For a moment I thought he'd swallowed it, but suddenly he spat it out with such force that the cork bounced off the bedroom wall opposite. Then he began to drink and, as he drank, he talked. I'd never seen the Spook drink alcohol before, but now he couldn't get the stuff down his throat fast enough. He became more and more excited, the talk giving way to ranting. It didn't make much sense because he was raving with the fever and the drink. A lot of it was in Latin too, the language I was still struggling to learn. At one point he kept making the sign of the cross with his right hand, the way priests do. Back at our farm, wine was something we drank rarely. Mam makes her own elderberry wine and it's really good. It only comes out on special occasions though: when I lived at home, I was lucky to be given half a small glass twice a year. The Spook finished off a whole bottle in less than fifteen minutes and later he was sick - so sick that he nearly choked to death there and then.
