Claire

800px-(1)Myuna_Creek_broken_bottle

The headache was back. A nagging throb in her temple.

It had been a double shift. Sixteen hours in pumps, mopping vomit, suturing wounds. She’d wrestled a broken WKD bottle off a drunk.

She caught the 5.09am out of the city. They passed the suburbs where the lawns were clipped and porches had pillars. Through the estates. She got home after six and looked in on him.

Sheila?

It’s me, Dad.

Where’s Sheila?

Mam’s not here.

A pause. She waited for the words.

Where’s Sheila?

She boiled water for her noodles and when they were ready she ate them from a bowl she’d had since childhood.
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