An excerpt from Clockwork Donald
Bridget looked out of the window of her dad’s house. It was years since she’d lived there and now that her dad had died, it would soon be sold. She could see the man who lived opposite through the fencing around his neutral toned house. You couldn’t miss him. His boots looked too big for him, his body looked lightweight with age but his stomping up and down the front lawn of his house reminded Bridget of how fearsome he could be. He had a name plaque on his gate – no one else in the street had one – ‘Doone’, it said. Bridget read it without her glasses the first time she saw it, and thought it said Do one. That was kind of fitting. He was a miserable beggar. Bridget remembered when his children lived at home. He’d driven them away pretty quickly- no surprise there. She remembered his daughter, Sandra, telling her that her dad had to have his tea on the table at exactly a quarter to five, or there was trouble. Bridget didn’t like to imagine the trouble. There were stories about him using his belt to smack Sandra’s brothers. Bridget didn’t know about Sandra, whether she was smacked or not. Sandra never said. She was the middle one, got pregnant at sixteen, and left home for good.
Published in Shift Lit, Derry 2016