Mother’s Only Child Read Online Free PDF Page A

September to mark Maria’s departure. As people hugged her, patted her on the back and wished her Godspeed, she realised how she’d miss them. She’d known most of them all her life and she felt tears stinging her eyes.
    ‘Don’t start being homesick before you’ve even left the place,’ Sam said suddenly at her elbow.
    Maria flashed him a watery smile. ‘I’ll try not to,’ she said.
    Sam patted her on the arm. ‘That’s my girl.’
    All the evening, Sam watched his daughter, already aching with the loss of her. He could easily have resented Philomena Clarke for putting such odd notions in a young girl’s head, but he knew she’d had only Maria’s best interests at heart when she’d had made the suggestion. What sort of a father would he be if he didn’t allow his daughter the chance of a better future?
    Sam had loved Sarah since the moment he’d seen her, and loved her still, though her once blonde hair now had streaks of grey in it. His was the same, of course, though it had once been as dark as Maria’s. His eyes, though, were a indeterminate grey, not vibrant green like his daughter’s. Maria had been the icing on the cake for the pair of them. He knew when she left, a lot of the joy would go out of his life.
    Sam recognised that Sean felt the same, for his deep brown eyes were full of sadness. His father was too ill for him to be away from the farm for long and it was still light when he left. Sam watched the stooped, dejected stance of him as he strode towards The Square and the bus into Derry. He remembered how straight and upright Sean had once been.
    Now he was tied to a farm he had no love for, tended by the dour, sour-faced Agatha, and watching his father sink daily. He’d had no chance of a life of his own, no loving wife to greet him and warm his bed at night, no child to climb onto his knee and gladden his heart. Sam knew Sean would feel the loss of Maria almost as keenly as her parents would.
    Eventually, the party drew to a close. There would be more than one thick head in the village the followingmorning. Sam felt a little that way himself, if he was honest. He’d drank far more than was customary for him and he had work in the morning.
    He followed his wife and daughter to bed, but once there, despite the tiredness stinging his eyes and the beer consumed, he lay wide-eyed and restless for hours before utter weariness claimed him.
    The following evening the truck stood ready and waiting to take the men home. Yet Sam was loath to leave the docks, despite it being Maria’s last evening in Moville for some time.
    ‘How important is the frigate? he asked the lieutenant. ‘There’s still a fault in the engine room and it can’t go out tomorrow the way it is.’
    ‘It’s part of the convoy scheduled to leave at dawn.’
    ‘Well, I’ll stay to finish it,’ Sam said. ‘Con will give me a hand. There’s no need to keep the others. More than two will not fit in that small space anyway. But how will we get back home when we’ve finished? I don’t fancy walking.’
    ‘I’ll see if I can rustle up a couple of bicycles,’ the lieutenant said. ‘You can pile them in the truck in the morning. Will that do?’
    ‘Aye,’ Sam said with a chuckle, ‘though it’s years since I was astride a bike. I’ll more than likely have a sore backside in the morning.’
    The lieutenant smiled. He liked both Sam and Con, and knew them to be first-rate workers, the sort who’d get on with the job in hand and not need the whip cracked over them.
    ‘I’m grateful, Sam,’ he said. He hesitated a momentand then went on, ‘There’s something else. Keep your eyes peeled, will you? There’s a rumour circulating the IRA are planning something.’
    ‘They’ll never get in here,’ Sam said. ‘Haven’t you the place as tight as a drum?’
    ‘They might, if they had help from inside.’
    ‘Who’d do that?’ Sam said and then as the man said nothing, burst out, ‘It’ll not be one of my men. I