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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

He went through the hole in the fence as fast as a fox but the sleeve of his jacket caught in it. He worked it loose. About four cars went past while he was doing it. Then he walked out into the middle of the field. It took about a minute. It was a very big field. There were seven cows on the far side. They watched him. In the middle of the field he stopped. He had his back turned to me. I saw him doing something. And then I saw what he was doing. MY DAD WAS FUCKING PISSING IN A FIELD. Like we didn’t have a toilet in our house. He stood the way men do, like slightly hunched but slightly leaning back. I could see it. It was a cold bright day and there was steam in the air in front of him. Then he did the flick flick thing and zipped up. Then he turned around. He looked happy idk I hardly ever see my dad happy. He was just grinning all over his face like a child. He got back out through the fence again and looked up and down the road. Then he got in.

What was that about, Dad?

I needed to go, he said.

And there was me thinking: That’s a flood plain. When they build on that they’ll make the river flooding worse. The houses on the edge will need to be built up. The service roads will flood. What kind of a fucking country do we live in idk.

Dad, whatever you did to Dan Kelleher, is it going to be trouble?

He’ll never even know what hit him.

But the other guys in the syndicate thingy.…

He shrugged. He pulled out onto the road and we moved on again.

At a snail’s pace. A random car passed us out, blowing the horn. My dad gave them the finger. He was laughing. He looked at me and winked. Look at that fucking sign, he said, how did they get planning for that?

He was pointing to a new billboard that said, What think ye of Jesus? Whose son is he?

I don’t know about the planning permission, but I think those signs are for weirdos and creepers. Like these guys actually imagine that real people think about things like that. Like I don’t even know what it means. Like were Joseph and Mary his folks or was it God? Well, definitely Mary, everybody is agreed on that. But maybe it was the postman and the God thing is all my arse? Well, that’s what I think anyway. If they had postmen. Or a passing centurion or one of those Good Samaritans you hear about. What about them? They can’t all have been good.

My dad hit the steering wheel with the flat of his hand.

I pissed on the bastards, he said, I pissed on them.

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