She creaked the door open. The shed smelt of earth and onions and green firewood, and it was cold, but at least it was out of the weather. She could hear Patrick’s breathing, like a cat with a cold snoring in a corner, but she couldn’t quite see him in the dim interior of the shed. She put the oil-lamp on the workbench and turned up the wick so that the steady light intensified and light-filled shadows sought out the corners of the tiny building. ‘Patrick,’ she whispered, toeing her brother in the ribs, to make him sit up and take his tea. The young man shuddered in his sleep, and the pattern of his breathing shifted a gear, but he went on sleeping. Mary Ann leant over him. His face was flushed bright red and his hair, already dark, was gleaming black with sweat and plastered to his head and the sides of his face. She put her hand to his forehead, as she had seen her mother do countless times to one of the little ones she was worried about.
What do You think about No Peace For Amelia (2012)?
