Free Like One of the Family by Nesta Tuomey Page B

snapping the gun closed.
    â€˜Never point it at anyone,’ Eddie told them. ‘That’s the first rule. And the second, always keep the safety-catch on until you’re ready to take aim.’
    Terry looked bored. ‘I know all that, Dad,’ he said. ‘You’ve told me billions of times.’ He wanted to impress on Hugh just how often he’d been through it all before.
    â€˜It can never be repeated too often,’ Eddie said sternly. He emptied the shotgun and handed it to Hugh. ‘Now let me see you loading up.’
    Hugh took it from him gingerly.
    â€˜Treat it with respect but don’t be afraid of it,’ his father advised.
    Hugh fumbled for the cartridges and dropped some on the floor.
    â€˜Clot!’ Terry said automatically.
    Hugh bent to pick them up and hit the gun off the table. He flushed and looked at his father.
    â€˜Go on,’ Eddie encouraged him. ‘You’ll soon get the hang of it.’
    When Hugh had the gun loaded his father made him empty it and do it all over again, until he was able to do it without faltering. By this time Hugh felt more confident although he knew that it was not the loading, but the shooting of the gun that troubled him. He only prayed he would not look a fool before his father.
    Next morning they rose at 3.30 a.m. and drove to Wexford. The sky was still dark when they reached the sloblands and parked the car by the side of the road.
    Three times that morning they heard honking and the furious beating of wings overhead. Eddie and Terry brought down seven birds between them and all Hugh’s shots went wide. His dejection increased with his brother’s derision, his father’s laughter. Hugh went out several more times with Eddie and Terry but though his aim improved and he even succeeded in hitting ducks once or twice, the whole business of killing sickened him He was careful, however, not to allow Eddie see his revulsion and, whenever he could, made excuses to get out of going.
    In February when Christopher had sat the entrance exam for his new school and been accepted for the following autumn, Claire’s father told her that he and Annette were going to separate.
    â€˜Oh no!’ Claire wailed, thinking with her mother more cheerful lately everything had seemed to be going better between them. When they had all gone out to New Year’s Day lunch in a restaurant, Annette and Jim had drunk a bottle of wine and been full of jokes and laughter in the car on the way home. And she had tried so hard herself. She had really thought she was succeeding. It was ages since he’d complained about having no hankies or socks. She stared miserably at her hands.
    â€˜Just for six months,’ her father said, ‘and then we’ll see.’
    â€˜But what about us?’ She was nearly crying, ‘Chris and myself?’
    â€˜Your mother and I need time away from each other to think things out. Decide what’s best for all of us.’
    â€˜But what about the summer holidays?’ They were to have gone camping in France this year. Oh how could they do it? Claire felt sick and trembling, her confidence all gone.
    â€˜It won’t be so bad.’
    How could he say that? It would be terrible. Some of the girls in her class were from broken homes. They had the lowest marks in the class and were always in trouble. Claire hated to think that she now numbered in that unenviable statistic.
    Christopher blamed Annette for everything. ‘She shouldn’t have gone back to work,’ he told Claire shrilly. ‘That’s what it’s all about, you know. Dad hates her working. I’ve heard him say so. Mothers should stay at home or they shouldn’t be mothers.’
    In the past their father had said something of the sort. While Claire honestly felt their home life would have been much easier if this were the case, she was struck by how unfair such a view was. After all, it wasn’t Annette