Page 3 of The Last Love Song
The figure who had watched the two of them for the past forty minutes scurried away unseen.
‘Mary, mother of God! You’re drenched, child! How did you manage that on a two-minute cycle from Maureen’s? Get upstairs with you and change. I’ll be putting the dinner on the table in three minutes.’
‘Yes, Mammy.’ Sorcha hurried up the stairs. She headed for the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Then she climbed into the bath and began to undress, shaking each of her garments thoroughly. When she was naked, she climbed out of the bath and ran the taps, swirling the tell-tale golden sand away down the plughole.
When Sorcha reappeared downstairs, her father was already sitting at the highly polished mahogany table in the dining room. It was always cold in there, and there was a musty smell because it was never used more than once a week.
‘Sit down then, Sorcha,’ said her father.
Sorcha obeyed, as her mammy brought in the piece of beef which had been cooking since seven this morning. Mary placed it in front of her husband.
‘I hope you’ll find ’tis tender, Seamus,’ she said nervously as he picked up the carving knife.
The two women sat in silence as Seamus pedantically cut the joint into perfect slices. Only when he’d cut all three portions was Mary allowed to fill the plates with vegetables.
All that hard work, thought Sorcha, lifting her fork.And by the time we get to eat it, it’s no more than lukewarm.
No one spoke. Seamus did not approve of chat during dinner. After the food was finished, the plates were cleared away by Sorcha while Mary brought in a perfect apple pie from the range in the kitchen.
Sorcha watched her daddy as he ate. She wondered whether he’d been born with a frown, or had frowned so often his face was simply frozen that way. Whichever the reason, he always looked cross. Sadly, everyone said Sorcha resembled him. She certainly had his thick, curly, auburn hair and green eyes. She was tall, too. Her friends at school called him handsome and said how lucky she was to have such a fine-looking father, but Sorcha often prayed at night that she hadn’t inherited his personality. When she’d been small, she’d been afraid of him and his readiness with the back of his hand, but now...she despised him.
‘Can we have the radio on, Mammy?’ she asked.
‘You know your daddy won’t want to be disturbed after lunch.’
‘Quietly?’
Mary shook her head as Sorcha knew she would. ‘Maybe later.’
Sorcha began to dry the wet dishes.
‘Mammy, can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you love Daddy?’
‘Sorcha!’ Mary blessed herself. ‘What a question to ask! Surely you know I do.’
‘I suppose. I...well, I’ve been reading a book for English lessons. It’s calledWuthering Heights. It’s about love and...passion.’
‘I see.’ Mary continued to wash up.
‘Were you ever madly in love with Daddy? I mean, so bad that you couldn’t sleep at night, that it was grand just to be near him, that when he kissed you, you thought you would burst with happiness?’
Mary stopped washing up and studied her daughter. Sorcha’s eyes were alight, her face flushed.
‘I...yes.’ She nodded. ‘I was once mad for someone...I mean your daddy, in the way you describe. But Sorcha, that kind of feeling can’t last. A few months, maybe; in rare cases a couple of years. But then life gets in the way, real life.’ Mary gazed out of the window at the raindrops plopping heavily onto the pane. ‘In all honesty, it’s rare you marry the man you really love.’
‘But you did.’
Mary looked at her daughter and smiled weakly. ‘Of course I did. Now, have you your homework to finish?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then get along with you up to your room. I’ll do the rest of this.’
Sorcha kissed her mother’s soft cheek. ‘Thank you, Mammy.’
