Chapter 3

With the sun at his back, with the slow crawl of the clouds above him, Jude Calohan allowed himself to accept what the letter had told him: his son, Charlie, had been sent home for refusing to wear the boy’s uniform.

* * * *

In the kitchen, Marta Calohan, née Kara?, ran the selection of fresh vegetables she had picked up at the Bower Bliss Market on the way home under the cold water as it flowed steadily from the tap.

Watching the water as it splashed against the sides of the steel sink, her expression was one of a woman trying awfully hard to concentrate on one thing and one thing alone; a woman trying to concentrate on something that really did not require such significant attention.

She heard the back door open, sensed the faint, stale odor of cigarette smoke, but did not look up, her brow creased in a frown, her hands cold as she turned carrot after carrot, turnip after turnip, beneath the running water.