The Tin-Kin Read Online Free

was too long. Maeve was still so small.
    I’m going to see Granny and Grappa? she’d said when the game was finished. Grandpa was a new word for her. It always came out sounding like the Italian drink.
    You’ll meet your granny and grandpa soon, Dawn had told her, and then changed the subject.
    At two o’clock Dawn and Maeve ate their lunch in the good room. It was the only place left that wasn’t strewn with bursting bin bags. Opposite them was the mysterious cupboard. It was quite small, built into an alcove, a heavy lock sealed with a thick layer of paint. Shirley used to dust down the outside of the cupboard, but asked what was inside she’d always do the same thing – touch her nose and say it was her secret, tell Dawn to stop nosey-poking.
    Keeps a tight ship, your auntie Shirley, Dad had always remarked. Dawn’s father’s real name was Gordon, but everyone had always called him Dad, even his younger sister Shirley and Dawn’s mother, Wilma.
    Dawn had been seven when she’d gone to live with Shirley. She remembered Mother insisting it was for the best, that Dawn and her aunt would be good for each other. Dad had been unsure at first but eventually he was forced to agree.
    It’s nerves, eh? New babbie on the way and whatnot, Dad had said. It’s just for a wee while. And it’s for the best, eh, pet? Ye ken how mammy worries. Daddy’ll take everyone tae the pictures on your birthday. How’s that? Ye might even have a wee sister or brother by then.
    Dawn had been a lazy lump, a ditherer, a wee liar, always causing her mother Wilma worries. ‘Wilma Worries’ was whatAuntie Shirley had always called Dawn’s mother behind her back.
    Dawn hadn’t shopped yet, so all there was to eat was cold chicken from the fridge. Maeve thought it was slimy. She grumbled and hunched over her plate, pulling with her fork at something stringy. Dawn took it away and began to cut the meat into tiny pieces, removing everything but the whitest flesh. As she scraped some of the meat off the drumstick and stared at it on her fork, she thought about Maeve’s pickiness, and felt put off. A pink dot blushed in the meat, a broken blood vessel like the one over Dawn’s left eyebrow. The food looked a bit dry. Shirley had always overcooked things. But it smelt okay. She pushed the plate back to Maeve, who stabbed a tiny mouthful and looked at it beadily. It was then, trying not get cross, that Dawn noticed her sister, Linda. The high school photograph sat on the mantelpiece, the smile fading in its tiny frame. She’d almost forgotten there was an auntie for Maeve to meet as well.
    Maeve had just finished chewing her miniscule bite when she pointed at the clock on the sideboard and jiggled in her chair. The clock was an old digital one in a wooden case. The time was 2:12.
    Look! Mummy, look! Two. One. Two. Two. One. Two, Maeve said, not taking her eyes off the numbers.
    What do you mean?
    The numbers flicked to 2:13.
    Maeve’s face changed. You missed it, silly! When can we go home?
    You’ve not met Granny and Grandpa, yet. Or your auntie Linda.
    Dawn’s throat tightened round the words but it was all she could think to say. Maeve just nodded.
    Is your chicken all right now?
    Hmm.
    Have a bit more.
    Dawn turned to the window, which was trickling with raindrops. She was remembering the dingy city flat she’d been renting for four months. She’d been glad to see the back of it. And they’d have their own place now too, if it all worked out.
    After lunch she wrapped the chicken bones in a copy of the local paper. There was a hole in one page where a story had been neatly snipped out. Dawn tucked the corners of the paper in round the leftovers, the smell of newsprint mixing with chicken fat and swimming in her head.
    The ringing started as Dawn was washing up. She stood beside the phone.
    Letting it ring.
    Letting it ring.
    She could hear Maeve in the living room, laughing at the afternoon kids’ programmes. Lifting the receiver she