By eight years old, I was already skilled in the art of fetching my stepfather a drink. Not yet tall enough to reach the large glasses on the top shelf, or the liquor cabinet above the stove, I’d hoist myself onto the counter. Next I’d grab a plastic tumbler from the first cupboard, one of those ringed by four smart rows of penguins marching neatly round. A few steps of my bare feet across counter-top brought me to the highest cabinet where a bottle of Seagram’s 7 always fronted a handful of options.
She had been sobbing now for 15 minutes or so, up on that landing, half-way up and half-way down. On that landing he could keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t talk or read, mess around at all. He had moved the old glass fronted hutch now, so he was sure she couldn’t… Continue reading Silence