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dinner. Daniel Ackerman. And that only makes it worse.

 
    DANIEL
    There’s a light rain spitting on the window, mist circling through the gums outside. If I was dry before, then I’m screaming for a drink now. Francine Connolly is sitting near the window, on a box, her head against a chest of drawers. She’s asleep, like a doll in a shop. There’s a small wooden container at her feet that’s flipped open, showing the pencils inside. When I saw her in the night I thought I was dreaming again, but I’ve worked it out now. Though why I’m here is a mystery I couldn’t be arsed thinking about. Her stomach grumbles, she makes a small mewling sound and she’s coming to. Thirsty as I am, I don’t want her to wake up yet. Lying here looking at her and the rain is keeping me blank. If I look at her I can’t see Mum’s face. I remember Evan telling me somewhere yesterday that he’d sent off word to her. He didn’t mention anything about Dad. Didn’t have to.
    If I look at Francine Connolly I can feel the anger settle hard in me.
    She opens her eyes and sits up with a start. She’s wondering where she is, sitting on a box in her nightdress.
    â€˜Hm. Hm. Hello,’ she says, brushing her hair off her face, like she sleeps there every night.
    â€˜I need to piss,’ I say.
    She blushes all over her cheeks, hands me the pot and leaves. She can fuck off now. I should have asked for a drink first, though. As for the other, it’s not an easy job and I end up pissing half on the floor. What an animal I am. I’ll be able to watch her clean it up.
    Hello. She’s back, all tucked into her slim skirt, with breakfast. I throw down the water, but I can’t eat. As she leaves again I want to tug the back of her hair and ask her why. Another, older woman comes in, I’ve seen her in town once or twice but I don’t know her. She smiles plainly at me and cleans up my mess and I feel like a pig.
    A little while later Frank Connolly comes in. Unbelievable as it is, that’s who he is. Overfed and puffed out for it. Asking me how I am, telling me he’ll make sure my mother and I are looked after. I can still see him patting me on the chest yesterday, wanting to shove him off. I can see him driving his flash motor car. I’ll take whatever money there is, but I don’t want his sympathy. He, and everyone like him, is the reason for this. Why my father is dead. Why one brother is dead and the other one taken off. Why my mother is quiet. Why I’ve been cut or bruised or burned in some way just about every day for the last five years. Maybe from a different view I might think he was a good bloke, but his generosity squashes me like an ant here. I get lost in the tiny red lines that snake out across his nose, and say nothing.
    Then they all leave me alone. I push myself up against the back of the bed so at least I’m not lying down any more. That’s all I can do at the moment and I just sit here like my arse is drilled to the mattress. It stops raining, but the mist thickens and fills the window. I get lost there too. I’m thinking about that day I ran ahead to warn Mrs Skelton about Jimmy. I was fifteen and skinny and I flew and I didn’t really know what I was doing. I knew what to do, and why I was running, and what to say, but I didn’t know what it meant. That’s how they want you to be: to do as you’re told and not think about it too much. Everyone. Them and us. But that look on Mrs Skelton’s face … I want to see her now and tell her properly, but she moved away; don’t know where she is. It’s not even anger in me now, it’s just white, hot, and I’ve got to get out of here, and forgetting I can’t, I go to get up. And I’m biting down against it when Evan walks in.
    He tells me, finally, what I already know about Dad, and the others, Fred McNally and Matt Jones who were in the