Excerpt of This Human Season by Louise Dean
(Page 3 of 3)
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Upstairs, her brother, Liam, was taking two empty jam jars out from under his bed. ‘You’ve to go in one, and I’ll go in the other,’ he told his sister.
‘I can fill them both,’ said the girl, ‘I’m bursting now.’
‘Just do the one.’
She went off towards the bathroom. Then she was back. ‘What’s it for, Liam?’
‘For when the Brits come along by the side window, down the alleyway,’ he said, pushing the cardboard box back under his bed.
Hearing her daughter fumbling with the bathroom lock the mother called up the stairs. ‘For God’s sake. No one’s coming in to watch you peeing, Aine. We’ve got a television.’
The father was standing near the kitchen with his hands out, dripping water, shaking them just a little, waiting for his wife to show him the dishcloth.
Kathleen was bent in front of the television, tending to it. In her thin nightdress, her body was long, spare curves. The drone of the TV made a sudden acceleration, jumping from hum to chatter. The picture filled the screen; the outside world sprang.
Copyright © Louise Dean, 2005
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