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Chapters (90)
  1. Cover
  2. By the same author
  3. SUZY SUZY
  4. Copyright
  5. Contents
  6. Glossary of Dialect Terms
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. About William Wall
  90. An Invitation from the Publisher

My mam would be talking to her solicitor already. She would have a good story for the Revenue: Her husband ran away to a place or places unknown, she didn’t. Evading his responsibilities. How long would it take them to find him?

That time I decided that my dad was a stupid bastard, a selfish bastard. I thought about walking down to Peter’s house and getting him to drive me to the nearest bus stop. If they had bus stops in this shithole of a place.

48

So my dad crashed idk he stayed in bed all next morning and he wouldn’t eat unless I cooked. I’m a crap cook as my mam Never Tires Of Telling Me and my dad can’t boil an egg. And I was paranoid about the mice even though I never saw one personally. I put everything in the fridge, even the tea. And at night sometimes I would hear them running. Or I would think I could hear a sound like a million needles clittering somewhere between my floor and the ceiling below. Maybe they were ghost mice, ex-mice that died in the famine. Or did the mice have plenty to eat, maybe it was only a human disaster and the mice and rats had a fun few years. Then again maybe they were bionic woodlice. The first night I fried a steak. I didn’t fry it enough and when we cut it the blood leaked. I freaked. I put mine back on the pan and left it there until it was black on the outside, but still when I cut there was that dribble of blood. I wanted to put an Elastoplast on it before I put it in the bin. So I just ate toast and oven chips. On the second day I made an omelette and it was OK. There is no blood in an omelette.

I said, Dad we have no food for tomorrow, just the stale bread.

He gave me fifty euro.

I’m like: Where am I supposed to find something?

But he didn’t answer. By then he wasn’t talking much. He stayed in bed until his tea was ready and then he got up and ate it and went back to bed again. He was taking a pill in the morning now too. I thought maybe it would be good for his heart. They say rest is good. In the Shakespeare we were doing in school someone says, Sleep that knits up the ravel’d sleeve of care, balm of hurt minds idk that’s what I thought at the time and if I changed my mind it was afterwards. Otherwise I would have got him out of the bed every morning.