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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

So he drove me up and we went into the bedroom and looked at him. And he never woke up even though there was a strange man standing at the foot of his bed. Peter brought a smell of turf smoke with him. And he said my dad was bad all right, that kind of sleep was unnatural, and I should get a doctor in the morning if he’s not better. But I knew I couldn’t do that. If I called a doctor he might be reported. Or they might send him into the asylum if they still had asylums idk. I promised Peter I would call a doctor first thing and he went home. And by then it was dark. It gets dark early in February even though we were as far west as you could go without falling into the sea. The sun sets behind the mountain so there’s a shadow over us from early. My book was finished and I had nothing to read. I should have borrowed something from Peter. I started googling stuff and I got sad because googling depression is bad. So I watched YouTube videos instead even though it would eat up my credit. I saw Zombie Make Up Tips. It was brilliant. How to do your face like a zombie with basically household ingredients every kitchen should have. Like I’m talking about gelatine and porridge and jam. I cooked some lamb chops and peas and I boiled potatoes, but I had to eat it all myself because my dad said he didn’t want anything. He was getting thin and I was getting fat.

53

And that was the hardest night ever. There was a wet gale blowing with hailstones. It was like someone slinging gravel at the windows. And the doors rattled and the wind got in everywhere and it was seriously cold. You could hear the gale grumbling and growling in the stove. Every time there was a gust something else caught fire in there.

I was so lonely. I missed Holly and Serena and I missed my brother. I kept going over and over everything. What I wanted most of all was to cut but I didn’t bring my razors. I forgot them leaving the house. I thought about the carving knife but it was too blunt. There was a bread knife with a serrated edge but I thought that would make shit of my leg. I didn’t want to bleed to death while my dad was asleep. Once I dropped my pants and put my ass against the stove to burn it but it was just hot, it wasn’t hot enough to hurt. So what I did instead was I burned myself with three matches. It was bad. And every time I moved, my jeans rubbed the blisters.