Hello everyone!
I'm delighted to say that be guid te yer mammy is with its editor, and I couldn't be more pleased with the person Unbound found to work on the project. I will have her notes for the structural edit by the end of January and spend February getting the manuscript into even better shape.
All being well, it will be typeset and ready for the printers by June. However, the publication date is dependent on Unbound (they want to give it the best possible chance in the trade), and an artist will still have to make a cover after this.
As a thank you for your patience, I've enclosed the preface to my second novel, Cathy, get yer dancin' shoes oan, which I am currently working on - but it reads like a short story in its own right!
—PREFACE—
The Biggest Grass
“Lamb o’ God, ye take away the sins o’ the world,” Father T said, holdin’ up the communion.
Rows o’ weans sat in silence, watched by their eagle-eyed teachers. At five-year-auld, the only place they wouldnay dare misbehave wis the hoose o’ God. But when the time came fur the teachers tae get communion and leave their pupils alone fur five minutes, Cathy O’Kelly stood and followed, hauns clasped towards the heavens. The other weans gasped.
Hair in bunches and nose cowered in snot, she wis a nun in the makin’. Hauf way doon the aisle, she looked behind hur, eyes widenin’ when she realised whit she’d done. Copyin’ the teachers wis aw well and guid when it came tae everythin’ but a sacrament she hudnay even made. But she’d committed tae communion, and there wis nae turnin’ back.
Hur knees wur shakin’ when she reached the altar. The priest raised his haun tae bless hur, but she thoucht she wis gettin’ the almichty slap she deserved. She shut hur eyes and opened them when she felt a haun oan hur shoulder, hauf expectin’ tae find hursel in Hell. She wis directed back towards hur seat, hur every step inspirin’ a rebel in the pews.
“And there wis me thinkin’ ye wur a goodie two shoes,” said Tommy, who’d candy fags stickin’ oot his poacket. “When they stand up, we’ll sit doon,” he suggested tae the row.
The weans whispered intae their signs o’ the cross. Cathy said nought.
“Aw rise,” said Father T.
Tommy slumped oantae the bench. Wan by wan, the other weans followed. Cathy wis the last tae dae it.
“Primary Wan,” Miss Lowry, a bespectacled teacher, hissed. “Are ye wantin’ detention?”
The weans stood, and Tommy’s candy fags landed at Cathy’s feet. She kicked them under the seat, and Miss Lowry glared at hur. Tommy smirked.
Efter mass, Miss Lowry grabbed Cathy by the collar ootside the church.
“Ah thocht ye made a mistake at communion, but yer behaviour efterwards wis oot o’ order. Whit made ye think she could eat these in the chapel?” Miss Lowry said, holdin’ up the fags.
Cathy saw hur reflection in Miss Lowry’s glasses. Hur eyes welled.
“Miss, they arenay ma sweets,” she said, voice quiverin’. “They’re Tommy’s, and he wis the wan who tellt everywan else tae sit doon insteid o’ standin’ up.”
Miss Lowry raised an eyebroo.
“Ah’m givin’ ye the benefit o’ the doubt just this wance,” she said, then pointed across the street. “Get back tae school and dinnae put another toe oot o’ line.”
“Cathy’s the biggest grass in primary wan,” Tommy said at playtime, sittin’ oan a brick wa’ wi’ candy fag hungin’ fae his lips. He must o’ snuck oot tae the corner shoap.
Cathy hud a piece and jam in wan haun and chalk fur a hopscotch in the other. A ginger boy in a dirty uniform and a girl wi’ blue ribbons in hur hair hud stopped tae watch the commotion.
“Let’s play a game,” Tommy said tae Cathy, droppin’ his fag oan the groond. “Since ah’ve been banned fae the fitbaw pitch, ye cannae say naw.”
Tommy grabbed the chalk and piece oot o’ Cathy’s hauns. He stuffed the piece intae his mooth in wan bite. Jam dribbled doon his chin. Cathy gulped.
“Dinnae let hur go anywhere,” Tommy said tae the red-heided boy.
He nodded. The girl wi’ ribbons in hur hair blew a gum bubble.
Tommy walked ower tae the other side o’ the playgroond, a few feet away fae where the heidmaster wis standin’, and drew a white cross oan the groond.
“Classic,” the ginger boy said.
Tommy strutted back ower tae the group. He’d chalk oan his troosers.
“Richt Cathy, let’s see whit yer made o’,” he said, pointin’ tae hur feet. “Ah promise ah’ll leave ye alone if ye cun kick yer shoe aff and get it closer tae the cross than me.”
Cathy opened hur mooth tae speak, but nae words came oot.
“Whit’s that?” Tommy said, raisin’ an eyebroo.
“Nought,” Cathy replied.
“Ye go first.”
Cathy looked roond. The only teacher in the playgroond wis the heid, Mr McDonald, and he’d moved as far away fae the cross as he wis goin’. She bent doon tae unbuckle hur shoes. Wance the buckles wur lose, she stood.
“Ready?” Tommy smirked. “Three, two…”
Cathy took a deep breath.
“Wan.”
She kicked aff hur shoe as hard as she could. The group followed it wi’ their eyes. Cathy froze when it flew in the direction o’ Mr McDonald. She prayed it would hit a wean insteid. But she wis huvin’ nae luck and it lobbed him in the back o’ the heid. He turnt roond then lowered his broos when he realised that he’d been hit wi’ a shoe.
Tommy laughed. “An eye fur an eye,” he said, walkin’ ower tae Mr McDonald.
Cathy thocht o’ hoo upset hur mammy wis when she broke a skippin’ rope and the school asked hur tae pay fur it. This wis gonnae be a hundred times worse. She couldnay pin it oan Tommy either. She wis the wan wi’oot a shoe.
Mr McDonald approached hur. She burst intae tears.
“Whit did ye dae that fur?” he said.
Cathy’s mammy always telt hur tae tell the truth and shame the Devil.
“Tommy said he’d leave me alane if ah gat it close tae the cross,” she said, pointin’ in the direction she’d fired hur shoe.
Mr McDonald looked at Tommy. He noticed the chalk oan this troosers.
“Ma office,” he said, voice deepenin’. “Noo.”
“But…” Tommy trailed aff.
The bell rang. Mr McDonald looked at Cathy. Hur face wis red and wet.
“Cathy O’Kelly, away ye tae class.”