One Sunday (2005)
“Perhaps she knew she held a teapot and not a child, perhaps she didn’t. Not a pretty picture, poor Rosie Thompson, clad in her faded shroud of a nightgown, its long skirt hitched high, used as a blanket for her teapot child. Her broomstick thighs were exposed, her gnarly knees, knots of ankle, bony feet in trodden-down slippers. She’d embroidered that gown once with many roses. Couldn’t remember the needle or the thread, couldn’t remember now the purpose of a needle and thread, but remembered s...he liked that gown.
Thump of boots on the veranda. She knew he was coming. Knew he’d done it. Couldn’t think now what it was he’d done, but he’d done it. Head full up with what he’d done. Bitter words in there. Mouth too dry to speak them right now. Gums munching, her feet shuffling, Rosie watched the passage doorway, waiting for him to come.
The police station had two front doors, one giving direct entrance to the business section of the building and one to the vestibule. The same key fitted both and Tom kept both locked when he was out.MoreLess
Thump of boots on the veranda. She knew he was coming. Knew he’d done it. Couldn’t think now what it was he’d done, but he’d done it. Head full up with what he’d done. Bitter words in there. Mouth too dry to speak them right now. Gums munching, her feet shuffling, Rosie watched the passage doorway, waiting for him to come.
The police station had two front doors, one giving direct entrance to the business section of the building and one to the vestibule. The same key fitted both and Tom kept both locked when he was out.MoreLess
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