Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright © Anne Bennett 2017

Anne Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue copy for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008162313

Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780008162320

Version: 2017-09-08

Dedication

I dedicate this, my 20th book, to my family for their love and encouragement over the years. I love and appreciate you all greatly.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Keep Reading …

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

ONE

Angela could remember little of her earlier life when the McClusky family lived in Donegal in Northern Ireland. As she grew she had understood that her name was not McClusky but was Kennedy, and she was the youngest daughter of Connie and Padraig Kennedy, and that Mary and Matt McClusky were not her real parents at all, though she called them Mammy and Daddy. She also learned that she had once had four older siblings all at school and so when Minnie the eldest contracted TB and Angela’s mother realized it was rife in the school, she asked Mary McClusky, who was a great friend of hers, to care for Angela, then just eighteen months old, in an effort to keep her safe. Mary had not hesitated and Angela lived in the McClusky home, petted and feted by the five McClusky boys who had never had a girl in the family before.

However, before Angela was two years old she was an orphan; for her parents succumbed to TB too as they watched their children die one by one. Mary was distraught at the loss of her dear friend and all those poor young children. And Padraig too, for he was a fine strapping man and well able, anyone would have thought, to fight off any illness.

‘Ah, but maybe he hadn’t the will to fight,’ Matt said. ‘He’d watched his children all die and then his wife had gone as well before he developed it. What was left for him if he had recovered? I imagine he didn’t bother fighting it.’

Whatever the way of it, there was a spate of funerals and though Angela attended none of them she was aware of a sadness in the McClusky family without understanding it.

Eventually Mary had to rouse herself for she had a family to see to, including little motherless Angela, and Matt had a farm to run. Mary did wonder if there was some long-lost relative who would look after Angela, but after the last funeral it was apparent there wasn’t and Mary decided that she would stay with them. She knew there would be no opposition from Matt who had by then grown extremely fond of her, as they all had, and he just nodded when Mary said it was the very least she could do for her friend. Matt too had been badly shaken by the deaths of the entire Kennedy family and was well aware that a similar tragedy could have happened to his family just as easily. This time they had got through unscathed and he readily agreed that Angela should continue to live with them and grow up as their daughter.

‘Angela will be your new little sister,’ Mary told her sons. Not one of them made any objection but the happiest of them all was her youngest, Barry. At five years old, he was three years older than Angela and she was petite for her age with white-blonde curls and big blue eyes that reminded him of a little doll. She was better than any doll though for she seemed to have happiness running through her, her ready smile lit up her whole face and her laugh was so infectious all the McClusky boys would nearly jump through hoops to amuse her. ‘I will be the best brother I know how to be,’ Barry said earnestly. ‘I was already fed up of being the youngest.’

Mary laughed and tousled Barry’s hair. ‘I’m sure you will, son,’ she said, ‘and she will love you dearly.’

And Angela did. Between her and Barry there was a special closeness though she loved all the boys she thought of as brothers and all were kind and gentle with her.

However the farm didn’t thrive. A blight damaged most of the potato crop, and heavy and sustained storms left them with barely half of the hay they would need for the winter, meaning they would have to buy the hay needed from elsewhere, while many cabbages, turnips and swedes were lost to the torrential and ferocious rains that eventually flooded the hen house, resulting in many hens also being lost. That first bad winter they just about managed although empty bellies were often the order of the day and later Barry told Angela she was lucky not to remember those times.

Everyone looked forward to the spring after the second bad winter. Matt and his sons knew that if the spring was going to be a fine one nothing would go awry and with tightened belts they might survive. Matt had a constant frown between his eyes because the weather wasn’t good. ‘Surely this year will be better than last,’ Mary said.

Matt’s lips tightened. ‘We’ll see,’ he said grimly. ‘For if it’s not a great deal better we will sink.’

In the early spring of that year a cow died giving birth and the female calf died, a fox got into the hen house and killed most of the hens, and one of the lambs scattered on the hillside was savaged by a dog and had to be put out of his misery. As their finances were on a keen knife edge these things were major blows. Matt knew he would have to leave the farm where he had lived all his life and his father before and his father. That thought was more than upsetting, it was devastating, but he had to face facts. One evening in late March after Angela and Barry had gone to bed and the dinner pots and plates had been put away, Matt and Mary faced their four eldest sons across the table and told them they didn’t think they could survive another year.

There was a gasp from Sean and Gerry, but Finbarr and Colm, who helped their father on the farm, were not totally surprised. They knew as well as anyone how badly the farm had been hit, but they still thought their father might have a plan of some sort and it was Finbarr who asked, ‘What’s to do?’

‘We must leave here, that’s all,’ Matt said.

‘Leave the farm?’ Sean asked.

‘Yes,’ Matt affirmed. ‘And Ireland too. We must leave Ireland and try our hands elsewhere.’

That shocked all the boys for not even Finbarr thought any plan would involve them all leaving their native land, though Mary, heartsore as she was, knew that was what they had to do.

Finbarr glanced at his brothers’ faces and knew he was speaking for all of them when he said, ‘We none of us would like that, Daddy. Is there no other way?’

‘Aye, the poorhouse if you’d prefer it,’ said Matt and he spoke with a snap because leaving was the thing he didn’t want to do either. ‘They have one in the town.’

At Finbarr’s look of distaste, he cried out, ‘Do you think this is easy for me? This is where I was born and where I thought I would die. It’s my homeland but we can’t live on fresh air.’ Then he added with an ironic smile, ‘Though we have made a good stab at it this year.’

Finbarr knew that well enough and didn’t bother commenting, but instead asked, ‘But where would we go?’

‘Where Norah Docherty has been urging me to go this past year,’ Mary said. ‘And that’s Birmingham, England. She’s in a place called Edgbaston and she says it’s not far from the city centre and she can put us up until we get straight with our own place and she says she can probably even help you all with jobs.’

Finbarr nodded for they all knew the Dochertys had left Ireland’s shore four years before when they were in danger of having to throw themselves on the mercy of the poorhouse to save the children from starving to death. Then an uncle living in Birmingham had offered them all a home with him in exchange for looking after him because he was afraid of being put in the poorhouse too. It was a lifeline for the Docherty family and they had all grasped it with two hands and were packed up and gone lock stock and barrel in no time at all.

Mary knew Norah found the life hard at first for Norah had written and told her that the house was terribly cramped. Her uncle couldn’t make the stairs and his bed had to be downstairs. But a man who lived just two doors down called Tim Bishop was the gaffer at a foundry in a place called Aston and he had put a word in for Norah’s husband Mick. He had jumped at the job they offered him and Mary said he’d been tired coming home especially at first, for the work was heavy, but then a job was a job and with Birmingham in the middle of a massive slump, to get one at all was great. She said you really needed someone to speak on your behalf to have a chance at all and Norah’s uncle had once worked at the same place as Tim Bishop and been well thought of and Tim Bishop approved of the family coming over to see to him in his declining years, for they all knew well the old man’s fear of ending up in the poorhouse or the workhouse, as it was commonly known.

‘This Tim Bishop Norah speaks of seems to be a grand fellow altogether,’ Mary said. ‘He had Mick set up in a job before he had been there five minutes. Please God that he may do the same for us.’

‘Yeah, but what sort of job?’ Colm grumbled. ‘Don’t know that I would be any good in Birmingham or anywhere else either,’ he said. ‘The only job I know how to do is farming.’

‘Well you can learn to do something else can’t you?’ Matt barked. ‘Same as I’ll have to do.’

‘We’ll all have to learn to do things we’re not used to,’ Mary said. ‘Life is going to be very different to the life we have here but that’s how it is and we must all accept it.’

Mary had a way of speaking that brooked no argument, as the boys knew to their cost, and anyway Finbarr knew she made sense and he sighed and said, ‘So what happens now?’

‘Well travel costs money,’ Mary said. ‘And that’s something we haven’t got a lot of, so we sell everything we don’t need. Your father has sold all the cattle and even got something for the carcasses of the cow and young calf but it isn’t enough. We’ll sell everything on the farm because we can hardly take anything but essentials with us anyway.’

Sad days followed as the children watched the only home they had ever known disappearing before their eyes. The neighbours rallied, one took the cart and horse and another took the hens the fox hadn’t killed and rounded up the sheep and yet another said he would have the plough and even the tools were sold. It was hard to get rid of the dogs and though Angela could only remember flashes of that time she remembered crying when Matt said the dogs had to go. All were upset. ‘They are going to good homes,’ Matt promised her and she remembered his husky voice and the way his eyes looked all glittery.

Barry hadn’t liked to see the dogs go either but knew he had to be brave for Angela and so he said, ‘We can’t take dogs to this place Mammy said we’re going to, Angela, so they have got to stop here.’

‘They’d hardly like it in Birmingham anyway,’ Mary said. ‘Their place is here.’

‘I thought mine was,’ Gerry said.

‘Gerry, you’re too old to moan about something that can’t be changed,’ Mary said sharply. ‘What can’t be cured must be endured – you know that.’

‘Who’s having the table?’ Barry asked.

‘The person who has bought the cottage,’ Mary said. ‘That’s Peter Murphy and he asked me to leave the table and chairs, my pots and all, the easy chairs, stools and settle, the butter churn and the press and all the beds. I was happy to do it and he gave me a good, fair price for them too.’

‘Funny to think of someone living here when we’ve gone,’ Gerry said.

‘I suppose,’ Mary said. ‘But I’d rather someone was getting the good out of it than it just falling to wrack and ruin.’

They all agreed with that but when they assembled the following Saturday very very early that late April morning Mary looked at their belongings packed in two battered cases and two large bass bags and her heart felt as heavy as lead. She wasn’t the only one. As they left the farmhouse for the last time they all felt strange not to see the clucking hens dipping their heads to eat the grit between the cobbles outside the cottage door, nor to hear the barking of the dogs. As they made their way to the head of the lane where the neighbour who bought the horse and cart would be waiting for them to take them down to the rail bus station in the town, they missed seeing the horse and cows sharing the field to one side and to the other side of the lane the tilled and furrowed fields, now bare with nothing planted in them. They missed seeing the sheep on the hillside pulling relentlessly on the grass.

Sad though they were to leave, the children were also slightly excited, but Mary’s excitement was threaded through with trepidation for she had never gone far from home before, none of them had, and she looked at the youngsters’ eager though slightly nervous faces and hoped to God they were doing the right thing.

All knew where the McCluskys were bound and even at that early hour some neighbours had come to see them off and wish them God speed and their good wishes almost reduced Mary to tears as she hugged the women and shook hands with the men and led the way on to the rail bus where she and Matt got them all settled in.

They were soon off, the little rail bus was eating up the miles, but it was only the start of the long journey to Birmingham. They would leave the rail bus at a place called Strabane and from there get a train to the docks at Belfast. Then a boat would take them across the sea to Liverpool where another train would take them from there to Birmingham. The rail journey to Strabane had begun to pall but they all perked up a bit when it was time to board the boat.

Mary was very nervous of going up the gangplank and once on deck the way the boat seemed to list from one side to another was very unnerving, but what worried her most was the safety of the children. Not the older boys, they should be all right, but it was Barry and little Angela she was concerned about. What if one of them was to fall overboard? Oh God, that didn’t bear thinking about!

She didn’t express her fears, she knew the boys would only laugh at her, but she said to Finbarr and Colm, ‘You make sure you look after Barry and Angela. Make sure you keep them safe,’ knowing they would more than likely want to explore the ship. Her gallivanting days were over and she was finding it hard enough to keep her balance now and they hadn’t even set off yet.

‘I don’t need anyone to look after me,’ Barry declared. ‘I can look after myself.’

‘You’ll do as you are told,’ Mary said sharply to Barry. ‘And you mind what Finbarr and Colm say.’

Barry made a face behind his mother’s back and Finbarr clipped his ear for his disrespect. ‘Ow,’ he said holding his ear and glaring at Finbarr.

‘Never mind “ow”,’ Finbarr said. ‘You behave or we’ll not take you anywhere. We’ll just take Angela because she always does as she is told.’

‘Yes,’ Colm said, ‘you’d like to see around the ship wouldn’t you, Angela?’

Angela wasn’t sure, it looked a big and scary place to her, but she knew by the way the question was asked what Colm wanted her to say so she nodded her head slowly and said, ‘I think so.’

Barry said nothing more because he definitely did want to see over the ship and Finbarr could be quite stern sometimes and he knew his Mammy would never let him go on his own. Anyway he hadn’t time to worry about it because the call came for those not travelling on the boat to disembark and exhilaration filled him for he knew they would soon be on their way. Finbarr put Angela up on his shoulder because she couldn’t see over the rail and from there she watched those wishing to disembark scurry down the gangplank to stand on the quayside and wave as the sailors raised the gangplank and hauled in the thick ropes that had attached the ship to round things on the quayside that Finbarr told her were bollards. Then the ship’s hooter gave such a screech Angela nearly jumped off Finbarr’s shoulder. The ship’s engines began to throb and Finbarr lifted her down and Angela felt the whole deck vibrate through her feet as the ship moved slowly out to sea.

Matt and Mary joined the children at the rail as they watched the shores of Ireland slip away and Mary suddenly felt quite emotional, for she had never had any inclination to leave her native land. The sigh she gave was almost imperceptible, but Matt heard it and he put his gnarled, work-worn hand over Mary’s on the deck rail. ‘We’ll make it work,’ he said to her. ‘We’ve made a right decision, the only decision, and we will have a good living there, you just see if we don’t.’

Mary was unable to speak, but she turned her hand over and squeezed Matt’s. It was hard for him too for farming was all he knew, but he was a hard worker and had always been a good provider, and she had a good pair of hands on her too. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said, ‘I know we will, Matt, I’m not worried about that.’

And while the children went off to explore they stood together side by side and watched the shore of Ireland fade into the distance.

Mary was to find that she wasn’t a very good sailor though the children seemed unaffected and wolfed down the bread and butter Mary had brought. It had been a long time since that very early breakfast, but Mary could eat nothing and Matt ate only sparingly. Mary thought that he had probably done that so that the children could eat their fill rather than any queasiness on his part.

Mary was very glad to leave the boat and be on dry land again, but she was bone weary and it would be another couple of hours before they would reach Birmingham. All the children were tired and before the train journey was half-way through Angela climbed on to Mary’s lap and fell fast asleep. She slept deeply as the train sped through the dusky evening and did not even stir when it pulled up at New Street Station. Oh how glad Mary was to see a familiar face as she stepped awkwardly from the train, for Mick Docherty was waiting with a smile of welcome on his lips. He was unable to shake Mary’s hand for she had Angela in her arms. But he shook hands with Matt and the children one by one, even Barry, much to his delight.

He led the way to the exit and Mary was glad of that for she had never seen so many people gathered together. The noise was incredible, so many people talking, laughing, the tramp of many feet, thundering trains hurtling into the station to stop with a squeal of brakes and a hiss of steam, steam that rose in the air and swirled all around them smelling of soot. There was a voice over her head trying to announce something and someone shouting, she presumed selling the papers he had on the stall beside him, but she couldn’t understand him. Porters with trolleys piled high with luggage weaved between the crowds urging people to, ‘Mind your backs please.’

‘We’ll take a tram,’ Mick said as he led the way to the exit. ‘We could walk, and though it’s only a step away, I should say you’re weary from travelling. Yon young one is anyway,’ he went on, indicating Angela slumbering in Mary’s arms.

‘Aye. And little wonder at it,’ Matt said. ‘We’ve been on the go since early morning and I’m fair jiggered myself.’

‘Aye, I remember I was the same,’ Mick said. ‘Well you can seek your bed as soon as you like, we keep no late hours here, but Norah has a big pan of stew on the fire and another of potatoes in case you are hungry after your journey.’

The boys were very pleased to hear that. They had hoped that somewhere there might be food in the equation, but now they were out of the station on the street and no one said anything, only stood and stared for they had never seen so much traffic in the whole of their lives. Mary was staggered. She’d thought a Fair Day in Donegal Town had been busy, but it was nothing like this with all these vehicles packed onto the road together. Hackney cabs ringed the station and beyond them there were horse-drawn vans and carts mixed with a few of the petrol-driven vehicles she had heard about but never seen and bicycles weaved in and out among the traffic. A sour acrid smell hit the back of her throat and there was a constant drone, the rumble of the carts, the clip clopping of the horses’ hooves sparking on the cobbles of the streets mixed with the shouts and chatter of the very many people thronging the pavements.

And then they all saw the tram and stopped dead. They could never have imagined anything like it, a clattering, swaying monster with steam puffing from its funnel in front and they saw it ran on shiny rails set into the road. Getting closer it sounded its hooter to warn people to get off the rails and out of the way and Mary found herself both fascinated and repelled by it. ‘That’s good,’ Mick said as he led them to a tram stop just a little way from the hackney cabs, ‘we’ve had no wait at all.’

‘Yes,’ Mary said, ‘but is it safe?’

Mick laughed. ‘It’s safe enough,’ he said. ‘Though I had my doubts when I came over first.’

Mary mounted gingerly, helped by the boys because she still had the child in her arms. She was glad to sit for even a short journey though she slid from side to side on the wooden seat for Angela was a dead weight in her arms. It seemed no time at all before Mick was saying, ‘This is ours, Bristol Street.’ And once they had all alighted from the tram he pointed up the road as he went on, ‘We go up this alleyway called Bristol Passage and nearly opposite us is Grant Street.’

Mary saw a street of houses such as she never knew existed, not as homes for people – small, mean houses packed tight against their neighbours and Mary felt her spirit fall to her boots for she never envisaged herself living in anything so squalid. The cottage she had left was whitewashed every winter, the thatch replaced as and when necessary and the cottage door and the one for the byre and the windowsills painted every other year, and she scrubbed her white stone step daily.

She could not say anything of course nor even show any sign of distaste. One of these was the house of her friend, besides which she didn’t know how things worked here. Maybe in this teeming city of so many people houses were in short supply.

She hadn’t time to ponder much about this as Norah had obviously been watching out and had come dinning down the road to throw her arms around Mary, careful not to disturb Angela, but her smile included them all as she ushered them back to the house. ‘I have food for you all,’ she said, but added to Mary, ‘What will you do with the wee one?’

‘I think she is dead to the world,’ Mary said. ‘I see little point in waking her. She’d probably be a bit like a weasel if I tried. She hates being woken up from a deep sleep.’

‘Oh don’t we all?’

‘Yes,’ Mary agreed. ‘I suppose I’d hate it just as much. So if you show me where she is to sleep, I’ll take her straight up.’

‘That will be the attic,’ Norah said. ‘And you, Mick, get those boys sat around the table with a bowl of stew before they pass out on us.’ The boys sighed with relief and busied themselves sorting chairs around the table as Norah opened up the door against the wall and led the way up the two flights of stairs to the attic. There was a bed to one side, a chest and set of drawers, and a mattress laid on the floor. ‘That will do you two and Angela,’ Norah said. ‘The boys I’m afraid will have to sleep elsewhere for now.’

Mary was completely nonplussed at this though she knew Norah had made a valid point for she had four children of her own and the walls were not made of elastic. ‘Where will they sleep then?’

‘In Tim Bishop’s place,’ Norah said. ‘You know I told you he got the job for Mick?’

‘Oh yes,’ Mary said as she laid Angela down on the mattress and began removing her shoes. ‘Where does he live?’

‘Just two doors down,’ Norah said.

‘I suppose it’s him we shall have to talk to anyway about a job for Matt.’

‘Of course, I never told you Tim died last year.’

That took the wind right out of Mary’s sails because she had sort of relied on this Tim Norah had spoken so highly of to do something for them too and it might be more difficult for them than it had been for Mick Docherty. But a more pressing problem was where her sons were going to lay their heads that night. ‘So whose house is it now?’

‘His son Stan has it,’ Mary said. ‘Tim died a year ago and before he died he gave permission for Stan to marry a lovely girl called Catherine Gaskell. They had been courting, but they were only young, but unless they were married or almost married when his father died, Stan as a single man wouldn’t have had a claim on the house. Anyway they married and sheer willpower I think kept Tim alive to see that wedding for he died just three days later and now Stan and Kate have an unused attic and the boys can sleep there.’

‘I couldn’t ask that of perfect strangers.’

‘They’re not perfect strangers, not to me,’ Norah said. ‘They’re neighbours and I didn’t ask them, they offered when I said you were coming over and I couldn’t imagine where the boys were going to sleep. Stan said he’s even got a double mattress from somewhere. Anyway I can’t see any great alternative. Can you?’

Mary shook her head. ‘No and I am grateful for all you have done for us, but I’d rather not have Barry there. He is only seven and for now can share the mattress with us and let’s hope Matt gets a job and we get our own place sooner rather than later.’

‘I’ll say,’ Norah said. ‘And you can ask Stan about the job situation because he’s the Gaffer now. Apparently Mr Baxter who is the overall Boss said there was no need to advertise for someone else when Stan had been helping his dad out for years. So if anyone can help you out it’s him.’

That cheered Mary up a bit. And she did find Stan a very nice and helpful young man when she saw him later that evening. He had sandy hair and eyes and an honest open face, a full generous mouth and a very pleasant nature all told, but Mary did wonder because he was so young whether he would have as much influence as his father had had.

Still she supposed if he agreed to put in a word for Matt and the boys, for only Barry and Gerry were school age, the others could work and if he could help them all it would be wonderful, but only time would tell.

TWO

Every morning for the whole of her short life Angela had woken early to the cock crow. She would pad across to the window and listen to the dogs barking as they welcomed the day and the lowing of the cows as they were driven back to the fields from the milking shed. When she dressed and went into the kitchen the kettle would be singing on the fire beside the porridge bubbling away in the pot and the kitchen would be filled with noise, for her father and brothers would be in from the milking after they had sluiced their hands under the pump in the yard and thick creamy porridge would be poured into the bowls with more milk and sugar to add to the porridge if wanted. It was warm and familiar.

The first morning in Birmingham she woke and was surprised to see Danny beside her for she couldn’t remember that ever happening before and she slipped out of bed, but the window was too high for her to see out of. She wondered if anyone else was awake because she was very hungry. She wandered back to bed and was delighted to see Barry’s deep-brown eyes open and looking at her. ‘Hello.’

‘Ssh,’ Barry cautioned. ‘Everyone but us is asleep.’

Angela thought Barry meant just their Mammy and Daddy and then she saw the children lying on the other mattress. She couldn’t remember the Dochertys from when they lived in Donegal but she remembered Mammy telling her they had four children now. And so she lowered her voice and said, ‘I’m ever so hungry, Barry.’

Barry didn’t doubt it because Angela had had none of the delicious supper him and the others had eaten the previous evening and he was hungry enough again, so he reckoned Angela must be starving. ‘Get your clothes on,’ he whispered. ‘Not your shoes. Carry them in your hand and we’ll go downstairs.’

‘What if no one’s up?’

‘They will be soon,’ Barry said confidently. ‘It’s Sunday and everyone will be going to Mass.’

‘Is it? It doesn’t feel like a Sunday.’

‘That’s because everything’s different here,’ Barry said. ‘Hurry up and get ready.’

They crept down the stairs quietly holding their shoes, but there was no kettle boiling on the range, nor any sign of activity, and no wonder for the time on the clock said just six o’clock. On the farm the milking would have all been done by that time, but in a city it seemed six o’clock on a Sunday is the time for laying in bed. And then he remembered there might be no breakfast at all because they were likely taking communion and no one could eat or drink before that. It wouldn’t affect Angela, nor he imagined the two youngest Dochertys, Sammy and Siobhan, whom he’d met the night before. They were only five and six, but the other two, Frankie and Philomena, were older. He had no need to fast either for he hadn’t made his First Holy Communion yet. Had he stayed in Ireland he would have made it in June, but here he wasn’t sure if it would be the same. It did mean though he could eat that morning and he searched the kitchen, which wasn’t hard to do since it was so tiny and, finding bread in the bin, he cut two chunks from one of the loaves, spread it with the butter he’d found on the slab and handed one to Angela.

But Angela just looked at him with her big blue eyes widened. ‘Here, take it,’ he said.

‘It must be wrong,’ she cried. ‘We’ll get into trouble.’

‘I might get into trouble but you won’t,’ Barry assured Angela. ‘But you must eat something because you have had nothing since the bread and butter in the boat dinner time yesterday. We had stew last night but you were too sleepy and Mammy put you to bed, so you must eat something and that’s what I’ll say if anyone is cross. You won’t be blamed so take it.’

He held the bread out again and this time Angela took it and when she crammed it in her mouth instead of eating it normally Barry realized just how hungry she had been and he poured her a glass of milk from the jug he had found with the butter on the slab to go with it. ‘Now you’ve got a milk moustache,’ he said with a smile.

Angela scrubbed at her mouth with her sleeve and then said to Barry, ‘Now what shall we do?’

‘Well, it doesn’t seem as if anyone is getting up,’ Barry said, for it was as quiet as the grave upstairs when he had a listen at the door. ‘So how about going and having a look round the place we are going to be living in?’

‘Oh yes, I’d like that.’

‘Get your shoes on then and we’ll go,’ Barry said.

A little later when Barry opened the front door Angela stood on the step and stared. For all she could see were houses. Houses all down the hill as far as she could see. She stepped into the street and saw her side of the street was the same. And she couldn’t see any grass anywhere. There had been other houses in Ireland dotted here and there on the hillside, but the only thing attached to their cottage was the byre and the barn beyond that. There wasn’t another house in sight and you would have to go to the head of the lane to see any other houses at all. To see so many all stacked up tight together was very strange.

‘Where do you go to the toilet here?’ Angela asked, suddenly feeling the urge to go.

‘Down the yard,’ Barry said. ‘I’ll show you. Mr Docherty took me down the yard last night, we need a key.’

He nipped back into the house to get it before taking Angela’s hand and together they went down to the entry of the yard. As Barry had seen in the dark, now she also saw that six houses opened on the grey cobbled yard and crisscrossing washing lines were pushed high into the sooty air by tall props.

Barry said, ‘Norah told us last night some women wash for other people. Posh people, you know, because it’s a way of making money and they have washing out every day of the week except Sunday. And this is the Brewhouse where Mick says all the washing gets done,’ he added as they went past a brick building with a corrugated tin roof.

The weather-beaten wooden door was ajar and leaning drunkenly because it was missing its top hinges. Angela peeped inside and wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells of soap.’

‘Well it would be odd if it smelled of anything else,’ Barry said, ‘and these two bins we’re passing have to be shared by the Dochertys and two other families. One is for ashes, called a miskin, and the black one is for other rubbish.’

‘Don’t you think it’s an odd way of going on?’ Angela asked.

Barry nodded. ‘I do,’ he said in agreement. ‘And you haven’t seen the toilets yet, they’re right at the bottom of the yard and two other families have to share them as well. They have a key to go in and you must lock it up afterwards. The key is always kept on a hook by the door.’

Angela found it was just as Barry said and as she sat on the bare wooden seat and used the toilet she reflected that Mammy had been right, they had an awful lot of things to get used to.

Stopping only to put the key back on its hook, the two started to walk down the slope towards Bristol Street and Barry wondered what Angela was thinking. He’d had a glimpse of the area as he had walked up Grant Street with everyone else the previous evening. He didn’t think they looked very nice houses, all built of blue-grey brick, three storeys high with slate roofs and they stood on grey streets and behind them were grey yards. He didn’t think his mother had been impressed either, but she had covered the look of dismay Barry had glimpsed before anyone else had seen it.

So he wasn’t surprised at Angela’s amazement as she looked from one side to the other. ‘There’s lots of houses aren’t there Barry?’ she said as they started to go down Bristol Passage.

‘Yeah, but this is a city and lots of people live in a city and they all have to have houses.’

‘Yes, I suppose,’ Angela said.

‘D’you think you’ll like living here?’ he said as they strode along Bristol Street. Despite it being still quite early on a Sunday morning there were already some horse-drawn carts and petrol lorries on the road and a clattering tram passed them, weaving along its shiny rails. There were plenty of shops too, all shut up and padlocked. Angela said, ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s all strange here isn’t it? Not a bit like home.’

‘No, no it isn’t.’

‘Tell you what though,’ Barry said. ‘This is probably going to be our home now, not Mr and Mrs Docherty’s house, but this area. So I’m going to make sure I like it. Don’t do no good being miserable if you’ve got to live here anyway.’

That made sense to Angela but Barry always seemed to be able to explain things to her so she understood them better. ‘And me,’ she said.

‘Good girl,’ Barry said with a beam of approval and he reached for her hand as he said, ‘We best go back now because we’ll probably be going to an early Mass and we daren’t be too late.’

Everyone was up at the Dochertys’ and Mary asked where they had both been and would have gone for Barry when he attempted to explain, but Norah forestalled her. ‘It was obvious Angela would wake early,’ she said to Mary, ‘because she had her sleep out and it was good of Barry to take her downstairs and let us have a bit of a lie in.’

‘But to take food without asking!’

‘Well he couldn’t ask me without waking me up first and that wouldn’t have pleased me at all,’ Norah pointed out and added with a little laugh, ‘It was just a bit of bread and it’s understandable that Angela would be hungry. Don’t be giving out to them their first morning here.’

‘I was starving,’ Angela said with feeling.

‘Course you were,’ Norah said. ‘You hadn’t eaten for hours.’

Barry let out a little sigh of relief, very grateful to Mrs Docherty for saving him from the roasting he was pretty sure he had been going to get from his mother, and when she said, ‘Anyway come up to the table now for I have porridge made for you two and Sammy and Siobhan,’ the day looked even better.

St Catherine’s Catholic Church was just along Bristol Street, no distance at all, and Norah pointed out Bow Street off Bristol Street where the entrance to the school was. ‘I will be away to see about it tomorrow,’ Mary said. ‘I hope they have room for Barry and Gerry for I don’t like them missing time. Wish I could get Angela in too because she’s more than ready for school.’

‘I thought that with Siobhan and was glad to get her in in September,’ Norah said. ‘I think when they have older ones they bring the young ones on a bit.’

‘You could be right,’ Norah said. ‘I know our Angela is like a little old woman sometimes, the things she comes out with.’

‘Oh I know exactly what you mean,’ Mary said with feeling. ‘Mind I wouldn’t be without them and I did miss the boys last night. Be glad to see them at Mass this morning.’

The boys were waiting for them in the porch and they gave their anxious mother a good account of Stan Bishop and his wife Kate, who they said couldn’t have been kinder to them. That eased Mary’s mind for her children had never slept apart from her in a different house altogether and she thought it a funny way to go on, but the only solution in the circumstances.

After Mass, Norah introduced them to the priest, Father Brannigan, and he was as Irish as they were. Mary’s stomach was growling embarrassingly with hunger and she hoped he couldn’t hear it. She also hoped meeting him wouldn’t take long so she could go home and eat something, but she knew it was important to be friendly with the priest, especially if you wanted a school place for your children. Matt understood that as well as she did and they answered all the questions the priest asked as patiently as possible.

It might have done some good though, because when he heard the two families were living in a cramped back-to-back house with the older boys farmed out somewhere else, he said he’d keep his ear to the ground for them.

‘Well telling the priest your circumstances can’t do any harm anyway,’ Norah said. ‘Priests often get to know things before others.’

‘No harm at all,’ Mary agreed. ‘Glad he didn’t go on too long though or I might have started on the chair leg. Just at the moment my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.’

It was amazing how life slipped into a pattern, so that living with the Dochertys and eating in shifts became the norm. Gerry and Barry were accepted into St Catherine’s School and went there every day with all the Docherty children and Angela was on the waiting list for the following year when she would be five. Better still, Stan Bishop said he could get Sean into the apprentice scheme to be a toolmaker and Gerry could join him in two years’ time, and he could find a labouring job for Matt the same as Mick, so that by the beginning of June the two men and the boy Sean were soon setting off to work together.

Sadly, Stan could find nothing for the two older boys who were too old for the apprentice scheme, which had to be started at fourteen, and there was no job for them in the foundry. They were disappointed but not worried. It wasn’t like living in rural Donegal. Industrial Birmingham was dubbed the city of one thousand trades and just one job in any trade under the sun would suit Finbarr and Colm down to the ground.

So they did the round of the factories as Stan advised, beginning in Deritend because it was nearest to the city centre and moving out to Aston where the foundry was. They started with such high hopes that surely they would be taken on somewhere soon. ‘The trick,’ Stan said, ‘is to have plenty of strings to your bow. Don’t go to the same factory every day because they’ll just get fed up with you but don’t leave it so long that they’ve forgotten who you are if they have given you any work before. And if you’re doing no good at the factories go down to the railway station and offer to carry luggage. It’s nearly summer and posh folk go away and might be glad of a hand and porters are few and far between. Or,’ he added, ‘go to the canal and ask if they want any help operating the locks or legging the boats through the tunnels.’

‘What’s that mean, “legging through the tunnel”?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough if they ask you to do it,’ Stan said with a smile. ‘Just keep going and something will turn up I’m sure.’

They kept going, there was nothing else to do, but sometimes they brought so little home. Everything they made they gave to their mother but sometimes it was very little and sometimes nothing at all. They felt bad about it, but Mary never said a word, as she knew they were trying their best, and while they were living with the Dochertys money went further, for they shared the rent and the money for food and coal. But she knew it might be a different story if ever they were to move into their own place.

However, that seemed as far away as jobs for her sons, but life went on regardless. Barry did make his First Holy Communion with the others in his class, and not long after it was the school holidays and they had a brilliant summer playing in the streets with the other children. Mary wasn’t really happy with it, but there was nowhere else for them to play. Anyway all the other mothers seemed not to mind their children playing in the streets, but she was anxious something might happen to Angela. ‘You see to her, Barry,’ she said.

‘I will,’ Barry said. ‘But she can’t stay on her own in the house. It isn’t fair. Let her play with the others and I’ll see nothing happens to her.’

‘Don’t know what you’re so worried about,’ Norah said. ‘That lad of yours will hardly let the wind blow on Angela.’

‘I know,’ Mary said. ‘He’s been like that since Angela first came into the house, as if he thought it was his responsibility to look after her. He’s a good lad is Barry and Angela adores him.’

‘He’s going to make a good father when the time comes I’d say,’ Norah said.

‘Aye. Please God,’ Mary said.

Angela thought it was great to be surrounded by friends as soon as she stepped into the street. She had been a bit isolated at the farm. Funny that she never realized that before, but having plenty of friends was another thing she decided she liked about living in Birmingham.

Christmas celebrated by two families in the confines of one cramped back-to-back house meant there was no room at all, but plenty of fun and laughter. There was food enough, for the women had pooled resources and bought what they could, but there was little in the way of presents for there was no spare money. Many of the boots, already cobbled as they were, had to be soled and heeled and Mary took up knitting again and taught Norah. The wool they got from buying old cheap woollen garments at the Rag Market to unravel and knit up again so that the families could have warmer clothes for winter.

January proved bitterly cold. Day after day snow fell from a leaden grey sky and froze overnight, so in the morning there was frost formed on the inside of windows in those draughty houses. Icicles hung from the sills, ice scrunched underfoot and ungloved fingers throbbed with cold.

Life was harder still for Finbarr and Colm toiling around the city in those harsh conditions to try and find a job of any sort to earn a few pennies to take home. So many factory doors were closed in their faces and when the cold eventually drove them home they would huddle over the fire to still their shivering bones and feel like abject failures. No one could help and neither of them knew what they were going to do to help ease the situation for the family.

Slowly the days began to get slightly warmer as Easter approached. Angela would be going to school in the new term and she was so excited. She was just turned five when she walked alongside Mary for her first full day at school on April 15th. She was so full of beans it was like they were jumping around inside her. At the school she was surrounded by other boys and girls all starting together and they regarded each other shyly. When their mothers had gone their teacher, Miss Conway, took them into the classroom, which she said would be their classroom, and told them where to sit.

Angela was almost speechless with delight when she realized she had a desk and chair all to herself. After living with the Dochertys for months, she was used to sharing everything. She looked around and noticed what a lot of desks there were in the room, which was large with brown wooden walls and very high windows with small panes. There were some pictures, one with numbers on it, one with letters, and a map above the blackboard that stood in front of the high teacher’s desk.

Another little girl was assigned the desk next to Angela and she turned to look at her, envying the pinafore she wore covering her dress. In fact most of the girls wore pinafores but her Mammy said funds didn’t run to pinafores and she knew better than to make a fuss over something like that. The girl had straight black hair that fell to her shoulders and dark brown eyes, but her lips looked a bit wobbly as if she might be about to cry and her face looked as if she was worried about something, so Angela smiled at her and the little girl gasped. What the little girl thought was that she’d never seen anyone so beautiful with the golden curls and the deep blue eyes and pretty little mouth and nose. Spring sunshine shafted through the tiny windows at that moment and it was like a halo around Angela’s head. ‘Oh,’ said the little girl with awe. ‘You look like an angel.’

Angela laughed, bringing the teacher’s eyes upon her. She thought maybe laughing wasn’t allowed at school and she was to find that it wasn’t much approved of. Nor was talking, for when she tried whispering to the other girl, ‘I’m not an angel, I just look like my mother,’ the teacher rapped the top of her desk with a ruler, making most children in the room jump. ‘No talking,’ she rapped out and Angela hissed out of the corner of her mouth, ‘Tell you after.’

And later, in the playground, she told the whole story of how she ended up living with the McCluskys, according to what Mary had told her. ‘Funny you thought I looked like an angel,’ she said. ‘Because my real mammy thought so too and she insisted I was called Angela. All the others looked like my father.’

‘And they all died,’ the girl said. ‘And your mammy and daddy as well?’

Angela gave a brief nod and the other girl said, ‘I think that’s really sad.’

Angela shook her head. ‘It isn’t really, because I can’t remember them at all. Mammy, I mean Mary, has a photograph of them on their wedding day. It was stood on the dresser at home and I suppose it will come out again when we have our own house, but I have stared at it for ages and just don’t remember them. And Mary and Matt McClusky have loved me as much as if I had been one of their own children and the boys are like brothers to me.’

‘Huh,’ said the other girl, ‘I have no time for brothers. I have two, both younger than me, and a proper nuisance they are.’

Angela laughed and said, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Maggie. Maggie Maguire and my brothers are called Eddie and Patrick. But I think Mammy is having another one and that will probably be a boy as well. I’d love a sister.’

‘So would I,’ Angela admitted. ‘Shall we just be good friends instead?’

‘Yes, let’s.’ And so a bond was formed between Angela Kennedy and Maggie Maguire from that first day.

THREE

Just after Angela began school, the priest heard of a house that would shortly be vacant due to the death of the tenant and Mary went straight down to see the landlord. She took her marriage lines with her and the birth certificates of the children and to prove her honesty she carried a recommendation from the priest and she secured the house, which was in Bell Barn Road and only yards from Maggie’s house in Grant Street.

Mary was delighted to get a place of her own though she did wonder how she would furnish it, but when she said this to Matt he had a surprise for her. ‘With the sale of the farm and land I had money over when I bought the tickets to get here,’ he told her. ‘Not knowing when I would get a job when we arrived, I put it in the Post Office and it’s still there, so we’ll go off to the Bull Ring Saturday afternoon and see what we can pick up to make the place more homely at a reasonable price.’

Mary was really pleased that Matt had kept the money safe and that he had kept knowledge of it to himself as well, or she might have been tempted to dip into it from time to time, and where would they be now if she had done that? They’d have a house but not a stick of furniture to go into it.

In fact it wouldn’t have been that bad because the previous tenant had died and his family didn’t want much of his furniture, so the house already had two armchairs, a small settee and a sideboard downstairs, and a bed and wardrobes were left in the bedroom upstairs. Norah went to inspect the house and agreed with Mary it needed a thoroughly good clean before anything else and they undertook that together. In the Bull Ring Mary and Matt bought oilcloth for the floor, a big iron-framed bed for the boys in the attic and two chests for their clothes. For Angela there was a truckle bed that was to be set up in the bedroom because Mary declared it wasn’t seemly for her to share the attic with so many boys when she was not even officially related to them.

The purchases severely depleted Matt’s savings and money from day to day was tighter than ever and Norah was finding it hard to make the money stretch. If some days they seemed to eat a lot of porridge it was because a pair of boots needed repair or there was a delivery of coal to pay for. Mary worried about the meals often. ‘Men need more than porridge,’ she said to Norah. ‘If Finbarr and Colm do get a job they’ll hardly be able for it and Matt works hard now and needs good food or he might take sick.’

Sometimes she would take Angela with her when she went to the Bull Ring on a Saturday afternoon and she would hide away and send Angela into the butcher’s and ask for a bone for the dog. The butcher knew there was little likelihood of there being any sort of dog; most people had trouble enough feeding themselves. But he would be charmed by the look of Angela, her winning smile and good manners, and she usually came out with a bone with lots of meat still on it. Often the butcher would slip her something else, like a few pieces of liver, or a small joint because he would have to throw them away anyway at the end of the day.

And Mary would boil up the bones and strip them of meat for a stew along with vegetables and dumplings to fill hungry men. She would do the same with pigs’ trotters if she had the pennies to buy them. She could make a couple of loaves of soda bread almost without thinking about it and if there was no money for butter, mashed swede would do as well. Cabbage soup was also on the menu a lot so though no one starved, the monotony of the diet got to everyone, but no one complained for there was little point.

Finbarr and Colm were filled with shame that they couldn’t do more to help and knowing this, Gerry felt almost embarrassed to join Sean on the apprenticeship scheme in 1902 when he turned fourteen and left school. ‘Don’t feel bad about it,’ Finbarr said. ‘You go for it. I would do the same given half a chance.’

Both apprentice boys were full of praise for Stan Bishop and thought he was a first-rate boss, always patient with them if they made mistakes in the early days. ‘He’s a decent man,’ Mary said. ‘I always thought it.’

‘He’s a happy bloke, I know that,’ Sean said. ‘He’s always humming a tune under his breath and he sings at home.’

‘He does that,’ Colm said. ‘He’s good, or it sounds all right to me anyway, and Kate has a lovely voice.’

‘Well she’s in the choir,’ Mary pointed out. ‘That’s why they always go to eleven o’clock Mass. She sometimes sings when she is in the house on her own because I have heard her a time or two when I have been up visiting Norah. She has got a lovely voice, but then she seems a lovely person. She always seems to have a smile on her face.’

She had. It was evident to everyone how happily married they were and there was speculation why there had been no sign of a child yet, though Mary had confided to Norah that she thought Kate looked rather frail. ‘I don’t think it would do her good to have a houseful of children,’ she said. ‘It would pull the body out of her.’

‘We none of us can do anything about that though,’ Norah said. ‘It’s God’s will. The priests will tell you that you must be grateful for whatever God sends, be it one or two or a round dozen.’

‘I know,’ Mary said and added, ‘They’re quick enough to give advice. But no one helps provide for those children, especially with jobs the way they are.’

‘I know,’ Norah said. ‘And then wages are not so great either. I mean, my man’s in work and I am hard pressed to make ends meet sometimes. At least Sean and Gerry are learning a trade, that’s lucky.’

‘Aye, if there is a job at the end of it.’

‘There’s the rub,’ Norah said, because many firms would take on apprentices on low pay and get rid of them when they were qualified and could command far better wages, and take on another lot to train as it was cheaper for them.

‘I’m not looking that far ahead,’ Mary said. ‘I’ll worry about it if it happens. As for Kate Bishop, she seems not to be able to conceive one so easy, so I doubt they’ll ever be that many eventually.’

‘Don’t be too sure,’ Norah said. ‘I’ve seen it before. They have trouble catching for one and then as if the body knows what to do, they pop another out every year or so.’

‘Proper Job’s comforter you are,’ Mary said and added with a smile, ‘Are you going to put the kettle on or what? A body could die of thirst in this place.’

There was no change in the McClusky household over the next couple of years. Sean, now halfway through his apprenticeship, got a rise, but it was nothing much, and Matt too was earning more so the purse strings eased, but only slightly. Towards the end of that year, Norah told Mary she was sure Kate Bishop was pregnant. There was a definite little bump that hadn’t been there before. By the turn of the year Stan was nearly shouting it from the rooftops and though he was like a dog with two tails, Kate was having a difficult pregnancy and was sick a lot and not just for the first three months, like the morning sickness many women suffered from.

Many women gave her advice of things they had tried themselves, or some old wives’ tale they had heard about, for all the women agreed with Mary that Kate Bishop couldn’t afford to lose weight for she had none to lose. She was due at Easter and she hardly looked pregnant as the time grew near. ‘God!’ Mary said to Norah. ‘I was like a stranded whale with all of mine. I do hope that girl is all right. I saw her the other day and couldn’t believe it, her wrists and arms are very skinny and her skin looks sort of thin.’

‘She’s still singing every Sunday morning though,’ Norah said. ‘And she practises through the day, does her scales and everything.’

‘I suppose it helps keep her mind off things.’

‘Maybe. Can’t be long now though.’

On the fifteenth of April Kate Bishop’s pains began in the early hours and though Stan had engaged a nurse, it was soon apparent that the services of a doctor were needed and he booked an ambulance, and while he was waiting for it to come Kate had a massive haemorrhage and died.

Stan was distraught at losing his beloved wife and he couldn’t cope with his new-born son. Both Mary and Norah were often in the house with Stan, mainly caring for the baby and making meals for Stan he had no appetite to eat. Sometimes he seemed almost unaware of their presence and both Mary and Norah felt quite helpless that they could do nothing to ease Stan’s pain and were glad when Kate’s older sister Betty arrived.

She was married to Roger Swanage and though they lived in a nice house that Roger had inherited from his widowed mother, still they had no children though Betty had been trying for years to conceive. She took charge of Stan’s son and Roger took it upon himself to organize the funeral for Kate because Stan seemed incapable, though he did insist on choosing the hymns because Kate had favourites and he chose those.

Betty seemed surprised at the numbers who turned out for the funeral but Kate had been popular and very young to lose her life in that tragic way, so the church was packed, including many men, as the foundry was closed that day as a mark of respect. Even those not going to the Mass stood at their doorways in silence as the cart carrying the coffin passed, some making the sign of the cross, and any men on the road removed their hats and stood with bowed heads.

The Requiem Mass seemed interminable and Mary heard many sniffs in the congregation as Father Brannigan spoke of the grievous loss of the young woman leaving a child to grow up without a mother’s love, and the loss would be felt through the whole community, but particularly by her grieving husband and her family, and the choir where she had been a stalwart member. Eventually it was over and the congregation moved off to Key Hill Cemetery in Hockley, as St Catherine’s didn’t have its own cemetery.

The wind had increased during the Mass and it buffeted them from side to side, billowing all around them, and when they stood by the open grave the wind-driven rain attacked them, stabbing at their faces like little needles – a truly dismal day. As the priest intoned further prayers for the dear departed and they began lowering the coffin with ropes, Stan gasped and staggered and would have fallen, but Matt reached out and put a hand upon his shoulder. ‘Steady man. Nearly over.’ The clods of earth fell with dull thuds on to the lid and they all turned thankfully away and walked back through the gusty, rain-sodden day to the back room of The Swan where a sumptuous feast was laid out, made by the landlord’s wife and her two daughters.

Everyone seemed to think that it was right and proper that Kate’s childless sister should rear the motherless child. Even Father Brannigan saw it as an ideal solution when he called to see them a week after the funeral to discuss the child’s future and baptism.

‘And you are fully prepared to take on the care of the child?’ he asked Betty, though his gaze took in Roger too.

It was Betty who answered, ‘Oh yes, Father,’ she said. ‘Kate was my own younger sister and I’m sure she would wish me to do this, and how can I not love her child as if he were my own?’

‘And have you children of your own?’

‘Sadly no,’ Betty said. ‘The Lord hasn’t seen fit to grant me any and we have a fine house waiting for a child to fill it.’

‘Well I think that eminently suitable,’ the priest said. ‘What of you, Stan? Are you in agreement with this?’

Stan turned vacant eyes on the priest. He wondered how he could explain to the priest, without shocking him to the core, that he cared little for the tiny mite held in Betty’s arms so tenderly, the mite his wife had died giving birth to. And he contented himself giving a shrug of his shoulders.

Father Brannigan saw the intense sorrow in his deep eyes and knew for Stan the pain of his loss was too raw to discuss things to do with the child, and so he thought it a good thing his sister-in-law was there. He turned again to Betty. ‘And have you chosen names?’

‘Yes,’ Betty said decidedly. ‘I want him called Daniel.’

Stan’s head shot up at that and the priest was pretty certain he hadn’t known of Betty’s plan. And he hadn’t, and though he and Kate had discussed names, Daniel hadn’t been mentioned, yet Betty said Kate would approve of Daniel. ‘It was the name of our late father,’ she said to Stan.

Stan hadn’t the energy to protest and felt anyway he had no right. Betty was going to raise the child, therefore she should have the right to name that child too. And Betty could be quite right – since it was the name of Kate’s father she might have called him Daniel in the end. ‘I don’t mind what the child is called,’ he said, ‘but I want Matt and Mary McClusky as godparents.’

Mary was delighted to be asked but she noted the jealous way Betty held on to the child. While she was willing for Mary to take him from her and hold his head over the font so that the priest could dribble water over it, she took him back afterwards and would let no one else, not even his own father, hold him and Mary felt the first stirrings of unease. Stan on the other hand was pleased initially to leave everything to Betty and for Daniel to be taken back to their fine house in Sutton Coldfield after the christening.

‘Where is Sutton Coldfield?’ Mary asked Matt a few weeks later

‘I’m not sure myself,’ Matt said. ‘I know it’s a fair distance and a posh place, so Stan was telling me. He said Betty and Roger live in a big house built of red brick with a blue slate roof. And although it’s not on the doorstep it’s easy enough to get to because a little steam train runs from New Street Station and then the station in Sutton is just yards from their house.’

‘He’s going to see him soon isn’t he?’

Matt nodded. ‘This Saturday afternoon,’ he said. ‘He’ll have been with them nearly three weeks then and he wants to see how he has settled down and everything.’

Later Stan talked to Matt about how it had gone. ‘Tell you, Matt, when I saw him, I had the urge to grab him and bring him home where he belongs. But how could I care for him and work? Betty, on the other hand, already has the nursery fitted out for him, which is far more salubrious than any attic bedroom I could provide. There’s also a garden back and front and I could see much better surroundings unfolding for Daniel if I left him there with his aunt and uncle, though I know he will probably call them mammy and daddy and will grow up thinking of them as his parents.’

‘Like Angela did?’

‘Ah but, the difference was she was told from the start who her real parents were and that they had both died, which was the truth, but Daniel has a father, though he will hardly be aware of that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Betty said it would confuse the boy if I kept popping up every now and then, and it wasn’t as if I could offer him anything. She told me that if I cared for the boy I should stay out of his life and let them bring him up. The point is I know I can offer the child nothing, but I still wanted to see him, take him out weekends, you know, get to know him a bit, but Betty said if I intended doing that I would have to make alternative arrangements. She would only look after Daniel as long as I stayed away.’

Mary sighed when Matt told her that night what had transpired when Stan had gone to see his son. She wasn’t totally surprised. She had thought Betty was the type of person who wouldn’t want to share her dead sister’s child. In a way in her mind she was probably trying to forget he had parents and make believe that he was her own child she had given birth to.

In Mary’s opinion secrets like this were not healthy and they had a way of wriggling to the fore eventually, spreading unhappiness and distrust. ‘That’s very harsh,’ she said. ‘I mean at the moment it’s hard on Stan, but the longer Betty and her husband leave telling Daniel of his father, the greater the shock for the child. Stan might not be able to care for him and work, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be part of his life. I think he’s a lovely man and I’m sure the child as he grows would benefit from knowing him.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Matt said. ‘He said Betty was adamant. I think I might call her bluff in time. If she loves Daniel like he says she’d not want to give him up so easy, but Stan probably won’t want to risk it.’

‘Does he miss him?’

‘I asked him that myself,’ Matt said. ‘I suppose that what you never had you can’t miss but Stan said he always feels like something is missing and he copes because he knows Daniel will be happy and well loved, for Betty dotes on him and her husband does too, only slightly less anxiously. He said he would never have to worry that they would ever be unkind to him and he will want for nothing – no going barefoot with an empty belly for him. As long as the boy is happy that’s all that matters to Stan.’

‘That’s what most parents want,’ Mary said. ‘Their children’s happiness, and he is a decent man for putting the needs of his son before his own.’

Angela was unaware of what had happened to Stan’s baby. She knew about the death of his wife giving birth to the child, that couldn’t be hidden from the children, but the baby had just seemed to disappear. Even Maggie living only doors away from Stan Bishop knew no more. It was no good asking questions because things like that were not discussed in front of children so the girls concluded the baby must have died too. ‘Shame though, isn’t it, for Stan to lose his wife and baby.’

‘Mm,’ Maggie said. ‘Though I don’t think men are that good at looking after babies.’

‘No, maybe not,’ Angela agreed. ‘I just feel sorry for him being left with nothing. Doesn’t seem fair somehow.’

‘My mammy says none of life is fair and those that think it is are going to be disappointed over and over,’ Maggie said and Angela thought that a very grim way of looking at things.

FOUR

Stan seemed to get over the loss of his wife in the end as everyone must, but for ages a pall of sadness hung over him. Barry started on the apprenticeship scheme in 1907, the same year his brother Sean finished, and Stan’s sadness wasn’t helped by the news he had to impart to Mary. ‘He was heartbroken when he came to tell me that the boys would have no job at the end of their apprenticeships,’ Mary told Norah. ‘Sean is out of work now like his older brothers and I suppose Gerry will be the same in two years’ time. Stan said he could do nothing about it because it was the company’s policy. It was a bit of a blow but not a total shock because that sort of thing is happening everywhere.’

‘I know but it isn’t as if they can get a job somewhere else using the skills they have learnt because there are no jobs.’

‘Aye that’s the rub,’ Mary said. ‘And now there’ll be another mouth to feed on the pittance they will be able to earn. I mean you can only tighten a belt so far. And when Gerry is finished too in two years’ time God knows what we are going to do.’

‘I’m the same,’ Norah said, ‘and this has decided me.’

‘What?’

‘My eldest Frankie is just eighteen so half-way through his apprenticeship and my brother Aiden was after writing to me, offering to find him a job in the place he works. They’re taking a lot of young lads on.’

‘But Aiden is in the States?’

‘I know, New York.’

‘But … But surely to God you don’t want your son going so far away?’

‘Course I don’t,’ Nora said. ‘What I want is for him to get a job somewhere local and meet a nice Catholic girl to marry and give me grandchildren to take joy from. But it’s not going to happen, not here. I know when we bid farewell that will be it and I’ll never see my son again but I can’t deny him this chance of a future. I see your lads day after day worn down by the fact they can get no job. Unemployment is like a living death and how can I put Frankie through that when Aiden is holding out the hand of opportunity to him?’

She couldn’t, Mary recognized that, but she knew Norah’s heart would break when her eldest son went away from her. And though her own heart ached for her sons she couldn’t help feeling glad that they had no sponsor in America.

Unbeknownst to her, though, Finbarr and Colm were very interested in Frankie Docherty’s uncle’s proposal. ‘He seems very certain he will have a job for you,’ Finbarr said.

‘Yes he is.’

‘What line of work is it?’

‘Making motor cars.’

Finbarr stared at him. There were a few petrol-driven lorries and vans and commercial vehicles but personal motor cars were only for the very wealthy, they had taken the place of carriages, and Finbarr didn’t think even in a country the size of America they would need that many. Frankie’s career might be short lived when he got to the States.

Frankie caught sight of Finbarr’s sceptical face and he said, ‘My Uncle Aiden says that America is not like here and that everyone who is someone wants a motor car. They can’t keep up with the demand. And they want to train mechanics too so that they can fix the cars when they go wrong.’

‘Right,’ Finbarr said. ‘You excited?’

Frankie nodded eagerly. ‘You bet I am,’ he said, and added, ‘I have to hide it from Mammy though.’

‘I can imagine,’ Finbarr said with a smile. ‘Well I wish you all the very best and I only wish Colm and I were going along with you.’

‘Wouldn’t you mind going so far away?’

‘Won’t you?’

‘Of course,’ Frankie said. ‘I expect to miss my family but that’s the choice you have to make, isn’t it. And you’ve got to deal with homesickness otherwise you will waste the chance you’ve been given.’

‘That’s pretty sound reasoning, Frankie,’ Colm said. ‘I imagine I would feel much the same.’

‘And me,’ said Finbarr.

‘Maybe I can get my uncle to speak for you too,’ Frankie said. ‘He’ll know your family for they were neighbours in Donegal and then Mammy helped when you first came over and my mother and yours are as thick as thieves now.’

‘We would appreciate it,’ Finbarr said. ‘See how the land lies when you get over there.’

‘Yes,’ Frankie said. ‘I won’t forget. It will be nice for me to see a familiar face anyway. I’ll write.’

So Frankie left a few days later. His mother cried copious tears and his siblings sniffled audibly. Even Mick’s voice was husky and even Frankie was struggling with his emotions, and he hugged his family and shook hands with all the well-wishers gathered to wish him God speed.

‘It will break my heart if Mammy is as upset as Norah was when we go,’ Colm said.

‘She will be,’ Finbarr said. ‘Worse maybe for there are two of us. But however sad she is, remember we are not just thinking about this for ourselves alone but also for Mammy and the others. All she has coming in now is what Daddy brings in and a pittance from Gerry and Barry’s apprenticeship money, and Gerry will be out on his ear before long too.’

‘Yeah I suppose.’

‘We need to leave, Colm, and go as far as America if things are as good as Frankie’s uncle says. The life we have now is no life at all, and even worse, we have no future to look forward to.’

It was sometime later Frankie wrote the promised letter and told them things were just fine and dandy for him in America and he was looking forward to them joining him. The even better news was that knowing the family personally from when they all lived in Donegal, their uncle was not only willing to sponsor them but loan them the £10 each needed for the assisted passage tickets, which would be easy to pay back from the good wages they’d be earning over there. Finbarr let his breath out in a sigh of utter relief, for he hadn’t known how they were going to raise the money for the fare, and this generous man was coming to their aid. All they had to do now was tell their parents and he thought that was better done sooner rather than later and give them time, particularly their mother, to come to terms with it.

If Finbarr and Colm thought Norah Docherty was upset when Frankie left, that was before they had seen their mother’s distress, for she was almost hysterical with grief. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought her sons would do what Frankie Docherty did and leave everything behind and travel to another continent entirely. She thought if nothing else, financial constraints would prevent them, for they would never raise the £10 needed to avail themselves of the assisted passage scheme. Aiden had paid for his nephew and it appeared he was prepared to loan her two sons the money needed and sponsor them too.

‘We have no life here, Mammy,’ Finbarr cried. ‘There is no future for us, our lives are dribbling away.’

Mary continued to cry, but Matt had listened to his sons. Finbarr had a point, he realized, for he was twenty-four now and Colm twenty-three. They should be working at a job of some sort and have money in their pockets for a pint or two now and then, go to the match if they had a mind, court a girl perhaps, and all they could see in front of them were years of the same struggle. There was no light at the end of the tunnel because they were unable to procure some meaningful employment, so Matt’s wage added together with a minute portion from his two sons still at the foundry had to keep them all. It was only Mary’s ability to make a sixpence do the work of a shilling that stopped them from starving altogether.

The situation couldn’t go on however, especially when there was every likelihood of the situation worsening when Gerry finished his apprenticeship in a year or two and subsequently Barry. His sons had the means of alleviating things for them and securing a future for themselves. It was bad that this involved them leaving home to move so far away but he didn’t see any alternative. Though he knew he would be heart-sore to lose them, for the good of them all it had to be.

Finbarr and Colm had their arms around their mother saying they were sorry and urging her not to upset herself, and her tears had changed to gulping sobs, and Matt waited till he was totally calm and then told Mary quietly the thoughts that had been tumbling around his head. As a pang of anguish swept over Mary’s face Colm moved away so Matt could hold Mary’s arm. Neither Finbarr nor Colm had been aware of Matt’s thoughts and the fact that he had listened to them and understood their concerns meant a great deal since the one person their mother listened to and took heed of was Matt.

‘But America, Matt,’ Mary wailed. ‘It’s so far away. We’ll never see them again.’

Matt gave a slight shake of his head. ‘We might not and there will be a part of my heart that will go with them, but we can be content, thinking that we have given them the potential for a full and happy life.’

Mary was still silent so Matt went on. ‘We left our native shores for a better life, remember.’

‘We only crossed a small stretch of water though.’

‘Never mind how long or short the journey was. We came for a better life,’ Matt said. ‘And for a time achieved it, but the system failed our boys and they are on the scrapheap. They want better than this and who can blame them? And if they have to go to America to achieve it, so be it.’

Mary gave a brief nod. Though tears shone in her eyes and she was unable to speak, she knew she had no right to deny a better life to her sons.

The rest of the family were astounded when they heard and more than a little upset, though they all could see why the boys had to go. Father Brannigan disapproved, but then he disapproved of so much, you wouldn’t know what you had to do to please him.

‘You will lose your faith if you go there.’

‘Don’t see why you say that, Father,’ said Finbarr. ‘They have priests and churches and plenty of Catholics already there.’

‘It’s a dangerous, lawless place.’

‘Oh, have you been over there, Father?’

‘No I haven’t been,’ the priest snapped. ‘I wouldn’t go to such a place if you paid me, but I can read the papers.’

‘Even if it’s as bad as you say,’ Colm said, ‘Fin and I wouldn’t get involved in anything like that. We just want to do a job of work and get paid a wage that will enable us to enjoy life a little.’

‘Frankie Docherty as been there some months now and he writes to us but never mentions any trouble of any kind,’ Finbarr said and the priest was silent, because he had tried to talk Frankie out of going and he hadn’t been dissuaded either.

The boys would not be going until the spring of 1908 as it was too close to the end of the year to cross the Atlantic, so Christmas that year had poignancy to it as they knew they might never ever be all together like that again. Stan came to wish them all Happy Christmas. He had grown fond of the boys and he felt a measure of guilt that he had been unable to help them in finding employment. Neither of the boys bore him any ill will however, and though they would undoubtedly miss their family, Frankie described New York in such glowing terms, they couldn’t wait to see it for themselves.

Mary had got a battered case from someone, not that her sons had much to put in it – sparse sets of ragged underwear, everyday clothes holed and patched and the two jumpers Mary had knitted them both for Christmas, for she said from what she’d heard New York winters were severe. They would be travelling in the suits they wore for Sunday, though they were thin and quite flimsy now and the trousers shiny and shapeless, and the only boots they possessed they had on. They had no top coats or any money to buy them which was another reason for crossing the Atlantic in the spring.

The day arrived and the family assembled to say goodbye for there was no money for the fare to accompany them to the docks. Mary had thought of this day often and had shed tears each time she had thought of it, and now she held her sons tight, for it was a hug that would have to last a lifetime, and tears were also raining down Finbarr and Colm’s face when Mary released them. Matt also hugged his two sons and wished them God speed. They bade farewell to Sean and Gerry and Barry and as he hugged Angela Finbarr said, ‘You better behave yourself now I’m not around to look after you.’

‘Huh, as if I ever took any notice of you anyway,’ Angela said with a ghost of a smile.

Finbarr gave a watery smile back, glad of her lightening the atmosphere, even slightly, for the whole family had seemed steeped in misery, and it was hard to leave them like that, but they had a boat to catch. Mary stood on the pavement and waved till they turned down Bristol Street and so were out of sight. Then she came in, gave a sigh, plopped in a chair and burst into tears, wiping her eyes with her apron.

Finbarr and Colm’s departure had left a gaping hole in the family and they maybe were aware of that but they certainly knew how their mother would worry and so they wrote a letter while on the ship just saying that they were well and quite excited and on course for America. They hadn’t expected to be able to do that but it was a practice on some ships to encourage it, even providing the paper, envelopes and pens, since it was known it helped homesickness for many of the passengers, at least in steerage or third class, who were often not there through choice but forced through poverty and unemployment to make for the Brave New World.

The next letter came after they had met up with Frankie and his uncle and were taken to share a bedroom in Aiden’s quite sizeable home. Finbarr wrote:

Before we came to America we had to go to a place called Ellis Island to see if we were free from disease. We were prodded and poked and examined and in the end the doctor said I was fit enough but needed more flesh on my bones. Colm was told the same and we were mighty glad because if you fail that medical you’re sent back. We were asked questions, general knowledge sort of thing, and an account of why we have come to America and we found the Christian Brothers had beat enough knowledge into us for us to be able to give a good enough account of ourselves.

Colm wrote:

From Ellis Island you can see the New York skyline and all the skyscrapers some of the fellows on the ship had told us about. What a sight it was. And dominating the waterfront was the huge Statue of Liberty. Liberty that burns in the heart of every Irish man. This is truly the land of the Free and neither of us can wait to experience that.

‘They seem happy enough anyway,’ Matt said. ‘So far at least.’

And they continued to be fine as they described the long straight streets of New York that had numbers instead of names and the shops and the buildings that towered above them till you could almost feel they were actually scraping the sky. They described the tramcars and the trains that run underground that the Americans called the subway and they talked of the job they did building motor cars.

Mary wished they wouldn’t write in such glowing terms of the great life they were leading for she saw the same restlessness in her two younger sons, which intensified when Gerry finished his apprenticeship in 1909 and was immediately laid off. Angela knew that Mary was worried they would want to follow their brothers to America, but she also knew how tight the financial budget was. Maybe if she got a job and could contribute a bit and things were a little easier they would stay.

In 1910 Angela would be fourteen and could leave school but as her birthday was in early April it was after Easter before she could leave school and only then if she had a job to go to, otherwise she had to stay until July. From the experience her brothers had had she knew any job might be difficult to find.

‘I don’t like the thought of you in a factory anyway,’ Mary said in early March.

‘Mammy, I don’t think I can be that fussy,’ Angela said. ‘Think of the way Finbarr and Colm searched for employment and they were willing to do anything and in the end they had to go to America to get a good job. Maybe,’ she added with a grin at Mary, ‘I should try that too?’

‘Don’t even joke about that,’ Mary said. ‘We’ll keep looking. There must be something and we have got time yet.’

It was Norah who told her about the vacancy at George Maitland’s grocery shop. It was a little out of the way for them, but she had gone visiting an old neighbour who had moved there and seen the card in the window.

‘People around said he had a boy helping him but he caught rheumatic fever. They did think at one time the boy wasn’t going to make it but when it was obvious he was going to recover George Maitland didn’t advertise his position in case he wanted to come back to work, so my friend said. She said, “He’s a decent sort that way, George.” He even had his crabbed wife to help him a time or two but she insulted more than she served, my friend said, and if she was more in the shop in general and not just when he was short handed people would go elsewhere for their groceries.’

Angela wrinkled her nose. ‘She doesn’t sound very nice. But if the boy is recovering, I don’t see why he’s advertising now for someone new.’

‘That’s it,’ Norah said. ‘Apparently he is as well as he ever will be, but he’s left with a weak heart and the doctor said the work in the shop is too strenuous for him, so as he can’t go back there’s a vacancy. Do you know the shop I’m talking about?’

Angela nodded, ‘I’ll go up tomorrow.’

‘What about school?’ Mary asked.

‘I think this is more important,’ Angela said. ‘Jobs are snapped up these days and it’s nearly holidays anyway and if I secure this job my school days are numbered and I’ll be earning money almost straight away.’

Mary couldn’t argue with that. ‘I think you do right. We’ll sort out the school later and I hope you get it.’

So early the next morning George Maitland turned as the bell tinkled and saw one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen standing in his shop. She had white-blonde hair and the most vivid blue eyes and when she smiled at him it was as if someone had turned a light on inside her.

Angela in her turn saw an oldish man in his late fifties, if she had to hazard a guess. He had a pleasant face rather than a handsome one for he had a large nose and a wide and generous mouth set in slightly sallow skin. He had plenty of hair but it was a bit like pepper and salt in colour and matched his big, bushy eyebrows. Beneath those eyebrows were the softest kindest eyes she had seen in a long time and he said, ‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes, please,’ Angela said. ‘I’ve come about the ad.’

‘The ad?’

‘Yes it’s in the window,’ Angela said. ‘About a shop assistant.’

‘You want to work in the shop?’ George said. He had never thought about employing a girl before but there was no rule against it and he realized he would like to see that pleasant and attractive face every day.

‘It’s five and a half days a week,’ he said. ‘All day Saturday and half day Wednesday, that all right?’

‘That’s fine, sir,’ Angela said, hardly daring to believe that this man was going to employ her. She could go home and put a smile on Mary’s face, because it was nearly the holidays so she could start work straight away. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she added and wondered if it was bad form to ask about wages. She needed to know, but wouldn’t like to scupper her chances.

George wondered if she knew how expressive her face was. He was surprised she hadn’t asked straight away what she was to be paid when he told her the hours she would be working, but knew from her face she was working up to do it now.

And so he forestalled her. ‘And the wages are ten and six a week,’ he said, knowing if he had employed a boy he would have started him on twelve and six.

However, Angela didn’t know that and ten shillings and sixpence sounded fine to her, especially when George added, ‘And a basket of groceries every Saturday.’

George readily agreed to write a note for the school so that Angela could be released from school early and she began in the shop at the start of the Easter holidays. She was a hit with most of the customers and soon he didn’t know what he had ever done without her. She loved serving in the shop and it showed. She greeted every customer, even the awkward ones, with a bright smile and if someone had a sick child they were worried about or a doddery mother or chesty husband she would remember and enquire about them. Added to that, she was quick and efficient and could reckon up faster and more accurately than any boy he had ever employed.

He felt quite paternal towards Angela. She could easily have been his daughter and how he wished she was. He had thought by the age he was now he would have sons to help him in the store and carry on after his day, as he had done with his father, and maybe a daughter or two to gladden his heart.

But it was not to be, for Matilda didn’t like that side of married life. That hadn’t worried him at first for girls of her class were not supposed to like sex and as they were heavily chaperoned during their courtship he was unable to ask or reassure her about it. In fact they had both been so constrained and had such little time totally alone thatt he knew no more of Matilda when he married her than when the courtship had begun.

She was completely innocent of sexual matters or what you did to procreate a child. In that she wasn’t unusual of her station; very often it was expected that the husband would teach a girl what was what on their wedding night. So George imagined that he would talk to her about sexual matters and any problems could be sorted out.

However, she didn’t even like discussing such things. She said it was ‘dirty talk’ and was completely disgusted when he explained how they might conceive a child together. She threw him from her with such force that he almost fell out of bed while she screamed at him that she was surprised at such dirty words spilling from his mouth and she never wanted to hear a word about it again. So nothing was sorted out at all.

Matilda agreed to share a bed and often lay beside him as stiff as a board, but that was all. She wouldn’t allow George to touch her in any way. He had initially thought she might come round in the end, but as time went on her attitude became more and more entrenched. He begged and pleaded, cajoled, but Matilda wouldn’t budge an inch. ‘But don’t you want a child, my love?’ he’d asked in desperation and frustration one night.

‘A child!’ Matilda had shrieked as if she had never heard of such a thing. ‘No I don’t want a child. I have no desire to find myself lumbered with some smelly, bawling brat.’

George felt a stab in his heart as he realized he had fallen for a beautiful face, for in her youth Matilda had been a stunning beauty and he had been overawed that she had agreed to walk out with him. Her parents made no objection to their courtship for though George was ‘Trade’ he was known as a steady, sober and easygoing sort of chap who would inherit the shop after his father died.

What George got was a shell instead of a real flesh-and-blood woman. One who looked good on the top but with nothing underneath. He was heartbroken that his dreams of a family to fill the rooms above the shop would only ever be dreams and never become reality. However, he believed marriage was for life and if you made a bad choice you had to live with it, and as he wasn’t the sort of man to force himself on a woman he settled for a loveless and a sexless marriage.

He felt ashamed that his wife spurned him so totally and he threw himself into the shop, knowing there he was in charge and a success, but it was a sterile success for he was working only for a woman who had no interest in it and was only interested in the profit made.

And now Angela had brought brightness to his days he was almost content.

Angela could have told him he had brought contentment to Mary with the groceries she took home each Saturday. In fact it was more than contentment. In fact that first Saturday, as she unpacked the bag and laid all the articles on the table, Mary burst into tears and wiped her eyes on her apron as she felt the worry of making nourishing meals for them all slide from her shoulders.

And so when Angela gave her her wage packet unopened she extracted sixpence from it and gave it back to Angela. ‘I don’t want it, Mammy,’ Angela said. ‘The money is just for you.’

Mary shook her head. ‘It’s right you keep something, for the men hold back their ciggy money, so you should have something.’

‘But I don’t smoke.’

‘I should think you don’t,’ Mary said. ‘But there might be something else you want. Save it if you can think of nothing just now, but you can rely on sixpence coming your way every week.’

‘Thank you Mammy.’

‘Yes, and talking about smoking, I wish your father didn’t do so much of it,’ Mary said. ‘He has that hacking cough and smoking can’t help. Smoking less might help his stomach too.’

‘What’s wrong with his stomach?’

‘Oh I don’t know,’ Mary said. ‘Indigestion most likely. It only seemed to start when you started bringing the food from Maitland’s. His stomach’s not used to good food, too rich for him.’ And then she added as she saw Angela’s brow creased in concern, ‘But don’t worry yourself, Angela. If that is what’s upsetting him he’ll get used to it in the end.’

FIVE

Mary thought life had finally reached a more or less even keel. She had no idea what the future held, but just for the moment things were going along nicely. True, like their elder brothers, Sean and Gerry could find no permanent jobs, but that wasn’t so important now that Angela was bringing in ten shillings a week and a big bag of groceries. Barry, now two thirds of his way through his apprenticeship, had had a raise and he was able to also tip up ten shillings a week and Matt earned three pounds and kept little back for himself. It meant if Sean and Gerry had earned anything it was a bonus and if they hadn’t managed that, it didn’t matter.

Barry knew that wasn’t how his brothers viewed things because he had discussed it with them. They felt failures and they viewed the lives of their brothers in America with unbridled envy. ‘I don’t think I’m asking a lot,’ Sean said. ‘I want a job of work that pays enough for me to live independently, pay rent and bills with enough over to buy some much-needed clothes, or have my leaky boots mended, or go out for an evening and have a few beers. Now I call that living a life.’

‘Well you can’t do that here,’ Gerry said. ‘Just at the moment a person needs to go to America to live at all.’

‘Well why don’t you go then?’ Barry asked.

‘Basically because of you, mate,’ Gerry said.

‘Why me?’

‘Because we’re dropping you in the mire.’

‘How?’

‘Well we can’t all swan off and leave Mammy and Daddy on their own.’

‘They won’t be on their own,’ Barry said. ‘I have no yen to go to America and how will you not going to America help any of us?’

Both boys had to admit it would make little difference, but Gerry still felt bad about leaving Barry to shoulder all the responsibility of their ageing parents on his own, but Sean said, ‘At least Angela loves our mammy as much as we do, so there will be no problem when you wed.’

‘What d’you mean when we wed?’

‘Well you will wed won’t you?’ Gerry said. ‘Everyone knows that you are crazy about her. Plain as the nose on your face.’

‘Yes but Angela is little more than a child. She’s not even sixteen until the spring and I don’t know if she feels the same about me.’

Sean laughed. ‘Course she does. The love-light’s shining in her eyes every time she looks at you. Think Mammy’s aware of it and I reckon nothing would please her more because she loves Angela like the daughter she never had.’

What Sean said was true. Angela had no memory of her earlier life with her birth parents but the memories that were rock solid for her were of Mary cuddling her tight and tucking her into bed at night with a kiss. Angela knew she was truly loved by the whole family and especially Mary and Matt, and she loved them in return. Barry knew she loved him too and always had, but she was so young. It might be a childish love she had for him and not yet the love of a woman for a man, a love that would last a lifetime and stand strong and true against all that life might throw at them. He couldn’t ask such a young person to make a commitment like that, it wouldn’t be fair. He decided to stick to his original plan and wait until she was eighteen and he was through his apprenticeship before admitting how he felt about her and hoping she felt the same. So Barry never spoke to Angela but the boys wrote to Finbarr and Colm and said they wanted to try their hand in America.

The elder boys were delighted their younger brothers wanted to join them and they recommended that they travel in ships on the White Star line for there was more comfort for the third-class or steerage passengers.

Finbarr wrote further:

If I were you I’d take the train to Southampton and sail on the Titanic. I’ve been reading up about it and it’s the largest passenger ship in the world. It’s been made in Belfast and it has its maiden voyage on 12th April, a grand time to cross the Atlantic. There are electric lights, you sleep four to a room, three meals a day is all included and served in one of two dining saloons and there is running water in the shared bathrooms. And best of all it’s unsinkable. Just say the word and I’ll book you two places now if I can because lots might want a place for her maiden voyage. Our journey across was comfortable enough but it didn’t have the facilities like the Titanic. I wish Colm and I had been able to travel on it, but we’ll be here to meet you on the dockside.

Sean and Gerry were terribly excited to be given the chance to travel on such a magnificent ship and they read up all they could about it. Mary was absolutely astounded that her two other sons wanted to go to America too. ‘You’ll be next I suppose,’ she snapped at Barry.

Barry knew she wasn’t cross but frightened and he said gently but firmly, ‘Not me, Mammy. I’ve no yen to go travelling.’

‘What if they lay you off when you finish your apprenticeship?’

‘Shall we cross that bridge when we come to it?’ Barry said. ‘But even then I promise I am going nowhere.’

Mary let out a sigh of relief, but she didn’t want Sean or Gerry to go either, but what could they do? The slump seemed deeper than ever in Britain. There was a slump in America too but Finbarr and Colm seemed immune to it and they had guaranteed they could get their brothers jobs as soon as they came over. Matt could see the lads’ point of view though he too would miss the two of them sorely. Mary could see it, though wished she didn’t have to, and Angela felt a deep sadness that two more brothers were going to live an ocean away from her.

The boys did their best to reassure their mother. They showed her a picture of the ship and told her about all it had on board and everything, but as Mary said to them, there was always the chance they might fall ill or something. A few years ago the people in Ireland were leaving in droves for America and so many perished in the ships they began calling them coffin ships.

‘I know,’ Barry said. ‘Things are much improved now. I mean Fin and Colm gave a good account of their journey and the Titanic is supposed to be the best of its kind.’

They were travelling down to Southampton on Tuesday 9th April, which was Angela’s sixteenth birthday. Fin and Colm had paid for their train fare to Southampton and booked them into a lodging house near the docks and they would board the Titanic from there the following morning. ‘Get a good night’s sleep,’ Finn advised, but Sean and Gerry were far too excited to sleep. This was the start of the greatest adventure of their lives and they didn’t want to waste the whole night sleeping, and spent most of the night talking of the journey which they were looking forward to and of arriving in America where their lives would really begin.

On Monday 15th April a very excited woman arrived in the shop with news that the unsinkable Titanic had gone down in the Atlantic Ocean, sunk when it hit an iceberg. Apparently the news had appeared on an American newsreel and her aunt in America had sent a telegram to her as her son had been due to sail on the Titanic. But he had been taken ill and had to cancel.

The blood had drained from Angela’s face and eventually the woman noticed. ‘God, Angela, you’ve gone ever such a funny colour.’ Then she clapped her hands over her mouth and said, ‘Oh me and my big mouth, blurting it out like that. Your brothers were on it weren’t they? I remember talking about it when my Tom was due to go too.’

George had heard every word too and he said consolingly to Angela, ‘There will be lifeboats to get the people off, don’t worry. A big new boat like that will have enough to cope with any eventuality. And the ship might not even be fully sunk, people might still be on it.’ Then he turned to the woman and said, ‘Did it say anything else about those rescued, the survivors?’

The woman shook her head. ‘Don’t know if there’s any more to tell yet, not that you can get it chapter and verse in a telegram.’

‘No, course not,’ George said and he turned to Angela and said, ‘You should go home. What this woman has heard others can hear. You should be with your mother and send for Barry and his father. You need to be together.’

Angela went round for Barry before going home, for if Mary had heard any inkling she might need their support. When she told Stan what she had heard that morning he was upset himself and fully agreed Barry and Matt needed to be at home and when they were sent for she told them both what she had heard that morning. Matt gave a sharp intake of breath and his face drained of colour, but he said only, ‘This will hit your mother hard, Barry.’

It would hit Barry hard if anything bad had happened to them. They were his big brothers and he loved them. And yet he said to his father, ‘We know nothing concrete yet, Daddy. We must hold on to that.’

‘You’re right, Barry,’ Stan said as they left. ‘Sometimes these snippets of news are anything but helpful. Come and tell me as soon as you know anything definite. I was very fond of those young men.’

They walked home almost in silence, each busy with their own thoughts, but all were relieved to find Mary knew nothing, and they were able to tell her gently and hold her as she wept.

A telegram arrived the followed day from Finbarr. He didn’t know if the news of the sinking of the Titanic after hitting a massive iceberg had reached British shores so he explained that first and explained another ship called Carpathian had picked up survivors and was estimated to be arriving in New York on 18th April. The news gave everyone renewed hope. The men returned to tell Stan, who relayed the news to the workforce. Angela went to tell George, and neighbours hearing of the sinking of that gigantic vessel with two of the McClusky sons on it came to say how sorry they were, and they too went home cheered that survivors had been picked up by another ship.

They existed in a kind of limbo for a couple of days. Norah Docherty, knowing the same fate could have happened to her son, was great company for Mary in keeping her spirits up and Mick took Matt to The Swan for a pint. In fact, Matt, the very moderate drinker, had far more than one pint since many of the men wanted to buy him one – their way of showing sympathy – and it ended up with Mary and Angela helping the very drunk Matt up the stairs to bed. As they lowered him on to the bed, Angela said, ‘Are you going to undress him?’

‘I am not,’ Mary said emphatically. ‘I’m not even trying to move his hulk around to get him more comfortable. I’ll just remove his shoes, that’s all, and I’ll tell you, I’d not have his head in the morning for a pension, and yet I can envy him because for the last few hours he has been able to stop worrying about those lads.’

‘They’ll be all right,’ Angela said. ‘They probably had a fright and might have got a bit wet, but they are big strapping lads and know how to look after themselves.’

‘Of course they do and you are right,’ Mary said and Angela so hoped she was right as she followed Mary down the stairs.

On 18th April just before eight in the evening, Finbarr and Colm had stood just outside the harbour in New York and watched the Carpathian sail in. And once the Carpathian had docked, the two young men surged through with the rest to check the list of survivors to see if their younger brothers had been among the lucky ones. A sailor from the rescue ship, seeing their anxious scrutiny of the lists pinned up, asked who they were searching for, and when they told him he said that few men had got off. ‘I heard as how there weren’t even enough lifeboats for everyone.’

‘Not enough lifeboats?’ Finbarr repeated almost in disbelief.

‘Well wasn’t it supposed to be unsinkable?’

Finbarr nodded. ‘That’s what they claimed wasn’t it, Colm?’

‘Yes,’ said Colm in agreement. ‘I mean, that was one reason we encouraged them to travel on the Titanic.’

‘Well it hit a gigantic iceberg, see. Most of an iceberg is below the water, you only see a bit of it, and whatever way it happened, it hit the iceberg and started to sink. I heard this from the sailors we pulled onto our ship,’ the Carpathian sailor said. ‘One of them said when the iceberg was spotted there wasn’t time to turn such a large ship to avoid it. He said if they hadn’t tried to avoid it and had hit it head on it probably would have been all right but, as it was, it crashed into the side and the iceberg ripped straight through it and it started to fill with water.’

‘What were you doing picking up sailors when more passengers could have been in the lifeboats?’ Finn asked.

‘They were the sailors chosen to row the lifeboats,’ the Carpathian sailor said. ‘If they hadn’t rowed away from the ship as quick as possible when it sank it would have pulled the lifeboats down with it. Then we’d have had no survivors at all to rescue. There were a few other men as well. Travelling first class, some were let on the boats straight away, but then the crew found out how dire the situation was and after that it was women and children only that were loaded into the lifeboats.’

‘And the rest of the men?’ Finbarr asked, though he knew the answer.

‘They went down with the ship,’ the sailor said bluntly. And then, looking at the clothes Finbarr and Colm had on, which marked them as working men, the sailor went on, ‘Would your brothers be travelling steerage?’

‘They were,’ Finbarr said. ‘What of it?’

‘Nothing,’ the sailor said. ‘That is, nothing good. It’s just that these sailors told us that few steerage passengers, carried in the bowels of the ship, made it to the lifeboats anyway, not even the women and children. One told me some hadn’t even got to the deck when the ship sank without trace.’

‘People wouldn’t have been picked up by other ships, would they?’ Colm cried, desperate to find some glimmer of hope. ‘Like if they were clinging to some wreckage or something like that to keep afloat?’

The sailor shook his head. ‘Sorry, mate. First off, there were no other ships in the area. Ours was the only one who answered the distress call, so probably any other ships were too far away to be of any use. And secondly, even if someone had managed to hang on to wreckage, how long do you think they’d last in water cold enough to have huge icebergs floating in it? One minute? Maybe two, but no more than that before they froze to death.’

Colm staggered at the news. They bought papers on their way home and read the reports of the collision that sank a ship claimed to be unsinkable on her maiden voyage. It was news that shocked the world, and their brothers had died, and the way they died was horrendous, and Finbarr in particular felt as guilty as Hell for urging Sean and Gerry to follow them.

When they returned to their lodgings they decided to say nothing to their mother and father about the things the sailor from the rescue ship told them. ‘It would serve no purpose and only upset them further,’ Finn said. ‘Anyway, it’s not the thing to put in a telegram, and that’s what we must send first thing tomorrow and we can write them a fuller letter later.’

Colm agreed, ‘Aye and it will be hard enough to cope with the loss of two sons and enough to be going on with.’

And so the bare telegram just said that neither Sean nor Gerry were among the survivors on the Carpathian. They had been waiting for the telegram and yet Angela’s fingers shook as she took it from the telegraph boy. ‘Any message?’ the boy asked.

Angela shook her head. ‘No message.’

She shut the door and turned and gave the telegram to Barry, for she couldn’t bring herself to open it. Barry took it from her and read the few bald words out to them all as his own voice was breaking with emotion, and tears sprang from his eyes as he felt the aching loss of his brothers. Angela did too, but she pushed aside her heartache to deal with Matt and Mary who were in pieces.

She knew that until the arrival of the telegram Matt and Mary would have hoped it wasn’t as bad as they feared. They had encouraged this. They had all hoped themselves because it’s what people did. But now all hope was snuffed out, Sean and Gerry were gone and she would never see them again, and if she felt the pain of that loss so keenly, she could only imagine what it was doing to Matt and Mary, and the anguish etched in both their faces tore at her heart.

Even after the telegram Barry and Angela couldn’t understand the scale of this tragedy and in the papers Barry had brought in they had both read about the proverbial unsinkable liner, on its maiden voyage, that had indeed sunk and sunk so quickly when it struck an iceberg that though 705 had managed to get into lifeboats and so were saved, 1,517 perished. Most of the fatalities, the papers claimed, were steerage or third-class passengers and any that were rescued were women and children. The lack of enough lifeboats for all the passengers was also discussed, and the fact that a lot of the lifeboats were not full when they pulled away from the ship, for the Titanic sank quicker than anyone thought it would.

The newspapers made grim reading and Angela hid the papers away in the cellar with the kindling for the fire, intending to burn them when she got the chance, for she and Barry both thought dealing with the death of their sons was quite enough to be going on with, without constantly reading about such a disaster. But that was hard to do without Matt or Mary catching sight of the headlines and so on, because they seldom left the sitting room.

Coming into the room the evening following the arrival of the telegram, Mary had sobbed afresh as Angela helped get her ready for bed. Angela said, ‘I understand Mammy’s distress really because I suppose the telegram snuffed out the last glimmer of hope that she kept burning in her heart. I know it did for me, for I loved them just as if they had been my true brothers.’

‘Yes,’ said Barry with a sigh. ‘I know you did and they knew it too. And I know the casualty figures are shocking, but knowing that two of those left to die are your own flesh and blood is hard to take. But that is what happened, and they are dead and gone, so that neither of us will see them again. But that’s how it is and we must deal with it.’

Everyone felt sorry for the McCluskys and many understood the spiral of depression Matt and Mary had sunk into when the telegram arrived, cutting off all hope that either of their sons might have survived. So they continued to pop in and out as they had when the news first broke and didn’t usually come empty-handed. Unable to do anything to ease the situation, they brought a bit of stew they had left over and cakes they’d made, and Angela marvelled that these people, some of whom had little enough for themselves, were willing to share with them. Norah also visited, and Stan were always popping in and out.

The priest, Father Brannigan, came too, purporting to show support and sympathy in their loss, but managed to turn it round to slight condemnation against Matt and Mary for letting the boys go in the first place. While he drank two cups of tea he ladled three sugars into them and ate all the scones that one of their neighbours had brought round for them earlier that day.

Eventually, annoyed at the implied criticism Angela knew Mary and Matt were unable to cope with, she said, ‘Sean and Gerry had no permanent work, Father. They had to go each day to the factories to pick up a few hours’ work if they could. Often they arrived home empty-handed.’

‘Many work that way.’

‘But maybe they haven’t an alternative,’ Angela said. ‘But Sean and Gerry had two brothers already in America who could find them good jobs and have them lodging in the same house as themselves. It was a wrench for them to go for all of us, but I know they felt bad when they could contribute nothing at home. They saw themselves as a drain on the family and could see no future for themselves. No-one did anything wrong and yet Mammy and Daddy have lost two sons and maybe prayers, rather than censure, would be more helpful at this point.’

Had Mary and Matt been thinking straight they probably would have been surprised at Angela talking to the priest that way, but it all went over their heads and even Father Brannigan didn’t come back with a sharp retort as he would normally, for he was unused to any form of criticism from his parishioners. However, Angela’s words had hit home and he had seen the sadness lurking behind her eyes that glittered with unshed tears, and so they all knelt and said the rosary together and before the priest left he promised to say a Mass for the repose of the boys’ souls.

That comforted Angela a great deal but it didn’t seem to sink in to Mary and Matt. As the loss turned into a manageable ache, Barry had to go back to work, for they had to eat, and Matt made no effort to return. Mary seemed incapable of caring for the house or cooking anything and so Angela tried to give up the good job she had at Maitland’s grocer shop to look after them both.

However, Mr Maitland wasn’t happy losing his assistant who worked so hard and was a favourite with the customers because she was always so cheerful, and he said it had been a terrible tragedy and it was unreasonable to expect the parents to get over the loss of two sons straight away, and he gave her another week before he advertised for someone else. Barry was glad about that because he was the only one working and he hoped Angela could return to work before too long because money was so short.

However, the extra week was drawing to a close as one day slid into another with no change, and that night as Barry made his way home from work he’d made a decision, but first he had to talk to Angela. He had a bit of a wait but he was a patient man. Angela had cooked liver and onions and Barry tucked in with relish, glad that Angela was such a good cook and an economical one. His parents, he noted, had eaten little and he knew if they were to recover from this, he had to give them something to look forward to.

Eventually, with Mary and Matt helped to bed, Angela sat down on the settee before the hearth opposite Barry with a sigh. ‘Tired?’ Barry asked.

Angela nodded. ‘A little but it’s the emotional part of it that wearies me most.’

Barry shook his head. ‘I don’t know how you put up with it day by day.’

‘Well I owe your parents my life and love them dearly anyway. But I could cope much better if I could see some light at the end of the tunnel and for their sake more than mine.’

Barry suddenly moved to sit beside Angela and caught up her hand, something he hadn’t done since she’d been small and she wasn’t sure how to react. But she had no time to think because Barry looked deep into her eyes as he said, ‘What do you think of me, Angela?’

Angela looked at the dear and familiar face and his intense dark eyes and felt her stomach turn over like she had butterflies fluttering inside and her mouth was dry enough to make her voice husky when she said, ‘Wh … What d’you mean?’

‘You know what I mean,’ Barry said almost impatiently. ‘But if you are shy of saying so I will tell you what I think of you. That all right?’

Angela gave a brief nod and Barry went on, ‘I love you, every bit of you. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you with your blonde curls, your lovely blue eyes. But those eyes in the early days were sad and confused, and I wanted to help you and so I was determined then to be the best big brother I could be.’

‘And you were,’ Angela assured Barry. ‘But you were more than that. You were my protector, my knight in shining armour. I wouldn’t have got on half as well without you and I loved you too.’

‘As a brother?’

Angela swallowed deeply and said, ‘Yes, as a brother.’

‘You were a child and I was a child,’ Barry said. ‘But my love for you has changed and deepened and now I love you as a man loves a woman and I need to know if you feel the same.’

Angela didn’t answer straight away but then what she did say was, ‘I think it’s wrong for me to feel towards you any other way than as a brother.’

‘Why?’

‘Well we were brought up as brother and sister.’

‘Yes but we are not brother and sister. There is no blood between us and that’s what counts,’ Barry said earnestly. ‘Look, I had no intention of speaking of this, not because I was unsure of my own feelings but because I know you are only just sixteen and I am only nineteen. I intended leaving it two years till my apprenticeship is over and I’m earning decent money.’

‘You might be in an even worse state financially then, if you are laid off when you turn twenty-one as your brothers were,’ Angela said.

‘Yes and I’m afraid it may well be,’ Barry said and it did worry him that he would end up the same, but there was nothing he could do about that. He shrugged. ‘It’s a chance I must take,’ he said. ‘But whatever happens I’ll want you by my side, loving me as a woman with a love strong enough to withstand anything life throws at us.’

He hoped she felt the same, for he would not force her, and so he said almost tentatively, ‘Angela, could you love me even a little bit?’

Angela had been having strange yearnings flowing through her body when she was near Barry, or sometimes even when she just thought of him for months. She wasn’t sure what they were and she had tried to ignore them, pushing them down into her subconscious, certain the Church would say they were sinful. Most enjoyable things were.

But Barry’s words and passionate eyes boring into hers had unlocked her feelings and so she answered, ‘No.’ She saw his face fall and she added with a smile, ‘There’s no way I can love you a little bit, I can love you an enormous big bit.’

Barry felt as if his heart had stopped in his breast and he looked at Angela incredulously. ‘You mean that?’

‘I most certainly do. I can’t say when I stopped loving you just as a brother; I just know that I tried to push the feelings down, but the thought of not having you in my life fills me with fear. But now we have admitted our feelings for each other I think we will have to keep them secret from Mammy.’

‘Well my brothers seemed to think she knows already.’

‘Oh, she’s maybe guessed a bit but she won’t know for definite,’ Angela said. ‘I think we must hide our happiness for a wee while.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, out of respect, I suppose.’

‘You knew Sean and Gerry as well as I did,’ Barry said. ‘And if it is as the priests say and they are in a better place and can look down on us, knowing them well, do you think they’d be happier in Paradise if we lamented long and hard and went round with faces that would turn the milk sour?’

‘Yes but …’

‘Angela, don’t think me heartless,’ Barry begged, ‘for I’m really not and there’s not a day goes by when I don’t miss my brothers, but they would want me to get on and live life. Besides, I’m not just thinking of me in this but of Mammy too, particularly Mammy, for if we wed soon she will have to take a grip on herself because there would be a wedding to plan and the thought of grandchildren to gladden her heart. It will give her something to look forward to, something to live for.’

Angela wasn’t at all sure that Barry was right in his assumptions, but now they had admitted their feelings for each other she doubted they could continue to be discreet, and anyway, she didn’t want some hole-in-a-corner affair. Barry had at least convinced her that they were doing nothing to be ashamed of, so she didn’t want to go skulking around her own home and perhaps lying to Mary and Matt, for that wouldn’t be showing either of them any respect at all. No, it had to be out in the open. ‘You’re right Barry, it’s only right that they be told as soon as possible.’

‘Yes,’ said Barry. ‘I’ll speak to them tomorrow after dinner.’

SIX

The following evening Angela had made an excellent stew from a selection of vegetables and a scrag end of mutton she had queued for hours in the Bull Ring to get. She wanted to make something a bit special for she knew Barry was intending to speak to his parents that night and in their present lethargy and sadness she wasn’t at all sure how they would react to it.

As they sat at the table Angela thought Mary looked just a shade better. There was a spark in her eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long while and she was pleased to see that Mary at least had got her appetite back, for she attacked her dinner with relish. Small signs of recovery, surely, and she couldn’t help feeling that what Barry was going to say might knock her right back again. When everyone had finished, Angela cleared away and made a cup of tea.

Normally they would take the tea to drink before the fire, but Barry asked them to sit at the table and drink it because he had something he wanted to say to them. Angela saw Mary gazing at Barry fearfully. Angela’s mouth went suddenly very dry and she watched Mary’s face with apprehension as Barry explained that the brotherly love he had always had for Angela had changed to real love and just the previous day Angela had admitted she felt the same way. ‘So now we know we truly love one another, we want to get married,’ Barry said.

Mary smiled wryly and she wondered if her young son thought he was telling her news because she’d seen how it was for the young people some time before. They had betrayed themselves in just the way they gazed at one another in odd moments. His brothers had been aware of it too, for she had overheard them discussing it and she couldn’t have been happier, for she had prayed for just such an outcome in her nightly prayers for years.

Before she was able to say this however, Matt spoke and as he hadn’t spoken since the arrival of the telegram, Angela was pleased that their discussion seemed to have got through to him, even though his words were ones of censure. ‘Talking of marriage when your brothers are barely cold?’ he said to Barry and his voice was almost a growl and the words seemed wrung out of him. ‘At best it’s unseemly and disrespectful. I’m ashamed of you, Barry.’

‘And not getting married will bring the boys back, will it?’ Mary demanded, before Barry had a chance to speak.

Angela looked at Mary her in astonishment. Mary caught the look and with a sigh admitted, ‘I’ve been thinking for a while that maybe I have been selfish, wallowing in self-pity.’

‘Ah no, Mammy,’ Angela contradicted. ‘You haven’t a selfish bone in your body.’

Mary shook her head with a sad smile and said, ‘I am no saint, my dear, and you have done your best to shield me from what happened on that tragic boat. But today when you were in the market, your father was feeling a bit chilly and so I went down to the cellar to get the makings to lay the fire and there I saw the old papers you kept from me and I read that entire families were lost on that ship and …’ Mary’s voice faltered and stopped as she recalled her shock and horror reading the words Barry and Angela had sought to protect her from. The anguish in her heart had forced a cry from her and tears stood out in her eyes for her own lost sons. And yet she knew they weren’t the only sons lost, there were also husbands, fathers and brothers lost. All no doubt beloved members of families who would always miss them, because even the relatively few passengers from steerage that had been rescued were women and children, the lucky ones.

Remembering this now she said to Barry, ‘Were there no men at all from steerage saved?’

‘Well it was women and children first,’ Barry said. ‘In the papers I read it said that at first, when the sailors began loading the lifeboats, it was first-class passengers first and there were men too. When they realized how bad the situation was, the men were refused and they only took women and children.’

‘Well I read in one paper that there weren’t enough lifeboats for all on board anyway,’ Mary said. ‘I think that a scandalous state of affairs.’

‘It was supposed to be unsinkable,’ Barry pointed out. ‘I imagine Finn and Colm feel bad because they encouraged Sean and Gerry to go on that ship.’

‘Because it was supposed to be the safest way to cross the Atlantic,’ Mary said. ‘And yet nothing changes, for aside from the men, most of those who were left to die in the icy sea were steerage passengers. Women and children, even wee babies.’

‘It was a dreadful thing to happen,’ Angela said. ‘I was beginning to think you would never recover from such tragedy.’

‘I was beginning to feel that way myself,’ Mary said. ‘But even before I found the papers in the cellar I had told myself that I must get over it. I mean I don’t think there will be a day goes by when I’ll not miss those boys and wish with all my heart they hadn’t died and certainly not in that awful way, but had they not died I was hardly likely to see them again, for few people ever return from America, and so it’s as if they are dead in a way.

‘Oh, they could have written as Finn and Colm do and I am pleased they have such good jobs and, please God, one day they will write and tell me of the girls they intend to marry and later the birth of children I will never see. It is hard rearing children who are unable to find any sort of future in the country where they were raised so that they have to go so far across the foam, but the reality is four sons have already been lost to me.’

Angela’s heart bled for the abject sorrow on Mary’s face because every word she spoke was the truth. And then Mary gave a sigh and went on, ‘However, some in that fated ship lost all belonging to them, while I still have one son left and I have Angela, who is as close as any daughter. For the two of you to wed is what I have longed for and though both of you are young, life is uncertain and I think we should go ahead and plan the wedding.’

‘I see you are determined upon it,’ Matt said. ‘Going on as if our sons had not existed.’

‘If they lived they would applaud us,’ Mary said. ‘And I doubt they’d feel any different dead. They knew the way the wind blew between Barry and Angela probably before they realized it themselves. I know you are hurting, for I am myself, but we can’t undo this terrible tragedy. Sean and Gerry died a painful death and that will stay with me always. But this is a new start for us all and if you can’t see that then you’re a numbskull.’

‘Oh, it’s a numbskull I am now, is it?’ Matt said, affronted.

‘Yes you are,’ Mary said unabashed. ‘If you can’t see that this is the way forward, the only way, something in life to look forward to and in time rejoice in.’

Matt was quiet and Angela could tell he was thinking over Mary’s words as she knew he often did. She was astounded at the rapid turnabout Mary had made and wondered if they’d been right to try to shield her. She was a lot stronger than either of them had given her credit for and this truth was compounded when she turned to Angela and said, ‘Now weddings cost money and I know there is precious little to spare so how about trotting off to Maitland’s Grocery tomorrow morning and seeing if you can have your old job back. Didn’t you say he was keeping it open for you?’

Angela nodded. ‘Till this Monday.’

‘Well tomorrow is Saturday, so if he has kept his word your job will still be there for you.’

‘Shall you be all right?’

Mary nodded. ‘I might be better if I have less time to think.’

‘Shall you mind going back?’ Barry asked.

‘No,’ Angela said with a laugh. ‘Why should I mind? I loved my job and I know the money is needed. I can’t wait to start if you want the truth.’

‘Good,’ Mary said. ‘That’s settled then.’

The next morning Angela set off for Maitland’s Grocery Store early, fairly certain that George Maitland would be there getting ready for the first customers, and when she tapped on the door he opened it with a beam. ‘Am I pleased to see you,’ he cried, throwing the door wide. ‘Come in, come in and give me the news.’

‘Well the first thing is I would like my job back, please,’ Angela said.

George sighed in relief as Angela explained that she now felt able to leave Mary and Matt to fend for themselves and return to work. ‘They are much improved,’ she told George when he enquired after them. ‘At least,’ she added more honestly, ‘Mammy has improved. I think Daddy will never really get over it and I think he sort of blames Fin and Colm for encouraging the two younger ones to go. Mammy doesn’t and she says that tomorrow she is going to write and tell them so because you know they write regularly and we expected a letter from them after the telegram but we have heard nothing. Barry thinks they might be a little scared to write and he could be right, but anyway if that’s the case Mammy intends to remedy it.’

George nodded. ‘She’s a great woman, Mary.’

Angela nodded. ‘She is indeed and I know that more than most.’

‘But Matt hasn’t got much better you say?’

Angela shook her head and added, ‘You would hardly know what he thinks, because he seldom says anything at all and none of it good since the arrival of the telegram.’

‘No sign of him getting back to work?’ George asked. ‘That might help him get a grip on himself.’

Angela shook her head vehemently. ‘He’s not fit,’ she said. ‘Not physically I don’t mean, though he’s thinner and frailer than he was because he eats so little and has started having pains in his stomach again, but he’s had those pains for ages. Mammy thinks it’s indigestion. But I’d be more worried about his emotional state. Barry thinks he might never work again.’

‘It must be hard for you financially with Barry not out of his apprenticeship yet.’

Angela shrugged. ‘It has been hard but we have managed just about. Needs must and all that.’

‘Well I’m delighted you’re back. The customers have been asking for you. Mrs Maitland has had to come and help me at busy times.’

Angela wrinkled her nose, for Matilda Maitland had scarcely set foot in the shop since she had been working there. ‘Bet that didn’t go down too well.’

George didn’t speak, but shook his head with a smile before going on to say, ‘Well this has decided me. I have thought about it time and enough. I am putting your wages up two shillings to twelve and six.’

Angela gave a gasp. ‘Oh Mr Maitland. Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure, my dear,’ George said. ‘And I will pack you up a big bag of groceries to take home with you today and every Saturday night after we close.’

Tears were standing out in Angela’s eyes and she brushed them away impatiently and determinedly swallowed the lump in her throat as she said, ‘Thank you so much, Mr Maitland. You are very kind.’

George Maitland’s voice was gruff as he answered the girl he had grown so fond of in the two years she had been working at the shop and he said with a twinkle in his eye, ‘Not at all, my dear. I’m looking after myself, that’s all. It’s just a ploy to get more hours’ work out of you, for people can work harder if they are not hungry.’

Angela knew it wasn’t that at all but she didn’t bother arguing, but instead began removing her coat. ‘Shall we make a start then?’

‘Now? You mean start right now?’ George asked.

‘Why not now?’ Angela said. ‘I have to start sometime and it might as well be today as Saturdays were always busy and usually needed two of us.’

Angela spoke the truth as George knew well. He’d actually thought that morning that he’d probably have to ask his wife to lend a hand before the day was out. He hated asking her, because she detested serving in the shop and made that abundantly clear and was so short and abrupt when she served people that she upset some of his best customers. And now here was Angela offering him a solution. ‘Well if you’re sure?’

‘Course I am,’ Angela said. ‘Looks like I’m needed too because there’s already a queue forming outside waiting for you to open up.’

There was and George hurried to open the door. The people poured in, most only too delighted to see Angela behind the counter again.

The day passed swiftly as busy days often do. Though she assumed the family would know why she hadn’t returned home after seeing George Maitland, she found a small boy in the street who agreed to go and tell them for two ounces of monkey nuts. She had no dinner with her, but Mary realized that and sent a sandwich back with the child. Angela was very grateful and ate it in the store room as she always did.

When George returned to the shop he appeared pensive. ‘What are you thinking about so intently?’ she asked with a smile.

‘I’m thinking that it’s madness for me to go upstairs for my dinner every day while you sit in the store room eating a sandwich.’

‘Why is it?’ Angela asked. ‘I don’t mind. I’ve done that since I started here.’

‘I know, for that’s how Matilda wanted it,’ George said grimly. ‘But you will feel more able to do a full afternoon’s work with a good dinner inside you and Matilda is a good cook, I will give her that.’

Angela was quite happy with a sandwich and knew that however good the food, she wouldn’t take full enjoyment of it in the stilted atmosphere there would be, because she’d only be there on sufferance. But then she knew it would save money for them all if she was to be given her dinner at the shop. She would only need a light tea and a meal only had to be cooked for Barry when he came in from work. She knew Mary would as usual see to herself and Matt at dinner time and then they could have tea with her. That surely was more important than Matilda Maitland’s bad humour. And yet she said, ‘Mrs Maitland might not like it.’

‘You leave Matilda to me,’ George said. ‘From now on you will eat dinner with us. Agreed?’

‘If you say so, Mr Maitland,’ Angela said with an impish grin. ‘You’re the boss.’

‘Glad you realize that at least,’ said George, but he had a smile on his face as he turned the sign to OPEN and unlocked the door.

Mary cried when she unpacked the two shopping bags George had filled with groceries for them all. There were three loaves of bread that George said would only go stale if they stayed in the shop, a block of lard, and another of butter and a chunk of cheese. There was the ham and corned beef that had been left at the end of the day and a side of bacon left on the bacon slicer and a dozen eggs, and then he had added a jar of jam and a packet of biscuits. Mary could see the makings of many meals with the food George Maitland had given them and when Angela told her about the raise and the new arrangement Mary felt the nagging worry slide from her shoulders that they wouldn’t have enough to eat, heat the house and pay the rent.

‘You must take a little more for yourselves,’ she said to Angela.

Angela shook her head. ‘I don’t want anything.’

‘Listen to me,’ Mary said. ‘You think you know all there is to know about Barry, but you know him as a brother. You need to get to know him as the man you will spend the rest of your life with and, please God, as the father of any children you may be blessed with and for that you two need to get out more on your own.’

‘We haven’t the money for that sort of thing.’

‘With your increased wages and Barry’s money we have enough,’ Mary insisted, ‘especially if you are guaranteed a hot dinner every day and George sends home groceries every week. Anyway you don’t have to spend a lot. Now and again you could maybe go to the cinema, or the Music Hall, or if money was tight you could just go for a walk, or go down the Bull Ring on a Saturday evening where there is great entertainment to be had I’ve been told.

‘And another thing,’ Mary went on before Angela had time to form any sort of reply, ‘tell everyone about your impending marriage so the two of you can openly go down the street hand in hand, for you are doing nothing wrong.’

‘I know that,’ Angela said. ‘I wasn’t sure about it myself at first, you know, with Barry nearly a brother to me, but he convinced me that it was all above board to feel as we do.’

‘Hmph, and he might have to do some more convincing before he is much older.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Why did you think it might be wrong?’

‘Well I suppose because we had been brought up so closely,’ Angela said. ‘I knew Barry loved me. He said that when I arrived at your house first, though, he couldn’t understand much of it, but he felt sorry for me because he said I looked so sad and he was determined to be the best big brother he could be. And he was and I always loved him. I loved you all of course but there was always a special place in my heart for Barry, my big brother, so when those feelings changed I thought they must be sinful, so sinful I nearly told it in confession.’

‘But you didn’t,’ said Mary with a smile.

‘No I didn’t because to give voice to it would make it more real,’ Angela said. ‘At the time I was trying to convince myself that I was imagining things. And I suppose I was sort of ashamed.’

‘Well all I’m saying is that others may feel as you did at first,’ Mary said. ‘In fact some around the doors think you are brother and sister. We came here as a complete family and I thought of you as my daughter by then, and you were a wee sister to all the boys, and so many will think these feelings you have for each other very wrong indeed. And so I don’t want you to hide away as if you were guilty of some crime. Hold your heads up high.’

SEVEN

How wise Mary was, Angela often thought in the weeks that followed that little chat, for there was open condemnation from neighbours. George Maitland had been slightly alarmed when she told him as well as being surprised, though he knew they were unrelated because Angela had told him when she first came to work in the shop how it had transpired that she was living with the McCluskys. But he knew what people were like and many he knew would take a dim view of this state of affairs, and the customers in the shop were shocked at first and it didn’t entirely stop when Angela told them she wasn’t Barry’s sister, for some still considered it bordered on an incestuous relationship.

Added to that was what they saw as a lack of respect shown to their two boys drowned in the Atlantic Ocean. ‘There was no decent period of mourning at all,’ women muttered among themselves around the doors.

‘And that cock-and-bull story of her not being related to the McCluskys at all doesn’t ring true to me.’

‘Yes they’re all the same family as far as I’m concerned,’ another agreed. ‘I’m surprised Mary doesn’t put a stop to it.’

‘Wait till Father Brannigan gets to hear. He’ll roast the pair of them alive.’

Some women showed their displeasure initially by refusing to be served by her. Angela found the animosity hard to take for she had never encountered it before; she’d always thought she was well liked.

Mary told her to take no notice, that their news would be a seven-day wonder, that was all, and then it would be someone else they turned their attentions upon. Angela knew that that was probably true, but meanwhile she found it hard to approach a group of chattering women, who fell silent as she grew near and ignored any tentative greeting she offered, and she felt their eyes boring into her back as she walked away. ‘Miss hoity toity,’ someone called after her as she passed. ‘Marrying her brother with no respect for the dead.’

Barry seemed not to notice, or at least not to care. ‘Why worry?’ he asked Angela one Saturday night as they made their way to the cinema. ‘While they’re pulling us to pieces they’re leaving some other poor devil alone.’

But it was almost a fortnight since the news that Angela intended to marry Barry McClusky became public, and just that morning a woman had refused to be served by Angela. She dreaded the day when George Maitland would ask her to leave and although the money she earned as well as the groceries given ensured their survival, she would still be glad not to face the bevy of scornful, judgemental women day after day. She turned to Barry now and said, ‘Don’t you care what they are thinking about us and what some are even saying?’

Barry gave a little laugh as he shook his head. ‘Slides off me like water off a duck’s back,’ he said. ‘It would matter only if it were true, but it isn’t. You and I are doing nothing wrong and you must really believe that, or it will taint the time we have together.’

Angela knew Barry was right and cuddling up tight against him as they walked, she felt safe and secure and it was easy to tell that she cared not a jot for the opinion of the neighbours.

After a while the animosity calmed down a little when George eventually took his customers in hand and assured them Angela was no blood relation to the McCluskys and far from showing lack of respect to the two boys that drowned, they decided to marry early to give Mary some reason to go on, to give her something to look forward to, for she was in danger of falling into depression.

Most customers accepted that. Many of George’s customers were Catholics and went to St Catherine’s and knew the McCluskys to be a respectable family, and no wonder Mary was so very desolate, losing two sons like she had. Giving her a reason to go on would seem to be a good idea. However, over three weeks later another customer, one Edith Cottrell, known for her caustic tongue, still refused to let Angela serve her.

Angela turned away with a sigh and George Maitland saw the tears in her eyes and it angered him. He knew there were plenty of shops on Bristol Street that people could go to if they decided to boycott his shop. And yet he felt that he could no longer stand by and allow Angela to be treated so badly by some of his customers and so he faced the woman and said, ‘Angela must serve you, because I’m busy.’

The woman was affronted. ‘I’m a respectable person I’ll have you know,’ she said. ‘And I am particular and I will not have that hussy serving me.’

Angela’s head shot up and her eyes were no longer full of tears. Instead they flashed fire and her face was flushed as she demanded angrily, ‘Who are you to call me a hussy? Let me tell you my foster mother Mary McClusky would likely wash my mouth out with carbolic if she heard me using that word about another person, especially if it was totally unfounded as yours is. I called Mary McClusky my foster mother because that’s who she is and the fact that people think she is my mother speaks only of her generosity of spirit that allowed her to take into her home the orphaned child of her dear friend, my mother. She cared for me and gave me as much love as she did her own sons. My name is Angela Kennedy, but soon, when I marry Barry, I will be called McClusky and will be proud of that.’

‘Hmph,’ Edith Cottrell snapped irritably as she added, ‘And does Barry McClusky know what a she-devil you are and one with an evil temper?’ She swung round from glaring at Angela to face George Maitland and said, ‘You should take care who you employ, or you’ll find decent people won’t come in here. I’ll go elsewhere and I’ll spread the news, never fear.’

Angela knew by giving way to that outburst, however justified she might have thought it was, she had alienated one of George Maitland’s customers and she knew the knock-on effect that could happen from that. She bitterly regretted risking making life more difficult for such a kind man who had helped her, and therefore the family, a great deal. So she gave a small sigh before saying to Edith Cottrell, ‘You needn’t bother going anywhere because it’s me that’s leaving.’ And she removed her apron as she spoke.

‘What you doing?’ George cried. ‘Put that apron back on!’ And he leaned across the counter and said, ‘Angela will not be leaving, Mrs Cottrell, but you will, for I don’t want your sort in here abusing my staff for no reason and, if any of your friends are of like mind, they can stay away too. Good day to you.’

Edith Cottrell looked from Angela biting her bottom lip in anxiety and still clutching her apron in her hands to the resolute George and she said, ‘I hope you know what you are doing.’

‘I do absolutely,’ George said. ‘And as I said before, good day to you.’

Edith Cottrell had no option but to leave and as she flounced through the door and shut it behind her with a slam Angela looked at George and said, ‘Oh Mr Maitland. What have you done?’

‘Something I should have done a while ago. Never could stand the woman anyway.’

‘But won’t she destroy your business?’

‘She may try,’ George conceded. ‘But the woman isn’t liked whereas you are, by many people, and so I think the majority will have more sense than to heed her. Mind,’ he added with a little chuckle, ‘they may have a peep into the shop to see this she-devil I have working for me.’

‘But, George, they should know me,’ Angela protested. ‘I’ve been working here ages now and, to be honest, I was surprised anyone had any sort of negative reaction when I told them about me and Barry.’

‘It was shock, that’s all,’ George said. ‘And some who moved here after you probably did think that Barry was your brother, for you were all brought up like one big family. Most now, knowing the truth of it, are fine, but you always get the odd ones, like Edith Cottrell, who see sin when none exists. Take no heed of her.’

Angela tried to do just that and it was easy enough to do as Edith never went near the shop. Others did though, for George was right. Whatever it was Edith told them, a stream of women entered the shop over the next few days to buy sundry items, but really to see if Angela had overnight turned into the screaming she-devil virago Edith Cottrell probably described.

They found her unchanged and thought it wrong of Edith to bad-mouth her so, for the girl was doing no harm at all. In a way Edith did Angela a favour because after that everyone behaved as they always had towards her and many even offered their congratulations.

Some expressed concern that she was very young to marry but then others put in that it wasn’t as if they didn’t know one another. And it wasn’t as if Barry and Angela would be totally alone starting married life for they would live with Mary. Barry had made that abundantly clear and Angela didn’t seem to mind that either. Truly, if Barry had suggested leaving she would have done her best to dissuade him, for she couldn’t bear Mary to be left alone with Matt, who was so still and silent it was as if the lifeblood had been sucked from him.

There was just about enough money to buy everything needed in the house, but little slack and Barry suggested to his mother that she should see if Matt was entitled to anything as he was unable to work.

Mary shook her head. ‘There’s nothing for the likes of us Barry,’ she said. ‘If you don’t work you starve.’

‘No,’ Barry cried. ‘There’s something called the National Insurance Scheme that looks after you when you’re sick. Dad has been paying in for a year or so. I don’t know much about it because it doesn’t apply to apprentices, but the Gaffer – you know Stan Bishop – said to tell you and for you to have a word with him, like. He’s been on about it since that last time he called to see Dad.’

Mary knew Stan was an honest man who would put her right about things and she went see him expecting nothing, only to find Matt, like all workers, was in a scheme where he paid four pence a week, the employer three pence and the government two pence, which entitled him to seven shillings for fifteen weeks, but he had to be deemed unfit to work in the first place by a doctor. It might have ended right there because Mary hadn’t money to spend on a doctor who might say there was nothing wrong with Matt at all, and then they would get nothing and still have a doctor’s bill to find, and this was what she said to Stan.

‘Oh, you don’t have to pay for this doctor, Mary,’ Stan assured her. ‘He’s on the panel. That means part of the scheme and paid out of the contributions.’

‘And what if they find nothing wrong?’ Mary asked for in her heart of hearts she thought Matt was suffering from extreme sadness, because she was suffering from that too, only she had forced herself to get on with life for the sake of the two left to her and the sadness receded slightly to a constant but bearable ache. She had tried talking to Matt who would look at her with rheumy, anguished eyes and just mumble, ‘I can’t, Mary. I just can’t.’

‘I think he’ll find Matt is too sick to work,’ Stan said. ‘It hasn’t got to be anything physical, but there again he’s not a well man, Mary. When I called to see him last time I was shocked at his appearance. He was skin and bone.’

Mary shook her head. ‘I know, he won’t eat.’

‘Well, there is something radically wrong when a fit man shrinks away to nothing,’ Stan said. ‘Let’s get the doctor to have a look at him shall we?’

Matt didn’t want to see any doctor and it took the combined efforts of them all to convince him to agree to it, but when the doctor called Mary was on her own, because Barry and Angela were both at work. The doctor was as aloof as most of them were, but he wasn’t there to be a friend but to find out if there was something wrong with Matt, or just the loss of his sons that had caused this malaise and weight-loss. She had to admit that the doctor seemed to know his stuff and he checked Matt all over and asked him loads of questions and then he faced him and said directly, ‘How long have you known?’

‘Known what?’ Mary demanded. ‘What you on about?’

Matt ignored Mary and it was the doctor he addressed as he said, ‘Not long all told.’

Mary looked from one to the other and said, ‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on?’ And then all of a sudden the men’s faces were so grave she didn’t know whether she wanted to hear what they were going to say. But even as she mentally backed away she told herself it was yet one more thing to be faced. She swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in her throat, faced the doctor and said, ‘Go on.’

‘Your husband, Mrs McClusky, has a tumour in his stomach,’ the doctor said gravely.

Mary wasn’t totally sure what a tumour was, but it didn’t sound a great thing to have and so she said, ‘So can you take it out?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘Nothing happens,’ the doctor said, and went on to say to Matt, ‘I can give you something for the pain.’

‘You never said you were in pain,’ Mary said to Matt almost accusingly.

‘I was, but I was in such agony at losing the boys anyway,’ Matt said. ‘That hurt so much, any other pain didn’t seem to matter. And then you were suffering too, so how could I load it on you?’

‘And were you in a lot of pain?’

Matt shrugged, but the doctor said, ‘A great deal of pain, I would have said, judging by the size of the tumour now.’

‘Aye,’ Matt said. ‘The pain was bad enough at times but still nothing to the loss of two sons drowned in the Atlantic Ocean.’

The doctor raised quizzical eyes to Mary and she said, ‘Our two sons were lost at sea, making for America to join their older brothers. They travelled on the Titanic.’

Everyone knew about the loss of life on the Titanic and Mary saw the doctor’s eyes widen in sympathy and he quite knew why the man before him had ignored the pain he must have had for some time. Not that it would have made any difference to the outcome, but maybe he could have made him more comfortable.

‘Is that really all you can do,’ Mary said, ‘just give him painkillers?’

‘The man can’t work miracles, Mary,’ Matt said. ‘I’ve come to the end of the road and that’s all there is to it.’

Mary had not realized the doctor would be able to do nothing. Doctors were important and powerful and to seek their advice usually cost more money than she ever had, and what was the point if they could offer no cure? Matt on the other hand seemed to accept his fate and he just asked the doctor, ‘How long have I got?’

‘It’s impossible to be absolutely accurate, Mr McClusky,’ the doctor said. ‘However, the tumour has grown very large and seemingly quite quickly, so I would say months rather than years.’

Mary gave a gasp of shock as she realized that soon she would lose her man, who had been by her side for many years. They had shared in good times and lean ones and she knew she would miss him a great deal.

Matt looked across at her and gave a wan smile as he said, ‘Best tell our Barry and Angela to get a move on planning that wedding if they want me at it.’ And only Mary saw the tears glittering behind his eyes.

Angela and Barry were devastated to hear what the doctor had said when Mary told them as soon as they arrived home from work. Angela felt tears spring to her eyes because she loved Matt and she would miss him very much. She remembered when she was small and he was fit and strong he would lift her up onto his broad shoulders and carry her around the room. He had a special smile just for her and called her his wee little lassie. However, she didn’t let the tears fall because she knew it would be worse for Mary and felt she had to be strong for her, but Mary had had time to come to terms with the doctor’s prognosis. Her tears were spent, helped in part by Matt who had urged her not to take on so. He said everyone has to die some time and he’d had a fairly good innings.

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