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by Kevlin Henney

The other kids raid larders and cupboards and jars and tins when they get home from school. Only thing I can take without an earful is from the veg basket. Raw potatoes, onions, leeks?

Dad doesn’t let sweets into the house. We have biscuits, but he counts them. Haven’t found out if or where he writes it down, but if you take a digestive or ginger biscuit he knows.

Mum used to let us eat anything.

Dad also knows how much whisky there is. He marks the bottle. I see the line going down, day after night, night after day.


Kevlin Henney writes shorts and flashes and drabbles of fiction. His writing has appeared online, on tree and on air. His stories have made their way onto competition longlists, shortlists and pole position, and into magazines and anthologies, including The Dark Half of the Year, North by Southwest, Salt Anthology of New Writing, Sleep Is a Beautiful Colour, Ripening and many more. He lives in Bristol and online, where he can be found on Twitter (@KevlinHenney) and Instagram (@kevlin.henney).

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