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once it was over and done. She said he took a stroke. Quick. Probate won’t be long. But you never told us? Why didn’t you tell us? There wasn’t much I could say, not like he loved you, us I mean, and now he’s dead. You’re provided for. It’s time to go about our business. What’s that? Moving house. Why? Because he bought this and I don’t want it anymore. But I don’t want to move Mammy. Don’t start. But we’ve always lived here. We’re. Moving. House. Because. That. Is. What. I’d. Like. To. Do. And. If. You. Don’t. Too. Bad. Because. I’m. The. Mother. And. You. Will. Do. What. I. Say. As. Long. As. You. Live. Under. My. Roof. You. Will. Always. Do. What. I. Say. O. Kay.
    We scour a house. Sniff all over. See if it’s a good bed down. I don’t understand marching around thinking upstairs downstairs toilets good bad indifferent, that is fungus that’s not foam. Are those rotten windows is there a draft under that door? My ocean insides wallowing about. Look at you you not that bothered, calmer but hear at night you pound the wall saying where’d he go? Where’d he fecking go?
    Pack up. Teeth feeling itchy in my head. I’ve eczema, a load of spots, then a bleeding, Jesus, period one day. Thinking, walk around the house at night saying bye to you thing and you and you.
    You ripping bookshelves off the wall. Crash it. Throw it on the carpet. Snap. Stop that. Accident I pulled too hard. I’ll pack these, snap these knitting needles of hers. That stinking wedding cake ornaments she has. I’ll break them stick them in her drawer as if she cares as if she’ll see and wonder where it’s from.
    Pack it. Throwing out this bike. Was that his? I ask you. Yes you stupid bitch and whose else would it be? Can we keep it? No. His umbrella and binoculars too? I want. Something. Like you knew him, like you know anything or ever saw him even. Give you a slap scratch. But you’ll give me bloody nose if you can, you can’t I can run away.
    Box it she says or in a black bag. That his briefcase and letters and magnifying glass and this pen. Whose is it? I ask. Chuck it away she said.
    She said I like this place you will. You will. There’s your room. There’s your bed. And don’t you give me a face like that. Get up stairs and make up your beds. Rumble tumble.
    Have this yours mine his hers whose that and what’s the matter don’t you care at all? I’m sorry if you feel. Tell me something good that he done once? Your bloody father’s dead and gone. Much good he was he left a will oh don’t worry it’s all for ye not me. Feed you clothe you all that stuff oh yes you’ll be fine but there’s no good old story. I haven’t that to give. Your bastard father. Your bastard. Yours. You and him. Get out of my sight and don’t forget to say your prayers.
    Hail Mary full of grace the lord is with thee. Say it. Blessed art thou among women. And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.
    Holy Mary mother of god pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.
    Do you like that? Do you like the look of that school? There. That’s where you’ll be going. Both. Now. For the first time. Isn’t that nice? At the same time. Yes different years. But still. You’ll mind each other. You’ll mind each other. You will. My family is love.
     
    We sliced through that fug school bus. So misfortunately new. Thicken soup-ish teenage sweat and cigarette boys slop always at the back. Held tight my rucksack filled with rattling tins of pens. Fat drizzle blotch through the polyester skirt I sideways slope to walk in. Felt my hormones long to slink quiet out of these hard eyes. Do not be seen. Do not see me. But I must turn myself to the great face of girls.
    Raw red in the cold snow air. Blow puffs of exhalation in tea smelled breath up the window panes and gaggle. Birds and beast they. In damp army jackets and sweat sunk skirts. They’d be faggy if they could. Full of perms and baggy T-shirts. They may wear their