nervous. Not Gibs, though. Nope, he looked as proud as punch as he stood slightly behind my sister, hands in position with hers.
When the Ceili band on site kicked off with their own lively, traditional version of “Glasgow Reel,” the couples onstage started to move.
“Whoa,” Liz breathed, attention glued to Gibsie and Claire. “They dance like they’re floating.”
“I know,” I agreed. Floating was the only way to describe the way these two moved their bodies around the stage.
My sister looked like a swan, with her limbs in perfect symmetrical poise, while Gibsie danced like he was born to dance this very dance with her.
Usually, the girls were the stars onstage and the boys danced awkwardly in the background, but not this boy.
