With Our Blessing
Page 38
He reached out and took her, cradling the infant’s tiny head in the crook of his elbow. It had been so long since he’d held a baby. He felt like a novice. After a few seconds, though, that comfortable feeling came flooding back.
The little face gurning up at him was love itself. Her scrunched-up nose and perfectly pink pout were glorious. Her hair was dark, like Maria’s. She could have been Maria. Her eyes were closed, but when he ran his thumb gently along the side of her cheek, they opened and looked up into his.
‘Hello, beautiful,’ he said. ‘Welcome to our family.’
‘Her name is Cáit,’ Maria said.
Tom laughed. For the last few weeks Maria had been tormenting him with reality TV stars’ names. Cáit was Louise’s mother’s name.
He brought his head down to the baby’s forehead and inhaled her newborn smell, overwhelmed with happiness. A lump formed in his throat, he was so overcome. And then there was that little pang of sadness in his stomach.
The case was a few months old now, but the memory remained as fresh as ever. So many women had been denied this feeling, their babies ripped from their arms or stolen from their cots as their mothers slept. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine their pain for a moment.
He and Laura had volunteered for the last few months with the campaign to win justice for the women who’d been in the Magdalene Laundries and the mother and baby homes.
Sister Bernadette and Sister Concepta were helping as well. They had got into trouble with their order for joining the campaign – but not too much. Publicly, the Church was trying to convey an image of doing whatever it could to help the women. Privately, the powers that be were still hoping it would all just go away.
The two nuns continued to visit Ellie. She was being held in a secure ward in a psychiatric hospital in Dublin, awaiting trial. Tom and Ray had been to see her twice but she had made it apparent she didn’t want to see them, so they hadn’t gone back.
She had yet to come to terms with the fact that she was still on this earth, and reminders of her former life were too painful. Tom had tried to explain to Ray that the only reason she wanted to see the nuns was because she wanted to ask more about her mother. After Ellie’s initial recorded confession, in the hospital ward in Limerick, she’d said nothing to the police, except one word. When they told her Sister Clare had passed away, following a protracted bout of pneumonia brought on by her ordeal, Ellie had said, ‘Good.’
Ray was heartbroken for the young woman, but he was getting over the shock.
As Tom suspected, Laura had stood back and offered friendship and support to Ray but nothing more. She was a good girl. Intelligent. He hoped Ray would notice her eventually. The detective had helped Laura and her mother when the Brennans set about finding Peggy’s unmarked grave. No doubt he was compensating for the things he couldn’t do for Ellie – but it was a kind gesture, nonetheless.
Tom now squeezed his new granddaughter one more time, counted his blessings and gave her back to her mother. Then he sat on the other side of the bed and picked up Louise’s hand, their daughter and granddaughter between them.
There was nowhere any of them would rather be.
I am frightened.
They try to keep it quiet in here, but there are always doors banging, the sharp footsteps of sensible nurse’s shoes in the corridor, the occasional screams from some poor tortured soul.
It’s getting dark now.
I don’t like the dark.
The room is locked, but I still feel vulnerable. The lock is on the outside, not the inside. It’s like I’m that small child again, waiting for the door handle to turn, quivering in my bed, clutching my teddy bear and praying my foster father won’t come tonight.
There are footsteps approaching. They’re coming to my room. They’re coming for me.
They realized I wasn’t taking my pills, so now they inject me. Every night, every morning. I spit, I wrestle, I bite, but there’s very little you can do when you’re being pinned to the bed by two strong nurses. I have to resist, though. I need my wits about me.
They think I’m insane.
Maybe I am.
I don’t feel crazy. Everything I did felt very sane to me.
But I don’t live in a society where you’re allowed to take justice into your own hands. And yet, I don’t live in a society where real justice is delivered unless you dish it out yourself.
Now . . . I no longer live in society at all.
I have my memories. Real and imagined. The imagined are where my mother keeps me. Where she cuddles me as a baby and promises to protect me from harm. My mother, telling me how much she loves me. My mother, walking me to school, helping me choose my first pretty dress, wiping my runny nose. Normal, happy, loving – what my childhood should have been.
The real memories are of driving the knife into the heart of the woman who stole all that from me and watching her eyes widen in terror when she realizes nobody is going to save her and I’m going to make good on all my promises of desecration.
Or whispering in the ear of the man who began this pain, before I force a syringe into his neck and watch as his heart shrivels up and dies. Daddy dearest.
The door handle is turning. They’re coming to try to continue my living nightmare.
They don’t realize they’re too late this time.
All the pills they gave me when they thought I was a good girl just swallowing them . . . I stashed them. Now they’re dissolving in my stomach. Tonight’s injection will be the icing on the cake. I won’t fight tonight.
Mother, it’s me, your little Elisa. Are you waiting for me? I’m scared, but I feel so sleepy. I just want to be with you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
And now, I can feel her arms around me. Holding me tightly, telling me not to worry.
I’m being lifted from the bed, raised from its clinical white sheets. I’m floating through the air, long tubes of light filling my vision, like I’m speeding down a fast tunnel. There are panicked shouts and movements in the background. They’re telling me I’ll be fine and they’re running. The noise is jarring, hateful, but it’s growing more distant. It can’t reach me any more.
I no longer exist.
Revenge tasted sweet. But this is sweeter.
I’m coming, Mam. I’m coming back to you.
Acknowledgements
My dad, who passed away in 1995, never knew the tragic circumstances of his adoption from an Irish mother and baby home. I do, now. With Our Blessing is a work of fiction but it visits the sad history of such institutions and is written in his memory. I miss you every day, dad.
Thanks to Fern, Pearse and Roisin, for reading my very rough manuscript from start to finish, for all the constructive critique, but mainly, for loving it. And thank you to all those who read the first few chapters and offered suggestions and comments. You know who you are. Your support helped me write the rest.
To Stefanie Bierwerth and the team at Quercus, for spotting my work and pushing for it, I can never thank you enough. You’ve helped to make my dreams come true.
Thanks to my family and friends for your unending encouragement and love.
My four lucky charms, Isobel, Liam, Sophia and Dominic. You make everything achievable, little ones.
And finally, to my husband Martin. I couldn’t have done this without your amazing editing skills, your insights and, most of all, your terrific cups of tea. Here’s to many more joint enterprises.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Dedication
Author Note
Day One: Friday, 10 December
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Day Two: Saturday, 11 December
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
&nb
sp; Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Day Three: Sunday, 12 December
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Day Four: Monday, 13 December
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Epilogue
Acknowledgements