“Norm says when I lean in the doorway of the shed. “Tired,” I mutter. Last night with Helen was fun, but I got home and cried about the kids and their bullying and how the mayor’s wife told me I should be looking after them better and woke up ten times during the night and thought I heard a murderer coming in the back door and lay rigid for five minutes with my heart hammering until I realized it was Terror and Panic burping and butting each other on the outside stairs. Now that I’m up and about..., the sparkly morning light has penetrated my exhausted hungover head and is making my brain wrinkle. Norm stands up and pulls a seat from underneath a pile of newspapers, which cascade gracefully down to form a new pile on the ground. He empties the dregs of a cold cup of tea outside the shed door, wipes the rim of the cup on his shirt hem, and switches on the kettle. “Hey, are any of those newspapers current?” I ask, remembering what the mayor’s wife said last night. “You saw it, then?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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