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Back Trespasses Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. COVER
  2. HALF-TITLE PAGE
  3. BY THE SAME AUTHOR
  4. DEDICATION PAGE
  5. TITLE PAGE
  6. 2015
  7. THE IRISH FOR NO
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. DÚIL
  15. 7
  16. 8
  17. 9
  18. 10
  19. 11
  20. 12
  21. CHIAROSCURO
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. IN CALVARY’S FLOW
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. 21
  32. 22
  33. 23
  34. 24
  35. WHEN I MOVE TO THE SKY
  36. 25
  37. 26
  38. 27
  39. 28
  40. 29
  41. 30
  42. 2015
  43. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  44. A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR

Cushla remembered the camera was still in her basket. She gave it to Eamonn. Finish the film, she said.

Without looking up, she knew Michael had come in. Maybe it was the sound the door made, the pattern of his footsteps, but she felt it in her body. She lifted her eyes in time to see him put his hands on the counter. He squeezed his eyes in gratitude as she put a drink in front of him. Along the bar, Minty, Leslie and Fidel were draping their arms around each other, posing for Eamonn. Jimmy was a little away from them.

Get over here, O’Kane, Fidel said, flinging an arm out.

Mind me egg, said Jimmy.

Eamonn turned up the volume on the television. Behind her, the jingle for the news was playing. She placed a beer mat under Michael’s glass. She felt his fingertips on her wrist, just for a second.

Can you not keep away from me? she said. Like I’m only in the door.

It appears so. Are we all right?

We’re doomed. Apart from that we’re grand.

He smiled. Tomorrow?

Yeah.

Come as early as you can.

She was aware of him hovering in the doorway and looked up. A glimpse of his profile, and then he was gone.

24

24

She slept badly, afflicted by waking dreams from which she could not rouse herself. In the most vivid, she was driving Davy home but instead of sitting in the front seat, the boy behind her leaning in the gap, she had been in the back seat beside him, unable to reach the pedals or steering wheel. She had left her room and gone downstairs to smoke one of Gina’s cigarettes. The kitchen was white with moonlight and she had sat in its glow for a long time. Back in bed, she dozed off, but woke thinking she had opened Michael’s door with the brass key and found the flat under rubble. She looked at her watch. It was five to eight. She got up and went into the bathroom. She filled the basin with cold water, plunging her face in it, holding her breath until she choked. The chill had shocked sense into her.

In the kitchen she took down a box of cereal, put it back. Her stomach was tender. She made a pot of tea and carried a mug upstairs to her mother.

No toast? said Gina.

You never eat it! There are pancakes in the bread bin. Buck one into the toaster when you get up.

Before she left the house, she threw a box of Ritz crackers into her basket, in case she was fit to eat later.

The estate was like Nuremberg, with flags and bunting and painted pavements. She beeped her horn and Davy hobbled down the path on his mother’s arm. His ankle was bulging, a tight bandage visible above his sock.