An Orphan’s Wish

‘Wot’s that room?’ He nodded towards an open door.

‘Where the kids paint.’

He pushed it open with his foot and looked around at the childish paintings pinned on the walls.

‘I always fancied doing a bit of paintin’ meself,’ he said, ‘but never got the chance.’

‘Maybe you would if you hadn’t been expelled so many times.’

He grinned, then took a piece of thin paper from his pocket and poked some tobacco into it. With a practised movement he rolled it and licked the ends together with a large red tongue, and stuck it between his heavy lips.

‘I don’t think you ought to do that,’ the girl said, her expression suddenly anxious. ‘Someone might smell it and think the place is on fire. And we’ll be caught and punished.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ He struck a match and lit it.

‘I mean it, Billy. Put it out. It’s too dangerous.’ She blinked and waved the smoke away from her face.

‘Oh, awright. Just give me a few puffs.’ He inhaled deeply and blew out a long stream of smoke.

‘Billy …’

‘Stop nagging, Hil, for Chrissakes.’ He took one more drag, gave the roll-up a cursory stub on the edge of the Belfast sink, and tossed the still-glowing stub into the wastepaper basket.

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