‘I hope so.’ Lizzie’s expression was hard to read. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget the first.’
‘Of course not,’ Mrs Marston said. ‘Truth be told I’m hoping it’s not too late for me. To have a child. Stranger things have happened. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted, really. A baby. Well. A baby and Mr Marston.’
I stood and grabbed a hotel dressing gown to cover my bathing dress. ‘I feel a bit light-headed,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you at tea.’
Mrs Marston said to Lizzie, as if I had already left, ‘A morose one, your friend. She needs to find a husband, that’s all, isn’t it?’
‘Who says I haven’t found a husband?’ I pulled the belt of my dressing gown tight, my voice too baldly irritated.
‘Now, now,’ Mrs Marston said, as if she were used to being in charge. ‘Keep your head, dear, I was only japing.’ As if to prove it, she let out a merry laugh, trilling through the cavern, reverberating; the least happy sound I could imagine.
Here Lies Sister Mary
ALL OVER THE world girls waited to hear from soldiers they’d never see again, but I was lucky to love a man who kept his promises. Finbarr folded a pound note into the first letter he sent.
He wrote, I thought I’d grown dead inside till I saw you standing there in the square.
He wrote, It wasn’t just Armistice that swept me away.
He wrote, We should have waited for our wedding night, it’s true, but I know in my heart there never will be a more perfect moment. And our wedding night will come, Nan, never you doubt it.
And then his second letter arrived, empty of money. It only said, I love you and I’m afraid I’ve come down with a fever.
I didn’t feel too well myself.
My father received word from Ireland. Uncle Jack survived the war – remaining unscathed in battle. But he came home from the front with influenza and gave it to his wife and child. Aunt Rosie recovered. Uncle Jack did not. Nor did Seamus. It had seemed such a mercy that my sweet cousin was too young to fight in the war. And now he was dead all the same. It seemed the tides of this war would never stop lapping our shores. I wept for my lost second family, my beloved farm standing empty. My mother comforted me, not able to stop herself from pressing her palm against my forehead.
When Emily Hastings got sick, Megs, Louisa and I were forbidden to visit her. ‘It’ll be a miracle if it passes you girls by,’ my mother said at dinner, wiping tears away. ‘Did you know Andrew Pennington died just yesterday? All these young people. Boys who came home safe from the war, only to be killed by the flu.’
The giant and kindly crowd that swept Finbarr and me together had been teeming with invisible sickness. My mother gave up her job at Buttons and Bits and insisted I do the same.
‘No you don’t,’ my father said, when he caught me trying to leave our flat. ‘It’s not safe to be out and about just now.’
‘Megs thinks we already had it last spring,’ I said. All three of us girls had come down with mild fevers and recovered quickly.
‘Thinking is different to knowing,’ he snapped. ‘And knowing’s what I’d need before letting you into danger.’
For years there had been little warmth between us. But in that moment I could see in his face the loss of his eldest child, and his brother, and the nephew he’d scarcely known. Da had aged a hundred years since I’d last allowed myself to really look at him. So I hugged him tightly. I thought of Finbarr’s letter. Would there be anyone left in Ballycotton who’d know to write to me if he died? We didn’t have a telephone. Certainly the Mahoneys didn’t, there was hardly even electricity in Ballycotton.
‘You look green around the gills, Nan,’ my mother said that evening. She checked my temperature again. She couldn’t keep her hands away from our faces. ‘You’d better rest. I’ll bring you a plate.’