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	Digestives
	The electricity was gone again. Me ma told us that as she hurried down the road, holding our hands so tight it hurt and dragging us along behind her. She had been late to collect us from school again because her job kept her. We had to hurry because it was late October, it would be dark soon. My little brother kept tripping over his feet, he couldn’t keep up. He nearly fell, she jerked him up before he landed and let go of my hand to slap him. She grabbed my wrist tighter now. I knew better than to complain. So did he, he did his best to sniffle quietly so she wouldn’t hear him. But she did. “Do you want something to cry about?” We both flinched. Both knew what that meant. By the time we got home she was sweating and I was terrified. I had maths homework. I didn’t understand it. She understood it less than I did. She made us change out of our school uniforms and sit at the table with our homework. He was finished before it got dark. I was panicking. She heated a saucepan of oxtail soup over the fire. Two briquettes had no hope of heating it up anytime soon. “Mammy, why are you doing that?” She didn’t answer just stared into the pathetic excuse for a fire grimly, gripping the hot handle. I kicked him under the table. “Because it’s fun. It’s like camping or something.” She poured out the soup and made me leave the homework to eat it. I was in bits. I couldn’t get into trouble at school. They would take us away from her. She told us that every day. We had to go to school, had to do our homework, had to stay out of trouble, had to lie about the bruises, cuts, lack of lunch. Lie loudly over the conspicuous growling in the belly. Even if it wasn’t my fault, if I got into trouble at school for not finishing my homework, I would regret it. I couldn’t finish my homework until they had finished eating their portion of dinner. Luke warm thin soup and half a heel of stale bread. I kept looking at the clock, looking at the sky, watching the light dim with a sinking feeling. She had to light a candle for me. My pencil was light; I could barely see my homework. The wax dripped onto my maths copy at exactly the same time as a salty tear. She let me leave the maths and move onto the spellings. This was worse. I had a bad memory but I always got full marks in my spellings tests. My stomach churned and my hands trembled in silent panic as she asked me my spellings, hiding the book after I had memorised them. I remembered the last time I couldn’t do it right. I played camogie, it was never fun after the hurl had been used as a punishment. Frustration turned into a so called act of love. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love you. Now you can’t tell anyone. You fell ok?” I must have been the clumsiest child around. Back to present, I stammered my answers. She tested me over and over, trying to trip me up, making sure I knew the letters no matter what order the words were in. I was lucky that night, I got it all right. She was nicer when she felt guilty, apologetic, it was almost worth it. She sent me to me nanny’s for a “lend.” I hated that. The walk of shame, the humiliation of doing her dirty work for her. “You can buy a packet of biscuits on the way back, love.” That was the bribe. Hunger pangs said lower yourself. Just do it. Couldn’t look my nanny in the eye as she handed me a note, worry obvious in the sound of her voice. I strolled to the shop, enjoying the smallest ounce of freedom. I bought my favourite biscuits, a packet of digestives. “Digestives? Digestives?! Why the fuck did you get digestives, you stupid bitch?” For some reason my ladybird book of Jack and the Beanstalk popped into my head. “Fucking digestives.” She made us watch as she smashed every single one of them into the floor with her feet until it was covered in crumbs.
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