A Swift Pure Cry Read Online Free PDF Page A

Loser. But now she'd grown out of it. She let Jimmy and Trix stitch her up with pegs everywhere, then handed the lot over and went indoors to the bathroom. She stripped off the school dress in front of the cabinet mirror and examined the bra, craning over her shoulder to see the criss-cross at the back. The mirror was too high, so she crept into Dad's room and played the Eternity game. This was a game of magic mirrors at the dressing table. It was a broad, wooden chest, with three mirrors attached on top: a large fixed one in the middle, and two smaller ones on hinges on the sides. She could swivel these in and out to form angles. Then a chain of Shells going on into infinity appeared. In past games she'd always tried to chat with them, to ask them what life in the mirror was like. But although they made faces, they never gave much away. Today, she ignored them. Instead she squeezed the mirror angles up tight to see what the bra looked like from behind.
    She prayed to Jesus to forgive her and Bridie for stealing the bra. She listened hard for a reply. The room was quiet: no sign of hissing snakes or thunderbolts. Perhaps she was forgiven.
    Then she'd an idea. She opened the wardrobe door. Inside, a sigh of polythene escaped from Dad's best suit, back from the dry cleaner's after Mam's funeral and never worn since. His other clothes jostled as she looked through the contents: shirts he pressed himself for church; pants and braces; eleven pairs of shoes; more ties than she could count, three of them black.
    Dad had thrown away Mam's things long ago. But, tucked away on a hook at the back, there was one thing of hers he'd kept-why, Shell didn't know. It was a pink, sleeveless satin dress, cut short at the knee and slim-waisted.
    She reached in and took it from the hanger.
    Did she dare?
    She did. She tried it on.
    It covered her kneecaps but only just.
    It fitted just right on top.
    The colour set her cheeks singing.
    Shell waltzed in front of the mirror. She sat on the velvet chair her mam had perched on every morning to do her make-up and looked into the triptych of reflections. She rested her chin on her hand as Mam used to do. Shell's face was slim and freckly. She undid her ponytail and shook out her foxy hair. She batted her eyelids. She began to hum Mam's favourite hymn: 'Come Down, o Love Divine, Seek Thou This Soul of Mine'.
    In the gathering gloom of the spring evening Mam's spirit returned briefly to earth. She hovered between Shell's eye and the eye of the image in the mirror.
    'Mam?' Shell gasped.
    It was as if a hand had reached out and touched her shoulder. One of the images furthest away in the mirror smiled-it wasn't Shell's image, because the other images didn't smile at all.
    'Mam!' she called to it. 'Don't go!'
    She hummed the tune harder to make her stay. She didn't notice the bedroom door opening behind her.
    'Jesus!' A harsh, pained voice. A dark figure hovered in the reflected corner of her field of vision. She froze. Mam's spirit fled back deep into the mirror world. Shell turned. Dad was staring at her like a stranger. She'd no idea it had got so late.
    'Sweet Jesus. Is it really you ?'
    He stepped forward into the room. He put out his right hand and it hovered palm-upward over her left cheek, fluttering. She braced herself for a slap.
    It did not come.
    His big hand shook, drawing closer. She could see the swirls of his finger pads in the corner of her eye. It landed on her face, quivering like a leaf in wind, stroking her cheekbone. 'Moira,' he whispered. 'My Moira.'
    Shell smelled whiskey and sweat. Her stomach somersaulted. He burped.
    'It's me. Shell,' she shrieked.
    She darted past him and ran to the door. As she passed through it, she looked back. Dad was standing where she'd left him, arm outstretched, as if the Moira he'd seen were still standing there, letting him stroke her face. In the triptych of mirrors was the image of him standing there, again and again, into infinity, reaching out