Page 44 of Pyg

Alice nodded, slowly standing as if compressed by the weight of her to-do-list:write a resignation, sort out the car, get a SIM card… buy some bloody chia seeds.Inertia crept in like treacle, molasses in her veins, and she imagined sliding beneath the sheets of her unmade bed and hibernating for a while.Bears have the right idea.

For so long, she’d been using Fran as a fantastical excuse to put off real life, but now the illusion had shattered, Alice realised that was all it ever was — a fantasy. Life with Fran was a fairy tale, and like many of the great fairy tales, it was written by a sadist who’d cast their protagonist under the spell of a witch. But instead of a happy ending, the witch had eaten Alice alive.

“Alice? Earth to Alice!” Ash’s words crashed into Alice’s thoughts.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked whether you fancied a cuppa first.”

“Yeah, actually. That’d be nice.”

Ash bent her head in a shallow bow and flourished a hand for Alice to lead the way.

Alice laughed. “Er, you’re going to have to guide us out of this rabbit warren. I’ve no idea where we are.”

1968

BLACK OUT

As if life wasn’t already difficult enough, in the wake of our mother’s departure it became invariably tougher. The only reprieve was school — and that was saying something.

“My mother says your mother’s a tart.” The taunts stung as much as the blows.

“Shut your stupid mouth!” Bernard’s anguished yells reached me before I rounded the corner into the playground.

“Oh Christ, Bernie,” I muttered under my breath, clenching my fists in preparation.

My brother gripped the collar of pale-faced Johnny Malone and pushed him against the wall. Johnny’s thin lips snarled and then he barked laughter in the face of the younger, much smaller boy. The gang of Johnny’s mates pressed closer.

“Go on, hit me, you little wimp.” Johnny turned his head and presented his pockmarked jaw, feathered with pubescent fuzz. The crowd of boys jeered, and Johnny laughed again.

I elbowed my way through the boys and held Bernard’s primed arm.

“Don’t waste your energy, Bernie. He’s not worth it.”

“Get off me!” Bernard’s high-pitched squawk prompted a boom of laughter from the boys, gathered and grunting like baying baboons.

“No, come on.” I pulled my brother back by the shoulders, his small frame easily yielding.

“Aw, I wanted him to hit me like your mammy’s head hits the headboard when she’s shagging the priest, and probably anyone else who wants a go.”

In one swift move, I shoved Bernard away and swung my arm until my fist connected with Johnny Malone’s face. Two cracks followed: Johnny’s nose breaking, and his head hitting the brick wall.

Johnny cupped his bleeding nose and slid to the ground; his mates crowded in. Adrenaline pulsing, I weaved and ducked out of the scuffle, grabbing the open-mouthed Bernard by the sleeve and tugging him away from the scene.

* * *

“Shit, shit, shit.”I peered around the enormous oak tree at the edge of the field.

Bernard stared up at me. “I think you broke his bloody nose, George.” A smile widened across his face. “I actually heard it crack.”

“Me too, but that’s not a good thing. We’re in deep shit now, Bernie.” I swallowed, my mouth as dry as sawdust.

“Yeah, but that’ll teach him for talking rubbish about Mum.” Bernard bounced on the balls of his feet, fists up as if sparring with an imaginary adversary.

“Not rubbish though, is it?” I muttered.

“What was that?” Bernard threw a right hook.

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