Page 1 of The Last Love Song
Prologue
London, June 1986
There were always day-old newspapers lying around in the television room, but she never bothered reading the news items. Sometimes she’d collect them and make her way through the crosswords. It helped ease the boredom. Gathering up the tea-stained copies ofThe SunandThe Mirror, she put them under her arm and made her way back to her cell. Thankfully, it was empty. Muriel had gone to the showers.
She settled herself onto her bunk and took the first newspaper off the pile. Searching for the puzzles page, she found a familiar face staring out at her. Steeling herself to ignore it, she turned over the page.
The man was still a huge star. His status had reached cult proportions due to his disappearance all those years ago. The odd picture in the papers was inevitable.
She tried to put the past to the back of her mind. Finding the crossword, she took out a biro from her jumpsuit pocket. Chewing it, she slowly began to fill in the letters. But, inevitably, her concentration was shot.
Eventually, she gave up, turned the pages back over and began to read.
COME HOME, CON!
It has been announced today that sixties sensation The Fishermen will reunite at London’s Wembley Stadium duringthe upcoming sell-out Music for Life concert. Stars past and present have pledged their support to sing for Africa this weekend, but the question on everybody’s lips is...will Con Daly turn up? The Fishermen’s lead singer famously hasn’t been seen in public for over a decade.
She lay back, the newspaper still open on her lap. She’d learnt to numb herself against emotion. That was the only way to survive in here. Lying there, staring at the crack in the ceiling that she had watched grow from an inch to over a foot long, a small smile crossed her face.
Was it pleasure she was feeling?
No, not really.
She’d stopped believing in fate a long time ago. But it was a happy coincidence that, if all went well in front of the parole board in two weeks’ time, she would be emerging from prison just before The Fishermen made their historic reunion performance at Wembley.
That night, as the light in the cell flashed three times to indicate the minutes before lights-out, she went over to the sink and brushed her teeth. Then she took the four pills the screw had just given her out of her dressing-gown pocket and dropped them into the rushing water. She watched as they swirled around before disappearing down the plughole.
When she turned around, Muriel was watching her in horror.
‘Gawd, love, why on earth did you do that? You won’t get no more now. You know what they’re like.’
She climbed silently up onto her bunk.
‘That’s fine, Muriel. I don’t need any more. Goodnight.’
A few seconds later, the lights went out.
Instead of quickly falling into her usual drugged, unrestful sleep, she felt wide awake.
It would take a while for the previous dose to leave her system and her brain to clear, but she could handle it. Shehadto.
She allowed herself to plunder her memory, to bring the anger back up to the surface. The pain would give her strength and feed the need for retribution.
Part One
Preparation
1
West Cork, Ireland, April 1964
The village of Ballymore nestled neatly into the rugged West Cork coastline. Its bright pink-, yellow- and blue-painted houses were a cheering sight on bleak, grey winter days, as storms beat relentlessly in from the Atlantic. The fifteen hundred residents were used to the rain, which had been known to fall continuously for three months without respite. They only endured the long winters knowing that a glorious summer would follow. The sky would become azure, and young and old alike would spend long days on the golden beaches for which the area was famed. They knew that, for those few short weeks, there was no better place to be on God’s earth.
Sorcha O’Donovan followed the rest of the village out of the church and into the bright April air.
‘’Tis a beautiful morning!’ smiled Mary O’Donovan. ‘I think spring has arrived at last.’
‘Yes, it’s grand altogether, Mammy,’ nodded Sorcha, eager to be gone. ‘Mammy, can I go over to Maureen’s before lunch? I promised I’d help her with her maths.’
