When they found it on the beach she knew it would be him.
A severed foot the Gardai said.
She wouldn’t give him the eighty euro when he begged. She couldn’t. It would end up pumped into his arm leaving just another track mark. She bought him the trainers instead. White Nike with a black tick. Mental money.
So, it was the shoes that finally brought him back to her, six long weeks later.
The estate flooded with news of the foot.
Gangland reprisals, serial killers and other tittle tattle chimed in hairdressers, bookies and butcher shops all over North Dublin.
It was found by a nameless man out walking his nameless dog on the golden Portmarnock Strand. Now the foot needed a name.
When they said it had a shoe, she knew it was Daithi.
She had got them for his twenty-sixth birthday and miraculously he hadn’t sold them.
– Ah Tanks Ma.. they’d take the light outta yer eye
– Well me purse is light Daithi alright !
They had found his jacket weeks earlier where they thought he’d jumped.
The shoe had kept the foot intact, the fish couldn’t chew through it. Good quality leather.
Eibhlinn McAleer is a fiction writer with a special interest in flash fiction. She is currently writing her debut novel. She is a stay at home mum taking a break from her job as a solicitor to look after her 4 year old son… and write of course!
(Next stories: Stealing, Freely & Burgers and Pies by M.J. Iuppa)
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