Page 139 of The Missing Sister
Maggie took Merry’s head in her hands and kissed the top of it.
‘You’re a good girl, so, Merry. Whatever happens to me, you must listen to Father O’Brien and Mr Lister. They’ll help you, I know they will.’
‘Yes, Mammy, I will, o’course, but you’ll be home soon enough.’
Maggie took her daughter in her arms and held her tight, like she couldn’t bear to let her go.
‘Just remember to follow your dreams, won’t you? You’re special, Merry, and don’t you go forgetting you are. Promise?’
‘I promise.’
It was the last conversation that Merry would ever have with her beloved mother.
It was a bitterly cold January day when Maggie O’Reilly was buried with her newborn baby in the graveyard at Timoleague church. Father O’Brien took the service, and Merry held Pat on her lap, her brothers and sisters tight around her, all numbed with grief. Pat still hadn’t understood that his mammy had gone; the rest of the family had been unable to explain to the five-year-old what had happened.
Merry was relieved when Nora took him from her during the wake up at the farm, and carried him upstairs. She could still hear Pat screaming his little lungs raw, asking where his Mammy was.
‘I can’t bear the noise,’ muttered Katie, as she put out another plate of scones for the mourners. ‘What’ll we do now, Merry? What’ll happen to our family?’
‘I don’t know.’ Merry scratched distractedly at the high neck of her black funeral dress, too devastated to think straight.
‘Did you see all the people in the church?’ said Katie. ‘I’ve never seen some o’ them before in my life. Who was that old man walking with the stick? And that fierce-looking lady on his arm? Did Mammy know them?’
‘Katie O’Reilly, keep your voice down,’ hissed Ellen as she came up behind them, holding her two-year-old daughter, who she’d named Maggie after their mother. ‘I think that lady was Mammy’s mother,’ she whispered.
‘Our grandmother, you mean?’ Katie asked in shock.
‘I remember seeing her once in the street years ago, when I was with Mammy in Timoleague,’ said Ellen. ‘Mammy looked at her, and just as the lady was about to walk straight past her, she called out to her and said, “Hello, Mammy.” The lady didn’t answer, just carried on walking.’
‘She didn’t say hello to her own daughter?’ Merry breathed in disbelief. ‘Why?’
‘I’d not be knowing,’ Ellen shrugged, ‘but the least that woman could do is to come to her daughter’s funeral,’ she muttered angrily, then turned away to fill the mourners’ glasses.
Merry stood where she was, too numb to summon up the energy to ask more. It felt like the house was stifling hot and full of people. While all their friends and neighbours had come, Bobby hadn’t. He had caught her at Inchybridge the day before on her way back from getting some shopping in Timoleague.
‘I’m sorry about your mam, Merry. I wanted to tell you that my mammy said my sister and me are to stay at home. Maybe ’tis since my daddy died that she’s not been wanting to go to any funerals. ’Tis no disrespect to your mammy, Merry, or your family.’
She’d nodded, close to tears for the thousandth time since Dr Townsend had arrived with Father O’Brien to tell them all the terrible news.
‘It doesn’t matter, Bobby. ’Tis kind of you to explain.’
‘’Tis to do with our families, I think. Something that happened a long time ago, but I don’t know what. I’ll be seeing ye.’ Then he’d given her a hug the only way he knew how, squeezing her hard round her middle.
Merry felt as though she might suffocate where she stood. She needed to get away from the crowds of people that were milling around the New Room and the kitchen. Outside, she could hear the cows lowing in the barn, continuing on as though everything was normal, when it really wasn’t. And never would be again, because Mammy was never coming back.
‘Good Lord, what a wretched day,’ muttered Ambrose as he looked out of the window, the sky pendulous with heavy grey clouds. Like most people in northern Europe, he’d always loathed January. As a child, going back to school after the Christmas holidays had always been the most miserable journeys of his entire life. Nothing to look forward to, the weather dreadful, just as it was outside now. Up to his knees in mud as he staggered across a rugby pitch, waiting to be attacked by one of the larger boys, which, given how short he was, meant just about everyone on the pitch.
And now, all these years on, he had different reasons for feeling as miserable and helpless as he did today.
‘So, where do we go from here?’ Ambrose said as he sat down and stared at James, sitting opposite him in front of the fire in his study. It was a week since Maggie O’Reilly’s funeral, which he’d been desperate to attend, but James had said his presence would attract too much attention in the close-knit farming community.
‘Sadly, I doubt there’s much we can do, Ambrose,’ said James.
‘The family must be heartbroken.’
‘How else would they be? ’Twas Maggie who held that household together. Especially after John O’Reilly began drowning his misery in whiskey.’
‘How is he now?’
