Extracts

It is breakfast and I am watching them at the oval mahogany table ‒ my mother, big on top and bottom, but slim in the middle like somebody has squeezed her too tight; my father solid as a tree trunk, his face fattened and ruddied by years spent in control of his own destiny, only his eyes giving him away. …

On his way home, black clouds peppered the horizon. A hundred yards from the house, the footpath ended abruptly and Aodh had to manoeuvre past puddles as juggernauts thundered by. …

Things become calm when they reach the auto-route. They drive the whole day; cities shine in the distance; juggernauts form an endless caravan. Way beyond the vast simmering fields a thunderstorm is in progress. …

Mack’s is half empty when I walk inside; but it’s only eight o’clock.
‘Howaya Mack.’
‘Guinness, is it?’
Mack puts on a pint for me. He’s a grumpy fucker. Personally, I don’t mind that. I prefer to be left in peace for my quiet pint before Shakies. …