be very volatile. Still,’ she nudged Lily in the ribs, ‘making up will be a lot of fun, I’m sure.’
‘Really, Mrs Cohen! Such thoughts from a middle-aged lady.’ But Lily’s eyes twinkled as she chided her.
Tom McCann sat beside his mother’s bed, holding her frail hand in his. He’d been dreadfully shocked when he’d first seen her, for she had aged so much since he had last visited. Now she was propped up against her pillows, asking him about his life.
‘Are you happy, son?’
‘I am, Ma. I’ve got a good job and I’ve a lovely girl who’s going to be me wife. When I go back, we’re going to arrange the wedding.’
Squeezing his hand, his mother smiled softly. ‘Ah, that’s grand to be sure. Every man needs a good woman to take care of him. And mind you care well for your wife, Thomas. Will you be bringing her home to Ireland one day?’
‘I certainly will. I’ve told her all about the family, Newcastle, and the mountains.’
‘Ah, the mountains.’ Kathleen McCann looked out of her window and gazed at them, now bathed in late-autumn sunshine. ‘Every day I look at them and say good morning. I hope to be well enough to take at least one more walk among them.’
Tom was filled with sadness. The doctor had told him his mother was unlikely to recover.
‘One day you, Lily and me will walk them together,’ he promised.
Holding his hand tighter she said, ‘I don’t think so, son. I’m near the end of me days, and I’m happy to go to me Maker. Just you bring up your family with love and honour – that’s all I ask of you. I’m glad you came home and we were able to be together for a while.’
That night, Kathleen McCann slipped quietly away in her sleep.
After the funeral, Tom took a walk along the beach. He breathed in deeply and the smell of seaweed and salt air filled his nostrils. He watched the waves break upon the sand, looked back at the mountains and shed tears for his mother. One day he and Lily would come back here to live, he thought, maybe bring their own children. It would be with them he’d walk among the mountains, for the spirit of his mother would always be there.
The postman popped his head around the door of the shop. ‘Letter for Miss Lily Pickford.’
Lily rushed towards him. ‘That’s me,’ she said excitedly. ‘I’m Lily Pickford.’ She opened it quickly, and the smile faded from her lips as she read.
‘Something wrong, girl?’ asked Rachel, seeing her stricken expression.
‘Tom’s mother’s died. He’s staying on for the funeral and the wake. What’s a wake?’
‘They hold a party to celebrate the life of the person who’s just died.’
‘A party?’ Lily looked shocked.
‘Yes, and what’s wrong with that? All her old friends will be there, remembering the happy times. It’s not a time for sadness, it’s a celebration.’
‘Sounds very strange to me.’
‘So when will he be home?’
Quickly scanning the letter, Lily said, ‘About a week’s time. He’ll write and let me know.’ She blushed as she read the last few words. Rachel diplomatically left her alone.
‘ I love and miss you, darling Lily. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. Soon, very soon, we’ll be together again. Never again will we be apart. Love always, Tom .’
Lily was lying in her bed dreaming of Tom and the Mountains of Mourne when something disturbed her slumbers. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. She noticed one of the screens had been removed. As her eyes became accustomed to the low light from the street-lamps, she saw a figure sitting on one of the straight-backed chairs that had been drawn up at the foot of her bed. Sitting on it, watching her, was Manny Cohen.
Lily gave a cry of fright. Fear gripped her heart. She looked at him in silence for a moment, trying to gather her wits. ‘What the bleedin’ ’ell are you doing here at this time of night?’ She drew the blanket up around her.
Beneath his hooded eyes, Manny’s lips curled into a cruel