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Julie opens the door, to my surprise. We’re here for the room, Seàn says. They are soon raving about Nigel Slater’s condensed milk cake. Too much sugar for me. The ceiling is flaking from water damage, but the room is very bright. I brought my dad back from the dead four times, she says. Carole is a snake. The carpet needs ripping in the other room, it wouldn’t do for your workshop. We ask for a discount.
Before lunch is over, Uncle Harley has got the atlas out. See, he says, jabbing at the colours and contours, I am praying for French Guiana this week. I go through all the rivers, every single village and mount, saints and sinners. Suriname, Guyana… another ninety-four countries to pray for.
You don’t remember the night we rode to the closed video shop, do you? We stood outside with a crowd of Derry people and watched the first showing of Thriller through the window. There was a riot at the bottom of the valley; all night the residents pushed in, the Brits retreated, no one gave it a glance.
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Melisande Fitzsimons
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