Taken Away by Celine Kiernan

doesn’t he just live three cottages down? Sarah and I’ll get him all fixed up. Have youse far to go? Will I phone someone for youse?’
    â€˜Wuh wuh . . . we’re uh up by the huh huh huh . . . ’ I tried.
    â€˜Hurdy . . . guh guh . . . gurdies,’ finished Dom. ‘Nuh . . . no phone.’
    â€˜Well, run, boys! Run.’
    And we did, turning stiffly and shambling out the door on numb legs. She shouted after us as we did our best to sprint up the harbour. ‘Run, boys, or youse’ll catch your deaths! Run and don’t stop ’til youse get home!’

‘WATERLOO’
    OUR WATERLOGGED ENTRANCE into the kitchen froze Ma and Dad into slack-jawed shock. We took full advantage of their momentary paralysis to stutter out the phrase that undoubtedly saved our skins.
    â€˜O-old man f-fell in sea . . . we p-p-pulled him out.’
    Ma blinked, twice. Then she gripped Dad’s arm.
    â€˜Get them out of those wet clothes,’ she said, and bolted up the stairs.
    Dee peered through the sitting-room doorway, her mouth and eyes delighted little ‘O’s of wonder. Dad dithered from foot to foot while we just stood there, flooding the floor and shuddering helplessly.
    Finally Dee pointed and said, ‘Bom ’n’ Pap all wet, Daddy.’
    That woke him. ‘Yes. Yes. Shite.’ He was over with us then, stripping us of our wet clothes, flinging them into a dribbling heap by the door.
    Ma clattered down the stairs, arms full of towels. Dad pulled off our socks. We were too cold to do anything but lift our legs for him one at a time as he peeled the wet wool from our icy feet. The towels were huge, and warm and fluffy. They smelled of plastic shop-wrappers. One of them still had a tag on it. Ma ripped it off with a grimace.
    As they towelled us down, Ma and Dad pushed us into the sitting room and up to the fire. All this time, Dad was giving us the third degree on what had happened.
    Ma kept muttering, ‘That poor old man. That poor old man. Was he a bit touched, love? Was he wandering? Is that why he fell in the sea?’
    â€˜Dunno, Ma.’ Dom’s head was wagging to and fro as she chafed him dry. He was staring blankly into the fire. I knew how he felt. It was all I could manage to stay on my feet and let Dad dry my hair. I think we’d used the last of our energy just getting home.
    Ma was really fretting over the old man. ‘Oh, I hope he’s alright. What did that woman say , Dom? Did she know him? Was she kind? Lift your foot, love, let me get these dry socks on you.’
    Dad handed me my pyjamas. It was only half-two in the afternoon, but I didn’t object. There was nothing I wanted more than to slip into warm flannel and curl up by the fire.
    â€˜Poor, poor old man,’ said Ma. ‘Poor old man. Do you think he’s alright, Pat?’
    â€˜I think he had a bit of drink on him, Ma. I think that’s why he slipped.’ My words were thick and slow. My eyes kept shutting themselves. I leant on the mantelpiece, soaking up the heat. Dom was somewhere to my left, on the sofa. Dee told him to: ‘Open up your eyeblibs, Bom!’
    Dad spoke softly to Ma. They were standing by the door, I think. ‘I’m going to check on the old man, Olive.’
    â€˜Thanks, love!’
    I think the boys should go to bed for a while.’ ‘
    â€˜I’ll give them an extra blanket. Mind Dee for a minute while I get them upstairs, will you?’
    I felt Ma take my hand, and she led us up the stairs like sleepwalkers. It was horribly cold once we stepped away from the fire, and I started to shiver immediately. But my bed was warm, because Ma had put hot-water bottles in it. She tucked an extra blanket around me as soon as I lay down. I heard her do the same for Dom, the bunks creaking as she stood on my bed to reach his. I felt the brief caress of her hand in my hair before she left.
    â€˜I’ll wake you for the