Excerpt from The Butchers' Blessing by Ruth Gilligan, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"What if I came home?"

She had also never heard this question asked. She opened one eye.

"What do you mean?"

"Halfway round. We're usually over in Monaghan for June." Her father paused, letting the implication take. "I could pop back for a couple of nights. Spend a bit of time with you both."

The pause that followed was the longest yet. Úna opened her second eye and pictured her mother's, the emerald greens piercing the shadows to see if the offer was really true. But Úna had to figure out the answer for herself because no more words arrived, only giggles that eventually turned into moans. It made her tingle beneath her pyjamas in embarrassment, but it was nice, she told herself, natural. If anything, it was a bit like animals.


The dawn was barely cracked when the time came for departure. Her father would walk to a crossroads about a mile down the road where the others would be waiting with the horses and carts. Sometimes her mother, for a mess, suggested the Butchers should drive; should invest in a minivan. They say Ireland's getting more "modern" by the day—why not keep up with the times? Úna knew better than to laugh at that joke. Nothing about the old ritual was allowed to change.

Her mother hovered next to her now on the front step, the pair of them sheathed in their dressing-gown furs. The air outside was well below freezing, making white of their goodbye breaths.

"You're a gorgeous girl," her father croaked as he leaned down for a kiss.

It took all her strength not to beg him to stay. But she had to remember that at least this year it wouldn't be so bad, because this year there was a secret plan that meant she would see him again in June. Plus, she had been making her own secret plans for while he was away.

When she got inside, she would check the mousetrap again.

The Butcher embraced his wife one last time, then ambled slowly out the gate. He looked so giant as he moved—big enough to be a myth himself. The fields around were raw with silence, the hillsides stony-pocked and sparse. It was a wonder anything would ever grow again.

And Úna was so distracted she almost forgot.

"Love, your shoe?"

But as soon as her mother spoke, she took her slipper from her foot and flung it hard; watched it arc through the air, then land in the shimmering frost. It was another custom meant to wish him luck on his travels. Her father didn't turn, only removed his hand from the pocket of his overalls and raised it high in acknowledgement.

Úna stayed out on the doorstep watching, her left foot slowly going numb, until she saw the manshape blacken, then shrink, then disappear. Eventually her whitebreath faded too as the moon bowed out and the sun arrived instead, hurling itself cold and radiant into the morning sky.

They returned to bed for comfort, Úna tucking herself in next to her mam, but soon enough they were up again and dressed, counting down to ten o'clock when the next stage of the ritual could commence. They always visited Mrs. P on the morning of farewell—without any children of her own, the departure of her husband, Sol, meant she was left all alone.

Even though it wasn't long since breakfast, Úna knew the old lady would lay on some treats for the occasion, a bit of sugar to try to take the edge off the pain of the day. Sure enough, as soon as they arrived a tray of biscuits was produced, a full Jacob's selection pack left over from the festive period. Úna opted for a custard cream, her tongue licking ruts through the butter icing, and listened as the women launched into their annual natter, word for word the same if she wasn't mistaken.

"Did he get off all right?"

"Bitter enough, the weather."

"They'll be Leitrim-bound tonight."

As she watched the pair, she conceded they were a pretty unlikely match. With her grey hair and cardies, Mrs. P looked old enough to be her mother's mother, which Úna supposed made her the granddaughter down the line. She had asked before about the other Butchers and why they didn't have wives as well, but apparently some of them did—there were two over in Clifden, two not far from Donegal. Apparently they tended to be clustered in pairs for this very reason—so the women could keep one another company while they were left behind for the guts of the year.

Excerpted from The Butchers' Blessing by Ruth Gilligan. Copyright © 2020 by Ruth Gilligan. Excerpted by permission of Tin House Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.