The Tin-Kin Read Online Free Page B

8, but it was sliced now with good wishes for the baby.
    My Lord! Born on the same day! Fancy that! Dad laughed, once the number on the cake had reminded him. Ken what your mammy’ll say, eh? Let’s hope it’s the ainly thing they have in common! Eh? Eh? That’s what she’ll say.
    Dad splurted his tea. A fat cigar was smoking in his fingers, and it was the happiest Dawn had ever seen him. He’d taken his hat off and put it on the table, and Dawn stared at it. It was the same hat she’d worn in dressing-up games, when her being silly had made him laugh. Now it was cocked to one side and rested on its brim, and it stared back like it was seeing her in a new, unflattering light.
    Just wait till you see your sister, Dawnie, Dad said with a lullaby of a voice. She’s a wee miracle! A wee Goldilocks!
    Dawn scowled at the cake with its fancy icing. It looked too fussy next to the tall black hat.
    What’s that wet Wednesday ae a face for, eh? Come on, love!
    Dawn kicked a chair leg.
    What’s the matter? Don’t you love your auld dad any more? No!
    Slowly he began to change colour. Don’t start, pet, he said, his tone changing. Especially if you’re tae visit the hospital. Mammy’s nae finding all this easy, eh? And you’ve a wee sister now! What do ye think, eh?
    Dawn only whispered what she thought, almost to herself. But Dad heard. He stood up from the table and thumped his fist down.
    Gordon, let her be today, Auntie Shirley said, using her brother’s real name for once.
    But before he got the chance to do anything Dawn ran from the table and slammed the door behind her. She went to her room and sat on the floor in the corner, picked the wallpaper round the cupboard that wouldn’t open, and whispered it again.
    Bloody baby.
    She could hear the voices in the living room and wished she knew what they were saying. They’d not be going to the pictures like Dad had promised, that much was certain.
    Shirley didn’t come in till Dad was gone. Dawn was still sitting on the floor with an ear to the cupboard.
    Were you talking about me?
    We were talking about the baby, Dawnie. We can go and visit her tomorrow, if you like, eh, chicky?
    When Dawn didn’t answer Shirley came over and stroked her hair. She loved doing that. Dawn’s hair was silky then, just like Shirley’s used to be, except Shirley was blonde like the new baby, and Dawn, unlike her name, was dark.
    I kept your birthday cake for you.
    I don’t like that cake any more, Dawn said.
    A birthday was all she and Linda did have in common as itturned out. Folk said they were like chalk and cheese, those two. The sun and the moon. Angel and the Deil. Dawn was still living with her aunt when she turned nine and Linda had her first birthday, and by then there was no mention of it being just for a while any more.
    Mother loved to boast about the new baby whenever they bumped into her out with the pram, and all the town marvelled that wee Linda was the spitting image of Shirley Temple. Aunt Shirley always laughed to hear that, a funny kind of laugh she kept barred behind her teeth.
    But that’s who I was named after! Isn’t that a strange thing?
    Those meetings left Dawn feeling sick, and perhaps Shirley had felt the same way, because she’d always held Dawn’s hand a wee bit tighter on the way home.
    The best thing about living with Shirley had been the rasps, three rows of canes that produced sweet, fat berries every year. They’d eaten them with yogurt and ice cream and Dawn would mash hers with a fork to a creamy pink mush. She still missed the taste of those summer afternoons with Shirley.
    It was a stroke that had taken her aunt. A neighbour had found her in the garden, on her back between the raspberry canes, hands tucked neatly in the pocket of her apron, a little red pip on her chin.
    Dawn left Maeve in front of the telly, slipped on her shoes and went outside with a bowl. On her way she selected a few ornaments and dropped them into a box by the door,