1: The Cheat
Rain spat at me. It soaked into my football kit. My arms shudderingly drapped around the football. Scrunching my eyes to block the sharp raindrops, I could see the orange glow spilling from the window of O' Leary's, dad's favourite pub. We sometimes spent whole sundays in there with old Jim watching the racing. Dad loved the racing.
I scraped my boots on the doorstep. Mud and grass fell onto the pavement and washed away. The match hadn't gone so good, dad would be disappointed. My laces were wet and slippery and my fingers were white with the cold. But I could see the fire inside and the multicoloured slit of the flat screen T.V. I kicked my boots to the side, still holding the football under my arm, Jim sometimes let me have a kick around inside. I pushed the modern door and I could smell dad's tobacco and it made my eyes water. Jim was hunched at the bar in deep conversation, he's apron hung off him like a lady's dress. I smiled at him, empty pint glasses were scattered along the mantelpiece when I sat by the fire. I placed my football under one of the benches and peeled my sodden socks off, white skin glared at me. Hanging my socks on the fire guard I squint with the thick grey smoke. Dad was sitting next to Fergal O' Mahony he had a pint in one hand and a little black book in the other. I frowned and glanced at Jim, who was already looking at me. He looked tired. His beard was thin and his lip was twitching. He nodded his head at me.
I got up from the warmth of the fire and the glow disappeared behind me and I walked towards him. Fergal saw me first and nudged dad's arm whilst Dad took a long gulp of guiness.
