With Our Blessing

by Jo Spain

  Tom groaned. ‘Yes, there is actually. There’s no “I” in team. Right. Who’s your best?’

  ‘You met them – Ellie and Mark. I don’t know about you having both, though . . .’

  ‘Send both,’ Tom said, hanging up.

  ‘The house looks well,’ Willie said.

  Tom followed his eyeline. The Christmas tree stood behind the living room’s French windows, lights twinkling, soft falling snow completing the Yuletide look. Just for a moment he allowed himself to daydream that he was going home to start the annual holiday. It was his favourite time of year – the rich succulent foods, the welcome visits from family and friends bearing brightly wrapped presents, the women getting tipsy on champagne while he puffed on one of the Cohibas his brother always gave him and enjoyed a tall glass of golden ale.

  Paradise.

  Louise opened the door as Tom’s cold hands fumbled with his keys.

  ‘Do you think it will stick?’ was the first thing she said to him, referring to the snow still falling behind him.

  ‘And hello to you,’ he replied, kissing her on the forehead.

  She had flour in her sideswept fringe, its whiteness in stark contrast to her dark hair, which she had tied back in a loose ponytail. She was wearing an apron over her jeans and red sweater. Good smells wafted from the kitchen.

  She leaned around him to look into the garden.

  ‘Honestly,’ Tom said, shaking his coat off. ‘You would think this was sub-Saharan Africa the way Irish people react to snow. You know there’ll be homeless people freezing to death if it comes down proper.’

  ‘Tom!’ She clipped him on the ear.

  He pulled her to him. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured to the top of her head. ‘I’ve only a half-hour. That’s five minutes for tea and twenty-five minutes for being with my wife.’

  He started walking her, crab-like, towards the stairs.

  She laughed and pulled away. ‘Twenty-five minutes? Are we talking an unprecedented twenty-three minutes of foreplay? Isn’t it normally twenty-five minutes for the tea?’

  ‘You keep up that cheek and I’ll give you a caution.’

  ‘You’re a bloody caution,’ she laughed. ‘Your daughter’s in the kitchen.’

  He groaned. ‘I could be away for days.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ll be in a convent so it will be the last thing on your mind.’

  ‘Or the first, if what you read about these religious places is anything to go by.’

  She tutted as she walked towards the kitchen. ‘I was baking but I abandoned it to make you some sandwiches for the trip. I packed your clothes as well. Aren’t you going to tell me what a good wife I am? I only leave one household chore to take care of another.’

  ‘I can’t think why you’re bothering with a PhD in English, when you could be here, barefoot, fulfilling my every need,’ he said.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  Maria was at the kitchen counter, attacking dough, kneading it like it was some kind of wild animal she had to tame. She still looked peaky but less stressed. He stared at her, trying to see if anything else had changed in her appearance, anything to give away what was happening to her body.

  ‘Dad . . . Mam wouldn’t let me put the star on the tree until you came home.’

  Tom looked incredulously at Louise.

  ‘She shouldn’t be stretching.’

  Louise and Maria eye-rolled in unison.

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad, I’m starting my confinement any day now. Six months in a darkened room lying down so I don’t strain myself. Come in here and help me with this star. I was thinking about running up the wall before somersaulting back to the ground and placing it mid-tumble. But perhaps you could just hold me steady on a chair.’

  Tom followed her into the living room, Louise in his wake. This whole tradition was getting a bit absurd, particularly in light of the fact that his ‘little’ girl was now carrying her own baby.

  He pulled out the footstool for her. Louise had been conservative this year; the conifer was lower than the ceiling, which still bore the scratch marks from the previous treetop.

  Holding both Maria and the stool, Tom watched as his daughter placed the gold star on the top branch – the only one as yet unadorned.

  ‘Just think –’ Maria looked down at him innocently–‘this time next year, you’ll be a grandad.’

  Chapter 13

  Ray pulled up outside Laura’s house and hit the horn to announce his presence. The road she lived on was quiet; he nearly jumped himself at the sharp beep.

  He’d just got off the phone with Sister Concepta, who’d arrived back safely at the convent.

  He had been about to subtly hint at the possibility of accommodation for the detectives that evening, when she’d said, ‘You’ll stay with us of course? We’ve plenty of room.’

  He’d feigned surprise at her offer before accepting with profuse thanks.

  ‘The accommodation will be basic,’ she’d said, ‘but warm and comfortable. And you’ll dine with the sisters.’

  He looked at the clock on the dashboard: 2.30 p.m. Early, but he wanted to get the driving done in daylight.

  He beeped again.

  This time the door opened and an older woman looked out. Pulling her grey cardigan tight, she strode purposefully down the garden path towards the car.

  Ray cursed. He must have the wrong house. She’d said thirty-four, he was sure of it. Was it the wrong street?

  He hesitated for a moment before rolling down the window, in no humour to deal with a cranky housewife.

  ‘Do you not know how to use a doorbell, young man?’ the woman asked, in the thickest Kerry accent he’d ever heard. Thicker even than Sean McGuinness’s.

  ‘Er . . . sorry . . . I’m not sure I’ve the right house. I’m looking for Laura Brennan.’

  ‘You can find the house but not the front door, is that it?’

  Behind her, Ray could see Laura framed in the doorway.

  ‘Mam!’ she yelled out.

  Her flushed face was trumped only by Ray’s deeper shade of purple at being chastised by this Kerry matron.

  Laura was coming down the path now, her curly copper hair a magnet for the falling snow, which seemed to be avoiding her mother.

  Quite sensibly, in Ray’s opinion.

  He stepped out of the car, trying to appear cool and professional. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Brennan. I didn’t realize Laura lived with her parents. Sorry to disturb you.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Laura mumbled, mortified.

  Her mother sniffed. ‘Well, you’ve found your manners now. Lock the car and come in out of the cold. You might as well have a bite, too. Working on a Saturday and driving to Limerick, of all places.’

  ‘Mam, we don’t have time—’

  ‘Hush now, that woman is not going to get any more dead while you finish your lunch.’

  Mrs Brennan ushered the two of them up the path.

  Laura stared straight ahead, unable to make eye contact with Ray, as he was frogmarched in the door.

  A fire blazed in the old-style hearth against the back wall of the kitchen. An older man – Laura’s dad, Ray imagined – sat in a comfortable-looking recliner beside it. He nodded to the visitor.

  Ray sat across from Laura, who leaned forward and whispered, ‘I am so sorry about this. She makes everyone eat. It’s her thing.’

  He whispered back. ‘I’m just glad she didn’t make me sit on the naughty step.’

  The younger detective laughed, revealing two deep dimples in her cheeks.

  Her mother conjured another plate on to the table, and Ray felt his stomach do a little dance. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry. He’d grabbed some crackers in his apartment when he was packing. A home-cooked meal was a rare treat.

  His delight must have shown because Mrs Brennan placed her hand on his shoulder and said, ‘You can call me Faye.’

  She pulled out a chair and motioned to Ray to start eating. Laura pushed her remaining food a
round with a fork until her mother chided her to eat.

  ‘So, where’s this place you’re going to, eh?’ she asked.

  ‘Faye!’ Laura’s dad cautioned.

  Ray realized the newspaper was a bit of a ruse.

  ‘Take a puff of your pipe, Jim, and relax,’ Faye answered him. ‘Don’t mind him,’ she said to Ray. ‘A permanent guard. He won’t let Laura say boo in case they take her in under the Official Secrets Act.’

  Ray looked at the man in the corner in a new light.

  ‘It will be public knowledge soon enough. So, if you can keep it in confidence until then . . .’ he said.

  Jim lowered his paper, curiosity getting the better of him.

  Faye nodded. ‘We know how to do confidential.’

  ‘We’re headed to a convent down there. The victim was a nun.’

  The colour drained from Laura’s mother’s face.

  Ray was about to ask if she was okay when Jim interjected.

  ‘Was she killed because she was a nun?’ he asked.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Ray replied. There was no need for spin here. ‘We only got the ID this morning.’

  Jim sat back in his chair and puffed furiously on his pipe.

  Faye rose from her chair and walked to the sink, where she stared fixedly out the window. He’d only met her, but Ray sensed this reaction was uncharacteristically muted for her.

  ‘What’s the name of the convent?’ she asked, as she twisted a dishcloth in her hands.

  ‘Sisters of Pity,’ Laura answered.

  The woman visibly flinched.

  Ray lowered his fork.

  ‘Mam?’ Concern and puzzlement filled Laura’s face.

  Her father stood up and walked to his wife, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  ‘What is it?’ Laura asked.

  Ray was alarmed to see Faye shaking as she turned to face them.

  ‘Do you know the convent, Mrs Brennan?’ he asked, gently.

  After a pause, she replied.

  ‘I know it. Oh, yes, I know it. And may God forgive me, but if that woman was a nun there, she deserved to die screaming.’

  Chapter 14

  Tom rang Michael’s doorbell and waited, shivering.

  It was Anne, the detective’s wife, who opened the door. Tom was startled by her appearance. The Anne he knew was vivacious and lively. She kept her highlighted blonde hair cut in a neat bob and dressed in the latest fashions, flattering her slim figure.

  The woman standing before him now had put on weight. Her hair was shoulder length and dull, her face bereft of colour. She wore a baggy grey tracksuit and looked utterly miserable.

  ‘Tom,’ she said, a strained smile on her lips. ‘It’s lovely to see you. He’ll only be a moment. Will you come in?’

  ‘Good to see you, too. I won’t come in, pet. Willie’s waiting.’

  Tom was suddenly all too conscious that he hadn’t seen the woman since she’d lost her baby. Louise had organized a card and flowers, of course, but they had wanted to give the young couple space to grieve. He had to acknowledge it, but how did you broach a subject that was months old? So he stood there, mute, trying desperately to think of something to say.

  Anne was clearly more adept at dealing with the social ramifications of the loss.

  ‘I meant to ring Louise and yourself to say thank you for the gift.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he responded. ‘I’m . . . well, to be honest, I don’t know what to say. I’m so very sorry.’

  She nodded, and he could see from her expression that the miscarriage was far from dealt with.

  ‘No one knows what to say.’ She looked furtively over her shoulder and then said quietly, ‘It wasn’t the first time.’

  He almost didn’t catch it.

  ‘Oh.’

  Tom racked his brains for the right words and found himself wanting. Sensing that he could do no better than platitudes, he opted instead to place a comforting hand on her arm.

  It was the right move. Anne didn’t flinch or pull away.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, eyes glistening. ‘The worst thing is, it makes it scary to try again – for Michael, anyway. I can’t give up hope. And now I think—’

  She stopped short as Michael barrelled down the stairs.

  ‘Sorry about the delay, sir,’ he began, then noticed the look of concern on Tom’s face, before turning to his wife. He looked back at his boss and his features hardened. ‘I’ll be off, then,’ he said, coolly planting a peck on Anne’s cheek.

  He started down the path and all Tom could do was follow, giving Anne an embarrassed wave goodbye. She cut a lonely figure in the doorway but retreated inside before they were even at the gate.

  At the car, Tom placed his hand on the door before Michael could get in.

  ‘Michael,’ he said.

  The younger detective shook his head. ‘She told you, didn’t she?’

  ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

  Angry red blotches broke out on Michael’s cheeks.

  ‘It’s personal. She had no right . . .’

  Tom hesitated. He needed to frame what he was about to say very carefully.

  ‘Michael . . . for the most part, this is none of my business. But you’ve both been through something traumatic . . . and if it’s something you’re struggling to deal with . . .’

  He held up his hands as Michael glared at him.

  ‘You’re an excellent detective,’ he continued. ‘I’m just asking if you need to be closer to home. You don’t need to come on this trip. Others can take your place.’

  He watched as the younger man went through a range of silent emotions – anger at having his private life exposed, followed by embarrassment, pain. Then he seemed to deflate.

  Finally, he spoke.

  ‘I need to go, sir. You don’t understand. We’ve . . . we’ve lived with this for years. But this time is the worst. I’ve tried to be there for her. I’ve—’

  His voice choked, and he stopped. Took a deep breath. Then the words spilled out of him in a great release.

  ‘I’ve done as much as I can. The last few weeks she’s been so moody. She’s putting on weight, crying all the time. Sometimes she won’t get out of the bed. When she does, she slopes around and says she’s tired. You tell me it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but that’s how I feel. I don’t know what I can do to help her. I don’t know how to give her a baby that will stay.

  ‘And she feels ashamed because she thinks she’s failed. Our whole house is filled with shame.’ He sucked in air. ‘I love her but she needs help that I can’t give. And, to be honest, I need a break. I really do. Nobody ever understands it from the man’s perspective. It’s my loss, too.’

  Michael exhaled, and Tom could see he was relieved to have finally got the load off his chest.

  They both looked up at the house, a little guiltily, as though Anne might have caught them talking about her.

  ‘Look,’ Tom said, ‘I can’t say I understand because I haven’t been through what you have. But I know a man who needs a break when I see one. I had to ask, okay?’

  Michael nodded. He brushed snowflakes from his spiky brown hair and shivered. He hadn’t taken the time to put his jacket on.

  Tom couldn’t help but wonder about the vagaries of a universe that let his daughter conceive a so-far healthy pregnancy accidentally, when the planned pregnancies of this man’s young family had ended so tragically.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘I think the blood has stopped circulating in my feet.’

  His phone rang as he got into the car.

  ‘We’re leaving now, Ray.’

  ‘Sir, we just found out something important.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The Sisters of Pity – remember the name rang a bell for you? Their convent in Kilcross is a former Magdalene Laundry. A notorious one.’

  Tom sat in stunned silence.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I read something about it a few months ago. I
can’t believe I didn’t make the connection.’

  ‘Sister Concepta wasn’t in a hurry to point it out, was she? Anyway, Mrs Brennan almost had a heart attack when I mentioned the name of the order and Kilcross.’

  Michael and Willie looked at Tom questioningly. He placed his hand over the mouthpiece.

  ‘The nun was from a Magdalene Laundry,’ he said.

  The information didn’t seem to make anything clearer for Michael, but Willie raised his eyebrows knowingly.

  ‘Why was Mrs Brennan so upset? She wasn’t in the laundry, was she?’ Tom asked, indicating to Willie to start driving. ‘Her sister was? We’d better get on the road, but let’s say we meet and get a cup of tea? I bet it’s quite a story.’

  As the car pulled out, Willie mentioned a small service station about halfway down and suggested stopping for petrol there.

  ‘What’s the relevance of Kilcross being a laundry?’ Michael asked. ‘All the convents had them, didn’t they?’

  Willie shook his head. ‘No, lad. There were ten or so big ones that operated for profit. Haven’t you heard of the campaign groups out to get justice for the former inmates?’

  Michael looked confused. ‘Inmates? I thought the women just worked there? I haven’t been paying much attention to it.’

  ‘Well, you’re about to get an education,’ Tom said, gravely.

  He had a knot in his stomach.

  The case had taken a sinister turn.

  Chapter 15

  Over an hour later, Willie’s car pulled off the motorway at their arranged meeting place. The ‘services’ were actually an old-fashioned two-pump petrol station with a small shop and coffee area attached. The shop seemed to be the bottom floor of a residence, judging by the lace curtains and flower boxes in the upstairs windows.

  ‘I want you to give that car a ticket, Willie,’ Tom said, pointing to Ray’s vehicle. ‘He must have broken the speed limit to get here ahead of us. Quite unusual for him, I can tell you.’

  The snow had eased and the roads were still clear, but a dusting of white had settled on the surrounding fields. The dark clouds looked ominously heavy, and a greyish white light gave the early evening an oppressive feel.