Paula Spencer
“She's waiting with the junkies. God love them, and the kids in buggies, their mammies strung out or hurting – Paula doesn't know. John Paul did his hurting out of sight. She never got to hit him with tough love.
—Are you clean now, John Paul?
She asked him that the second time they met, a month after she'd answered the door and found him there, a young man in black jeans and a baseball cap. She thought he was looking for the milk money or something and she was going to put him right. But he mov...ed and then she knew. Just the slightest move. He lifted his hand, and John Paul was in front of her. Back from the dead.
—Alright?
Her son.
And she'd wondered what he wanted. What he was going to take.
—Are you clean now, John Paul?
That second meeting. He looked at her, across the table. He'd left the baseball cap at home or in his van. She could see him clearly. She watched him remembering the kitchen, putting himself back in it.
He looked at her.
—Yeah, he said. —I am. Are you?
He knew.MoreLess
—Are you clean now, John Paul?
She asked him that the second time they met, a month after she'd answered the door and found him there, a young man in black jeans and a baseball cap. She thought he was looking for the milk money or something and she was going to put him right. But he mov...ed and then she knew. Just the slightest move. He lifted his hand, and John Paul was in front of her. Back from the dead.
—Alright?
Her son.
And she'd wondered what he wanted. What he was going to take.
—Are you clean now, John Paul?
That second meeting. He looked at her, across the table. He'd left the baseball cap at home or in his van. She could see him clearly. She watched him remembering the kitchen, putting himself back in it.
He looked at her.
—Yeah, he said. —I am. Are you?
He knew.MoreLess
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