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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

I’ve been to three funeral parties now and they are all the same except John Brown’s was a trillion times sadder. The hotel puts up a table with sandwiches, usually ham and maybe smoked salmon. I assume the bereaved family is shelling out for that – we the bankrupts in this case. Everybody buys drink which is where the hotel scores. And first people are sad and they talk quietly, but after the second drink happiness breaks out. In one hour everyone is chatting about their holidays or their grandkids or the ponies or the match. People tell jokes. If it runs late someone will sing ‘The Rising Of The Moon’ or ‘The Boys Who Beat The Black And Tans’. Everybody feels good about beating The Black And Tans. Like they are everybody’s love-to-hate historical persons, next to Hitler. At least where I live. But we don’t have any songs about Hitler in Ireland.

But all the people who actually did those things and fought those fights are dead. My grandad knew them. Now all that’s left is the Gobshite Party, never mind what colour. My grandad used to say the old fighters would have put the present government against a wall and plugged them. My grandad used to say plugged. Aw I miss him.

Peter was the most popular person in the room. Everybody said wasn’t he great to come so far. He was offering to deliver turf and people were interested. Or they were pretending to be interested idk.

I went to the toilet and rang my brother. I told him I missed him and he should be here. He said: Listen, Suzy, Dad was a shit, I was never good enough for him, he totally hated me, I think he knew I was gay before I did myself. Maybe even when I was a kid. And he fucking despised me, right? Don’t lie about it, Suzy. He just hated me. I’m trying to get myself together and if I never remember him again it’s all the same to me. You were always his favourite, it’s easy for you, girl.

That just made me cry again. I just kept saying, I miss you, I miss you.

Eventually someone came in and went into the next cubicle and I had to hang up. And whoever it was, they didn’t come in there to pee either. And when I came out it was evening. There was a bloody sunset, clouds streaked across it. I thought of all the things we had done to our bodies, Serena and Tony and me. My dad too. Holly is the pure one. The world is possible because she exists. I have the darkness on me.

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