Patricia took them off and handed them over. She felt completely powerless. The key turned in the lock and she was left alone, sitting on the bed in the dusty half-light of a perpetual Sunday afternoon. She began to weep once more. Everything seemed hopeless. Even her half-baked plan to call the police seemed impossible. She hadn’t seen any sign of a phone downstairs, even though she knew there had to be one. She’d heard it ringing. It struck her that it had been some time since the phone had rung in the house. Had Mrs Foley got rid of it just to thwart her?
For the first time since arriving at Castle House, she decided to pray. Down on her knees at the side of the bed, she put her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut. The familiar words tumbled from her lips.
‘Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the end of our death. Amen.’
She waited. Had anyone heard her? She doubted it. All her prayers had gone unanswered thus far in her life. It seemed unlikely that she would be listened to now. The Holy Mother didn’t care about her. Patricia was like a forgotten umbrella left damp and leaning against the door of the shop. She shut her eyes.
‘Please deliver me from this place and bring me back to my home and my family. I know that I’m a sinner but I cannot see what I have done to deserve this. Please help me in my hour of need. Amen.’
She considered if it was worth bargaining with the Almighty, but with what? She didn’t smoke or really drink. Her first-born could become a nun or a priest, but at this point the chances of her ever having a child or any kind of recognisable life seemed very remote.
Patricia bent forward and rested her forehead on the bed. She was so alone, but why was this any worse than her life had been before? Hadn’t she always been alone? The years she had spent sitting downstairs in the kitchen waiting for a shout or a knock on the floor to signal that her mother needed something. The months since the funeral, still spent sitting in the same room but now with nothing to wait for. If only she had simply accepted her fate. It was her desire to change things, her last-ditch effort not to be alone that had led to this. For a moment she was outside herself, up near the ceiling, looking down on this foolish woman kneeling by a bed, mouthing prayers that would go unheard. A strange calm took hold of her. Maybe she should just accept her fate this time, not struggle. She wasn’t thinking properly. Everything made her feel tired and confused. Getting up, she reached for the little bell. She would use the bathroom and then escape from the rest of the day into sleep.
The next morning, she woke early. A weak glow pressed at the gap in the curtains and her tired eyes scanned the familiar room. She noticed that on the floor by the side of the bed was a basket that hadn’t been there before. Patricia peered over to see it more clearly. It appeared to be full of blankets. Odd. She hadn’t complained about being cold and Mrs Foley hadn’t mentioned giving her extra bedding. Her mind drifted to thoughts of the day to come. What chores might be in store for her? Would she be allowed to stay downstairs for longer? What were the chances of her being able to raise the alarm?
What was that? She thought she heard something. Leaning over the side of the bed she looked at the basket. The blankets were moving. Patricia froze. What was it? Had the mad old bitch put some sort of animal in with her? She sat up and pressed herself back against the wall, bracing herself for what might jump out. She held her breath. Then from the edge of the basket emerged a perfectly formed tiny pink hand.
NOW
Elizabeth was still shaking her head in disbelief as she put her overnight bag into her car. She had been worried that Auntie Eileen might have embarrassed her by not charging anything or maybe asking for a paltry fee. She had wondered how much she should insist on giving her. In the event, she needn’t have worried. The old lady very matter-of-factly announced that she was owed eighty euros. Elizabeth hoped that she didn’t look as surprised as she felt. That wasn’t much less than the hotel at the airport. She decided she would check out Coakley’s Cross on TripAdvisor.
Before she could drive off, Brian’s car pulled up and he stepped out, looking freshly washed and shaved, with his hair slicked back and a crisp white collar peeking out from his dark jumper. Unlike most dates, he actually looked better in the morning light.
Elizabeth opened her door and stood up, leaning on the roof of the car. She dreaded to think what she looked like with her oversized anorak zipped up to her chin and hair that she couldn’t remember checking in the mirror.