Donal Ryan: The Thing About December

The mobile buzzed again from the floor and his breath rushed from him and he picked it up and flung it towards the hearth and it bounced into the grate where it hopped around like a thing propelled by magic and finally came apart and lay in bits in there among the cold ashes.

And that was the end of auld talk on telephones, for good and glory.

WHEN JOHNSEY GOT to the front door and opened it, he heard a roaring wind. But there was no stir out of the trees beyond the haggard. It was the sound of his blood, rushing around his body. He’d want to go handy or his heart would burst. He still couldn’t make out what your man was saying. Something about using force and then crackle, roar, crackle, roar, crackle. He was badly stuck for a new bullhorn, that fella.

PADDY SAID duck shot never killed nobody, it’d only blister lads. No harm now to give these boys a fright and they’d know then to go on away and leave him alone to hell. The bullhorn lad was gone quare now altogether around the corner of the wall, roaring and screaming out of him, but none of them words made any sense. He was an awful yahoo, that lad. He tucked the butt into his shoulder again. Lord, it fit lovely all the same. They’d get a fright now and they’d all feck off with the help of God. He took one step forward and aimed at the cold blue sky and

THAT’S THE thing about December: it goes by you in a flash. If you just close your eyes, it’s gone. And it’s like you were never there.

THANKS: To Antony Farrell, Sarah Davis-Goff, Daniel Caffrey, Fiona Dunne, Kitty Lyddon and everyone at The Lilliput Press; to Eoin McHugh, Brian Langan, Larry Finlay, Kate Green and everyone at Doubleday Ireland and Transworld UK; to Chip Fleischer, Roland Pease, Helga Schmidt, Devin Wilkie and everyone at Steerforth Press; to Peter Holm and Graciela Galup; to Marianne Gunn O’Connor; to Helen Gleed O’Connor, Declan Heeney, Simon Hess and the team at Gill Hess; to Jennifer Johnston, John Boyne and all the writers I’ve met who have shown such kindness and generosity; to my wonderful parents, Anne and Donie Ryan, for everything; to my sister Mary, who believed in me long before I did; to John, Lindsey, Christopher, Daniel and all my family, for their constant love and support; to Thomas and Lucy, the lights of my life; and to Anne Marie, my beautiful wife, without whom I wouldn’t have written a single word.