Free Beneath an Irish Sky (Choc Lit) by Isabella Connor Page B

nothing to offend her. He listened carefully as she spoke.
    ‘Ye’ll grow into a handsome man …’ Jessie began.
    There was a hoot of laughter and Padraig’s da said, ‘Sure, and you’ve only to look at Annie to know that!’
    ‘Your first love’ll be your last love,’ Jessie continued. ‘And there’s choices ahead. Money’s there for the askin’ but the price is high.’
    His mother shifted position beside him. ‘That’s enough for tonight, Jessie,’ she said. There was something in her voice he couldn’t quite place.
    ‘How ’bout a song, Annie?’ someone asked.
    ‘The babies’ll wake,’ said Annie.
    ‘Now wouldn’t the angels themselves want to be awake to listen to your voice? Luke needs a song on his birthday.’
    The evening ended in music, his mother’s voice ringing out sweet and clear in the Galway darkness. The words of the song burned themselves into Luke’s memory, along with the scent of woodsmoke and the gleam of fire in the eyes of those he loved …
    That memory of his eighth birthday was so clear, Luke felt he could reach out and touch it. But those people and that feeling of safety vanished once he and Annie moved out of Jessie’s cramped but homely caravan to live with his grand-da. His uncles were always around then, and the good times ended, the days all running bleakly together like endless rain. And now he would never see his mother again, never hear her laugh or sing.
    There was no one Luke wasn’t angry with at that moment. Himself for feeling so vulnerable. Annie for leaving him. Joe for treating Annie like a maid and knocking her about when the mood took him, and Liam for letting him. His grand-da, a good man but weak. And Luke was angry with Jack just for being Jack. A father who hadn’t cared for twenty years and was now taking over. Trying to make Luke question everything he’d been told. Well, if his mother had lied, she’d had good reason. Jack Stewart wasn’t going to insult her memory. Luke had managed fine without the man who fathered him, and although it rankled to accept his help now, it was only for a few weeks, thank God.
    God was someone else he was mad at, and Luke said so to Father Brennan, the elderly priest from the hospital chapel who’d turned up earlier. The man’s benevolent smile had irritated Luke right away. The last thing he’d wanted was to hear about God’s will.
    ‘At least your mother is with God now,’ the priest had said, after telling Luke how normal his reaction was.
    ‘Is bein’ killed at forty somethin’ to be grateful for, then?’ Luke had snapped. ‘Well, I hope she tells Him what she thinks of his reward for being a good Catholic. All her life she had nothin’.’
    ‘She had you.’
    The priest meant well, but Annie had actually stopped living the moment Luke was born, and then he’d finally killed her.
    ‘I’ll pray for you, Luke,’ Father Brennan had said as he left. Christ, priests were on a different planet.
    Jack woke from a nightmare about Annie. They were trying to bury her but he knew she wasn’t dead. No one would listen to his protests.
    He slowly freed himself from the bedsheets he’d thrashed into a tangled mess during the dream. The clock told him it was three in the morning, but he had to get up and move around, to try to clear the residual horror from his mind.
    The fluorescent light in the suite’s kitchen hummed into stark brightness and Jack reached into the fridge for a beer. He slumped at the kitchen counter, holding the cool can against his cheek. He missed Matt. And Maggie. And Claire, the sister who was always on his side, no matter what. He’d phoned her the day after speaking to Matt. Told her about Annie and Luke but asked her to keep it to herself until he got back. The last thing he needed was his father flying over and asking a million questions.
    So long as he was here in Dublin, Jack felt oddly safe. As if time had temporarily stopped, which in a way it had. The real nightmare