Free Shamrock Green by Jessica Stirling

man to bother with the likes of me.’
    â€˜So you have seen him again?’
    â€˜I didn’t say—’
    â€˜Then how do you know he’s so busy?’
    â€˜Maeve, dearest, you shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’
    â€˜Is it for the huggin’ you see him?’
    â€˜Maeve! Enough!’
    â€˜If I was your age an’ Mr Hagarty gave me the eye—’
    â€˜The eye? What is all this nonsense?’
    â€˜Jansis says—’
    â€˜Jansis, is it?’ Sylvie said. ‘Jansis had better watch out for her job.’
    Maeve sat back, head cocked. Curls bobbed across her cheek but the blush had gone. She looked, Sylvie thought, remarkably like the sort of girl she’d been at that age. There was a photograph in one of the tin boxes in the attic, in fact, a studio picture; she, dainty little Sylvie, seated on a rickety little chair, her foster-father behind her, a hand on her shoulder, his thumb tucked into his waistcoat pocket; she with such a knowing expression on her face that her foster-father had never dared show the picture to her aunt.
    â€˜It isn’t Jansis’s fault,’ said Maeve. ‘I saw you.’
    â€˜Saw me?’ Sylvie’s mouth went dry and the hair on the nape of her neck rose as if an icy wind had blown through the room. ‘Saw me where?’
    â€˜I followed you for a piece.’
    â€˜F-followed me?’
    â€˜You went up across the Parade. You should’ve tooken a tram.’
    â€˜How dare you? How dare you!’ Sylvie hissed. ‘Spying on your own mother.’
    â€˜It is where he lives, isn’t it? Endicott Street?’
    â€˜If you ever – if you ever follow me again—’
    â€˜Charlie told me: Endicott Street: Mr Hagarty,’ Maeve said. ‘I think it’s awful brave of you, Mam.’
    â€˜Brave?’ Sylvie felt as if her tongue were frozen to the roof of her mouth. ‘Brave, for d-doing w-what?’
    â€˜You’re doing it to save Daddy, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Doing what?’
    â€˜Meeting Mr Hagarty,’ Maeve said. ‘Charlie told me it was Mr Hagarty told him not to put Dad on the spot ’cause he took those guns away.’
    â€˜When did you talk to Charlie?’
    â€˜He came round the other day, Tuesday, the day the war started.’
    â€˜Why didn’t you tell me?’
    â€˜He said for me not to tell you.’
    â€˜Where was Jansis?’
    â€˜Makin’ beds upstairs. Where’s the spot, tell me?’
    â€˜It doesn’t mean – it isn’t – it’s not a place.’
    â€˜Daddy shouldn’t know, should he? About the spot, I mean?’
    â€˜No, dearest, no.’
    In the kitchen the big kettle with the whistling spout sang.
    Sylvie felt as if she were melting away. She wanted to clasp Maeve to her and rock her in her arms, assure her that it was all just silly grown-up nonsense but she guessed that Maeve wouldn’t swallow the lie and that the insidious process of corruption had already begun.
    â€˜Daddy shouldn’t know you’ve been talkin’ to Mr Hagarty, should he?’
    â€˜No.’
    Maeve nodded sagely. ‘He has his pride, I suppose – Daddy.’
    Sylvie paused then said, ‘I won’t be visiting Mr Hagarty again.’
    â€˜Why ever not?’
    â€˜Because it – he…’
    â€˜Does he not like you?’
    â€˜Yes, but…’
    â€˜And you like him,’ said Maeve. ‘I like him too. He saved Daddy’s bacon.’
    â€˜Is that what Charlie told you?’
    â€˜Aye.’
    â€˜Maeve, is Mr Hagarty one of the brotherhood?’
    â€˜I don’t know what he is,’ Maeve said. ‘I just think he’s awful nice.’
    â€˜He’s awfully clever,’ Sylvie said. ‘I’ll give him that.’
    â€˜Does he hug you?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Doesn’t he want to?’
    â€˜I don’t know. We