Excerpt from Mothering Sunday by Graham Swift, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

He was still a follower of horses. That is, he still threw money away on them. It was version of economising, to throw money away. For nearly eight years he'd had money for three, in theory. He called it "loot." But he would show he could do without it. And what the two of them had been doing for almost seven years cost, as he would sometimes remind her, absolutely nothing. Except secrecy and risk and cunning and a mutual aptitude for being good at it.

But they had never done anything like this. She had never been in this bed before—it was a single bed, but roomy. Or in this room, or in this house. If it cost nothing, then this was the greatest of gifts

Though if it cost nothing, she might always remind him, then what about the times when he'd given her sixpences? Or was it even threepences? When it was only just beginning, before it got—was it the right word?—serious. But she would never dare remind him. And not now anyway. Or dare throw at him the word "serious."

He sat on the bed beside her. He ran a hand across her belly as if brushing away invisible dust. Then he arranged on it the lighter and ashtray, retaining the cigarette case. He took two cigarettes from the case, putting one in her own proffered, pouting lips. She had not taken her hands from the back of her head. He lit hers, then his. Then, gathering up the case and lighter to put on the bedside table, he stretched out beside her, the ashtray still positioned halfway between her navel and what these days he would happily, making no bones about it, call her "cunt."

Cock, balls, cunt. There were some simple, basic expressions.

It was March 30th. It was a Sunday. It was what used to be known as Mothering Sunday.


"Well, you have a gorgeous day for it, Jane," Mr. Niven had said as she brought in fresh coffee and toast.

"Yes, sir," she'd said and she'd wondered quite what he meant by "it" in her case.

"A truly gorgeous day." As if it were something he had generously provided. And then to Mrs. Niven, "You know, if someone had told us it was going to be like this, we might as well have all packed hampers. A picnic—by the river."

Excerpted from Mothering Sunday by Graham Swift. Copyright © 2016 by Graham Swift. Excerpted by permission of Knopf. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.