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With rights to the book sold in 43 countries and the film rights bought Half Bad is a sensation even before it's publication. It's a stunning debut, a story of survival and the kind of realism that will have you questioning, 'what would I do?'
*This is day four of the tour so if you haven't yet read the first three parts be sure to pop over to the other blogs and get up-to-date with the reveal of part one.*
part one
ironing
‘You nearly lost your hand.’
It’s lying on the kitchen table still attached to your arm by bone,
muscle and sinew that are visible in the open raw groove round your wrist. The skin that used
to be there has formed lava-like rivulets, running down to your fingers as if
it has melted and set again. Your whole hand is puffing up nicely and hurts
like . . . well, like an acid burn. Your fingers twitch but your thumb is not
working.
‘It might heal so that you can use your
fingers again. Or it might not.’
She took the band off your wrist at the
loch and sprayed the wound with a lotion that dulled the pain.
However she got to the loch you still had
to walk back with her. That was a tough walk.
‘Why don’t you speak to me?’
She’s right in your face.
‘I’m
here to teach you, Nathan. But you must stop trying to escape.’
She’s
so ugly that you’ve got to turn away.
There’s
an ironing board set up on the other side of the kitchen table.
She
was ironing? Ironing her combat trousers?
‘Nathan.
Look at me.’
You
keep your eyes on the iron.
‘I
want to help you, Nathan.’
You
hawk up a huge gob, turn and spit. She’s quick, though, and snatches back so it
lands on her shirt not on her face.
She
doesn’t hit you. Which is new.
‘You
need to eat. I’ll heat up some stew.’
That’s
new too. Usually you have to cook and clean and sweep.
But
you’ve never had to iron.
She
goes to the pantry. There’s no fridge. No electricity. There’s a wood-burning
range. Setting the fire up and cleaning it out are also your chores.
While
she’s in the pantry you go to look at the iron. Your legs are weak, unsteady,
but your head’s clear. Clear enough. A sip of water might help but you want to
look at the iron. It’s just a piece of metal, iron-shaped, with a metal handle,
old. It’s heavy and cold. It must be heated up on the range to do its job. Must
take ages. She’s miles from anywhere and anything, and she irons her trousers
and shirts!
When
she comes back a few seconds later you’re round by the pantry door and you
bring the iron down hard, pointed side against her head.
But
she’s so bloody tall and so bloody fast. The iron catches the side of her scalp
and sinks into her shoulder.
You’re
on the floor clutching your ears, looking at her boots before you pass out.
Text
copyright © Sally Green, 2014 published by Penguin Books
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| Image & author bio taken from the Half Bad website |
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