Foster

by Claire Keegan

‘By the time this summer ends you’ll be like a reindeer. There’ll not be a man in the parish will catch you without a long-handled net and a racing bike.’

‘Have you been to a wake before?’ Mrs Kinsella asks. ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Well, I might as well tell you: there will be a dead man here in a coffin and lots of people and some of them might have a little too much taken.’ ‘What will they be taking?’ ‘Drink,’ she says.