Alaina Urquhart

So here we go.

Let's tip back to 1970s Ireland in the back arse of buttfuck nowhere Ireland.

Let's go.

My mother is the fourth youngest of 12 kids.

Wow, bless your grandmother.

Yes, my grandmother is one amazing woman.

Evidently.

That's why I want her on my book jacket.

Anyway, it was mid-October, and while my mother's parents were out playing bingo, because what else would you be doing on a Friday night, my mother's older siblings decided to be extra cute family fiends and give my mother and her sister some money to walk to the little shop about a mile from their house to get biscuits and juice.

Hardcore.

It's important to note my mom was about 13 at the time, and her older sister was 17 or 18 years young.

Now, remember, we were in rural Ireland in the 70s here.

Lamp posts along the road did not exist.

And it was October, so it was dark by the time they started to make shapes to the shop.

The only light they had was from a little farmhouse they met along the way and the moon, as it was a clear night.

But that was it.

My mother said it took them about 15 minutes to walk to the shop.

It was closing at 7 p.m.

They got there in the nick of time, grabbed the shit they needed to get, and made to go back as it was getting late.

They were low-key spooked because, come on, dark country road at night?