me by now. Dympna had tried to warn me. She’d been
right. I glared at the air-conditioning unit, wishing I
could rip it out of the walls that imprisoned me here.
Sheridan had turned it up: her punishment for my refus-
ing to follow her schedule. I knew by now how the game
went. Behave and I received privileges. Misbehave and
punishment ensued.
Call it my hormones or my inbred streak of stubborn-
ness, but I could not simper and smile for her today. The
bitch. The thought of her bringing up my baby made
me feel physically sick. I only saw Sheridan at my scans
and health checks, and that suited me just fine. She never
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spoke to me. These days, she sent Juanita to monitor my
schedule. The girl would stand before me, her brown eyes
as big as saucers as she pleaded with me to comply. But
not a word of English would pass her lips. Back issues of
Celeb Goss were still coming and going, with snippets of gossip about Sheridan’s past life. It didn’t surprise me that her relationship with her mother had been fraught.
But was there more to it than that? There was no forced
entry at the address where Dorothy died, yet the same
article mentioned Sheridan being given a key.
Was Juanita issuing the warnings? If so, she was stay-
ing tight-lipped. I wondered what she was thinking on
the days she watched me do my pregnancy stretches and
repeat the stupid chants that Sheridan had made up. Daniel
had kept his distance since we’d shared our first kiss, but I knew he was busy at work. For days after I hurt Sheridan’s
nose, I had screamed for release. I even tried refusing to
eat, but I could not deprive my baby for very long.
I never received the security pass to activate the lift
that Sheridan had promised when I arrived. I dreamt
about breaking through the locked door of my room and
running out of the apartment to freedom. But all my ef-
forts to escape were exhausted, and my tummy seemed
to grow bigger each day.
Groaning, I rose from the sofa and waddled the short
distance to my wardrobe. It held plastic hangers on one
long rail, which was screwed tight to the inside. Beneath,
two fat drawers housed my underwear. There were no
belts, no ties, and even the cords in my hoodies had been
removed. It had taken me a little time to figure out why
I had no scissors, no cutlery, and why the mirrors were
made of plastic. Solitary confinement did not suit every-
one. It seems Sheridan had taken precautions in case I
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tried to top myself. This wasn’t a recent development. My
room had been suicide-proof from the moment I arrived.
I ran my fingers over the hangers, stopping at my
coat. I was grateful that at least Sheridan had left this behind. I remembered when I’d worn it to see my mother
in the coffee shop in Dublin and how upset she had been
when I left. Tears edged my eyelids as I recalled her need
to put things on an even keel. I slid it from the hanger and shrugged it on. It gaped open over my stomach. There
was no way it would button up now. But still, it felt nice
to wear something from Ireland. I lifted the collar to my
nose and inhaled. It was still there, a faint flowery trace of the perfume I used to wear. Sheridan had taken away
all my toiletries, replacing them with some organic stuff
that smelt like mud. The make-up I’d bought in Dublin
airport had also disappeared.
It must have killed her to see my glowing skin, my
fuller breasts, the shine on my hair. In an ideal world,
women looked out for each other, harbouring empathy
for issues our male counterparts could never experience
or understand. Sadly, both Sheridan and I were lacking
when it came to sisterhood. The identity of my baby’s
father only served to prove how selfish I could be at times.
I pulled the coat around me, as it offered some protection
from the cold. I returned to the sofa, closing my eyes as I tried to imagine myself back in the coffee shop in Dublin.
What would I say now, if I were sitting across from my
mother? I could feel the strength of the bond between my
baby and I. Was it like that for my mother, too? Shoving
my hands into my pockets, my eyes snapped open as my
fingers rested on a pointed edge. There was something
behind the lining. What? I frowned as I delved my hand
further, through the torn lining and into the innards of
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my coat. My heart fluttered as I pulled out the hidden
treasure. I stared at the dove-grey envelope. It was the letter Mammy had given me, the one I had hastily shoved into
my pocket and had not had the heart to open. I clutched
it to my chest and sighed.
It was a blessing that Sheridan had not found it. I
imagined her delving into my pockets, not realising the
lining had given way. Slowly, I tore the envelope open.
Could I bear to read the words, for fear of what they might say? But I remembered the look on her face as I left. The
love I couldn’t see before. My baby kicked, reminding
me that I was almost a mother. That I had made my fair
share of mistakes.
‘Do you want to hear from your granny?’ I said softly,
as I talked to my little bean. Taking a deep breath, I
pulled out the notepaper, smoothed it back and read the
words aloud.
Dear Roz,
If you’re reading this letter then our meet-
ing didn’t go as hoped. I only have myself to
blame, but I’m not going to give up just yet.
Believe it or not, I’ve changed. When you
hit rock bottom, the only way is up.
I’m not going to say it was easy. I have a
lot of issues from my childhood which I’m
still working through. But the best things in
life are worth fighting for, and you’re always
in my thoughts when times get tough. The
truth is, I was an alcoholic. I tried to keep
it from you, but I imagine you’ve worked it
out by now. Alcohol helped blur the edges
of past problems that I wasn’t able to cope
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Caroline Mitchell
with. You see, my mother didn’t protect me
either. I only thank God that unlike me, you
were able to keep yourself safe. I hope you
can forgive me. It’s taken me a long time to
forgive myself. I want, no, I need to change.
Sweetheart, I wouldn’t blame you if you
grew up thinking that I didn’t care. But you
couldn’t be further from the truth. I was so
proud of you, but too ashamed of myself to
bring you into town or pick you up from
school. I couldn’t stand for your friends to
see what a failure your mother was. When
you drew those pictures of me – I couldn’t
bear the face of the cruel, bitter woman star-
ing back from the page.
I still have issues. I struggle with crowds
and I hate being the centre of attention. I shy
/>
away from people I don’t know. All these
years, I thought you were better off without
me. But Tony encouraged me to get back in
touch. I was terrified you wouldn’t see me,
and who could blame you? But the bond
between mother and daughter is not so eas-
ily broken, is it?
They say mothers and daughters are closest
when daughters become mothers themselves.
I dream about having a grandchild. I can even
see it in my mind’s eye. I hope I’ll get to share
the wonder of it all with you one day.
I love you, Roz. I always have. I’m sorry
for hurting you in the past.
With all my love,
Mam xxx
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I rested the letter on my lap, taking a deep breath to ease the quiver in my hand. Tears blurred my vision and my
breath jerked in a sudden sob. I knew of the bond she
spoke of. And as for her wanting grandchildren … what a
fool I had been. I had an inkling of her past issues. There was a rift in her family because of something her uncle
had done to her when she was young. Granny’s funeral
had been a tense gathering, and we did not stay for long.
At last, I understood. I wanted to tell her that even if she fell, she was still moving forward, and I would be there
to help her up. But all I could do was wrap my hands
around my bump and cry for the opportunities I had
missed. I might never see my mother again.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Dympna
Dympna wrinkled her nose at the smell of burnt offerings
hanging in the air. Her mother was not the best of cooks,
but her brother had wolfed down her rubbery lasagne
just the same. When they were young, the only way of
knowing supper was ready was if the fire alarm was go-
ing off in the hall. It had been nice to catch up with her
brother; she’d even helped him with his homework. She
had matured a lot since leaving home. But now she had
more important things on her mind – getting her father
alone, for one.
Outside an icy gale was blowing, testing every win-
dowpane in the house, but the radiators pumped heat into
her parent’s kitchen and their house was tropically warm.
‘What are you two up to?’ Dympna’s mother, Ann,
regarded them with a measure of suspicion. Up until
recently, Dympna had rarely spent five minutes with her
father. Now the two of them were as thick as thieves.
Dympna sat ensconced at the kitchen table, having
just made them both a cup of tea. ‘Nothing,’ she replied,
undoing the zip of her hoodie. Since living in her flat, she had become unaccustomed to the heat. ‘Want one?’ She
raised the teapot in the air. It still sported the home-made 234
The Perfect Mother
rainbow tea cosy Dympna had knitted when she was in
school.
‘I’d prefer an explanation.’ Folding her arms, Ann
leaned against the fridge and stared at them. Everybody
said that Dympna was the spit of her mother. They had
the same wild red hair, the same dogged determination
and the same healthy cynicism at times.
‘Dympna’s thinking about joining the guards,’ John
chipped in. ‘She’s been coming to me for advice.’
Dympna raised her eyebrow. How easily the lie had
slipped off her father’s tongue. She would have to up her
game if she wanted to keep Roz’s predicament from her
mother.
Ann’s face lit up with delight. ‘Ah sure that’s grand.
You’ll make a great ban garda. Aren’t I always saying…’
‘They don’t call them that any more. It’s just garda,’
Dympna said, referring to her mother’s term for female
police.
‘What does it matter?’ Ann said, reaching for a bottle
of wine from the fridge. ‘It’ll be enough to wipe the smile off that old biddy next door.’ She poured herself a glass
of white, looking more than a little smug. The jingle of
a television ad filtered from the TV in the living room,
momentarily distracting her.
Dympna sighed. ‘Don’t go telling everyone. There’s
all sorts of exams to pass, and they might not even be
taking on…’
‘They’re taking on.’ Her father paused to sip his tea.
‘If not now, soon. You won’t have long to wait.’
Dympna had enjoyed spending time with her father
and was genuinely coming around to the idea of joining
the police. But she had Roz to think of first. Everything
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else could wait. Her phone flashed with another missed
call from Seamus. She couldn’t bring herself to speak to
him right now.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Ann raised her glass in a salute.
‘ Fair City is starting – they’ve got the wedding tonight.
Something’s bound to go wrong!’
Dympna returned her smile. It was nice to have both
her parents under the same roof for a change. If her mother wasn’t off event-planning, her father was usually at work.
She waited for the audible click of the living room door
before she leaned in towards him. ‘I’ve not been able to find any pregnant celebrities on my list. Have you had any joy?’
He nodded, sliding a folded piece of paper from the
pocket of his jeans. ‘It took a while, but I managed to get some information from the Miracle-Moms site.’
‘That’s great,’ Dympna said, feeling a spark of hope.
‘Did they tell you who the mystery couple were?’
John shook his head. ‘I don’t have the justification
nor the jurisdiction for that.’ He slid the paper across the plastic table cloth her mother had just wiped down. ‘The
couple used fake names when talking to Roz. Here’s a
printout of the last messages between them.’
Dympna hungrily scanned the page, her concern
growing as she read:
Julie: I’m sorry to lay this on you at such
short notice, but I can’t progress. I’m preg-
nant. It’s been a wonderful shock for us both.
Roz: Oh. Congratulations. That’s wonder-
ful news. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got
some other couples to talk to. Can I still use
the hotel room?
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Julie: Of course, that goes without saying!
And please, have your meals and room ser-
vice with my compliments too. Look after
yourself while you’re over here. I’m sorry,
but I won’t be able to help you interview
the couples as I’d prefer to keep my identity
private. I hope you understand.
Roz: No worries. Thanks a million for the
hotel room. I’ll be grand. Congrats again on
your baby. They’re lucky to have you as a
mom.
‘Hang on a minute…’ Dympna jabbed at the printed
page. ‘This isn’t right.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ John replied. ‘They were
deleted from the main folder, although they were able to
recover them easily enough.’
Dympna reread the messages,
hearing Roz’s voice in
her mind. But the voice in the emails was wrong.
‘Roz didn’t write that,’ Dympna said, a sick feeling
rising in her throat. She knew that Roz was in danger.
Now it was written in black and white.
‘It’s the use of the word “mom”, isn’t it? Very
American. But the other words – “grand” and “thanks
a million” … whoever wrote this is trying to sound
like Roz.’ She gazed at her father. ‘Will the NYPD
investigate this?’
‘They’ll say it was a slip of the tongue. That Roz has
been talking to this Julie so long that she’s repeating her words.’
‘But that’s not true,’ Dympna said. ‘When Roz left
Dublin, she was a hundred per cent sure she was meeting
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this couple. Remember I told you that she rang me when
she got there? She said she was with them.’
‘Darlin’, I’m not disagreeing with you, but people
have been known to lie.’ He reclaimed the piece of paper,
tucking it back into his pocket. ‘Whoever this Julie is,
she’s deleted her account on Miracle-Moms.’
‘But the site checks them out. Roz told me. They do
a full background search.’
‘Yes, and that was two months ago. It’s their policy
to shred their users’ details the second they close their
account. Even if I got a court order, they wouldn’t have
a lot to give me.’
Outside, the rain slammed against the window, fol-
lowed by an ominous howl of wind.
Dympna’s glance fell on the wall clock as the seconds
counted down. What was Roz doing now? Was she even
alive? ‘We need to go public with this,’ she said, breaking the silence. ‘We should tell Mam, and Roz’s mam, too.’
‘Aye, I suppose we owe her that,’ John said gloomily,
running his fingers through his hair. ‘Why don’t you go
back to your flat while I have a chat with your mam.’
* * *
Dympna hated breaking her vow of confidentiality to
Roz, but there was no doubt there was something un-
derhand going on.
Battling the wintry weather, she boarded the bus for
home. She pressed her phone to her ear, listening to a
voicemail that Seamus had left. He sounded low, a world
away from his usual cheery self as he asked her to call
him back.
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Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Dympna
reflected on how much things had changed in the last
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