Page 162 of The Missing Sister
‘Is Ambrose all right?’ I asked him eventually.
‘He is, but obviously pretty devastated about upsetting you. I took him the sandwiches his “daily”, as he calls her, left for his lunch. He’s a nice man, I like him a lot. And he adores you, Mum, he really does.’
‘He was like a father to me, Jack, and a mentor academically, not to mention that I now know he was my financial benefactor. He had great things planned for my future.’
‘It sounds as though he and this priest – James – were very close.’
‘They were. I asked him how Father O’Brien was, but he said he hadn’t seen him for years.’
‘That’s sad. I wonder why.’
‘Who knows?’ I sighed. ‘I just hope it was nothing to do with me. Father O’Brien was a very good man, Jack. Some priests, certainly back in the day, could be so frightening, but Father O’Brien was approachable. He had humanity.’
‘Maybe we should take a walk and find a pub where we can get some lunch? I wanna try my first pint of proper Guinness,’ Jack smiled as he stood up and offered me his hand. ‘Any suggestions?’
‘Definitely,’ I said as I took his hand and let him pull me up. And I thought how I had never loved him more.
I took him to the Bailey pub in Duke Street, where we had gone as students. I was shocked to see how much it had changed: tables were set up outside, and men and women were eating fresh seafood in the sunshine. Luke, the dour doorman of my time, was of course no longer there, and the inside of the pub had been completely refurbished, the once battered tables and worn leather banquettes replaced by sleek new fittings, the only nod to its history being the pictures on the wall. The air smelt of delicious food, rather than stale beer and male sweat.
Jack pronounced his Guinness the best he’d ever tasted and I insisted he had colcannon and ham for his lunch.
‘That’s my kinda grub,’ Jack said as he put his knife and fork together, having finished the succulent ham and creamy mashed potatoes mixed with cabbage in record time. ‘It reminds me of your cooking, Mum.’
‘Well, Ireland’s where I learnt to cook.’
‘Yep. Er, Mum?’
‘Yes?’
‘I was thinking that maybe we should think about travelling down to where you were born. I mean, we’re here, aren’t we? In Ireland? It might be good to meet up with some of your family again.’
‘Go down to West Cork?’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh Jack, after this morning’s revelations, I’m not at all sure I’m up to that.’
‘Apart from seeing your family after all these years – and theyarestill your family, even after what Ambrose told you it’s the only place you’re going to get any answers about who your birth parents are. There must be someone who knows how you came to be left on Father O’Brien’s doorstep.’
‘No, Jack. I mean, even if somebody did know something back then, they’d be dead now, wouldn’t they?’
‘Ambrose is still alive and kicking, Mum, and there’ll be plenty more like him still left.’
‘Maybe, but I’m not sure I want to know. Would you?’
‘It’s a question I’ve never had to think about, but yeah, if I was in your shoes, I guess I would. Come on, Mum,’ he urged, ‘I’d love to see where you came from and meet your familymyfamily.’
‘Okay, okay, I’ll think about it,’ I agreed, just to shut him up. ‘Shall we go?’
Strolling back through the city, we walked into the lobby of the Merrion to pick up our keys, and the concierge turned round to take a note out of a pigeonhole.
‘Message for you, Mrs McDougal.’
‘Thank you.’
As we headed to the lift, I looked at Jack. ‘Who would be sending me messages? Nobody knows I’m here.’
‘You’ll have to open it and find out, won’t you?’
‘Can you open it?’
‘Okay,’ he said as we entered my room.
