Fanta from the Fridge
by David Hedges
The Finca
The death of a child is always hard, that’s what Mum used to say. Actually, she only said it the once, and even then she was just agreeing with funny old Mrs Featherstone. They were talking about the Calderwood baby from two doors down; the one who went to sleep one night and never woke up; the one they buried in a coffin no bigger than a shoe box. Mum’s wrong, though. And so's Mrs Featherstone. The death of a child isn’t hard. At least, I didn’t find it hard. In fact, I slept right through it.
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