Page 61 of Back in the Saddle

He looked up and smiled and it was like I was looking at an older Ciaron—same brown wavy hair with a decent amount of grey, cheeky green eyes but surrounded with wrinkles, lips that quirked the same way as Ciaron’s. He glanced between Ciaron and me, a smile emerging.

He stood and embraced Ciaron. “Son, so good to see you.”

His accent was one of the strongest I’d encountered. Before Ciaron had a chance to say anything, his dad pulled me into a hug and said over my shoulder, “And who is this beautiful cailín?”

“I’m Taylor. It’s nice to meet you, Mr Murphy.”

“Call me Patrick.”

So far this was so much nicer than meeting Mrs Murphy. Ciaron had warned me that even though it was a low security prison, visiting rules were tough. We weren’t supposed to have physical contact with the prisoners, but neither Mr Murphy nor the guards seemed to care.

He let me go and cocked his head. “Where are you from then?”

“Australia.”

“Sit. Sit. Tell me everything. Tell me about the lady who is about to steal my son away.”

I considered him. How did he know that?

He grinned. “When you spend time inside these boring walls you learn to notice things.”

Ciaron and I sat next to each other, holding hands.

“First, Ciaron has never brought a girl here before.”

Ciaron’s grip firmed on my hand.

“Second, Ciaron has a new tattoo, a Claddagh, with your name in it.”

Ciaron glanced at his wrist.

“Serious stuff a Claddagh. Next, you are not only beautiful, but brave. You weren’t scared of my arms around you.”

“Ciaron wouldn’t ask me to meet you if it wasn’t safe.”

“Aye.” He pointed to my hand, which was wearing a Claddagh ring. “Serious stuff.”

We spoke about how we met, and Patrick hung onto every word.

“When are you leaving, son?”

“As soon as I can.”

Patrick nodded, his eyes solemn. “Does your mother know?”

“Aye.”

He kept eye contact with Ciaron. “This cailín is your future boy. Do not let your mother take this from you.”

“I won’t, Dad.”

Patrick knew exactlywhat Mary was like. We found out later the only reason he went back to her every time he was out of jail was for Ciaron. He wanted him to have a father, well, the best father he could be, and wanted him to have freedom. He didn’t go back after Ciaron left.

As we walked into the first op shop, Mary said, “What are we doing at a charity shop? I thought we were going dress shopping.”

“We are Mamo,” Isabelle said. “I bet we find some good ones here.”

Mary’s eyes narrowed. “I can buy you a new dress if your mother doesn’t have money.”

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