The Boatman's Wife(42)

‘I can’t be driving right now, and sure we have Brendan’s car,’ Tadhg insisted, leading Niamh around the front of the house, where his dirty white Toyota Corolla was parked up. ‘You’ll have to change the registration of course, to the south.’

‘I can’t accept it, Tadhg,’ Niamh protested, wondering how she would explain the car to her mother.

‘Think of it as a late twenty-first birthday present?’ Tadhg chuckled, dangling the keys in front of Niamh. ‘It’s going to fall apart if someone doesn’t drive it.’

She should say no. But then… Her own car! No more cycling in the rain, or trudging the lanes. She could nip into Sligo any time she wanted. Drive to Galway, all the way to Dublin. The car would give her such freedom. But she had to make sure it was what Tadhg said it was. A present, with no conditions attached.

‘Cousin Tadhg, I need to ask you something.’ Niamh licked her lips nervously. Her head was still aching and her mouth was dry to the back of her throat. The last thing she wanted to do was face Tadhg with her request. But this was her chance, and she had to say something.

Tadhg looked at her. The smile was still plastered on his face, but already she could see his eyes hardening. The warning.

‘Did Brendan speak to you about me?’

‘No, darling, what is it?’ Tadhg said, still smiling as warmth leached from his eyes.

‘I, well, you know, I might be leaving home soon,’ she said, surprised by her own words.

‘Is that so?’ Tadhg said. ‘Where’re you going?’

‘America.’ She swallowed, not knowing why she’d said it.

‘Well now, isn’t that grand,’ Tadhg said. ‘We’ve lots of family in America. You’ll be well looked after.’

Niamh’s heart sank. Why couldn’t she just tell him out straight? But inside her head were Brendan’s words. You can never get out. Membership of the IRA was for life.

‘I wanted to ask,’ she said, stumbling over the words with nerves. ‘Well, I’d like to stop.’

‘Stop?’ Tadhg asked her, his voice suddenly sharp, as Patch pushed up against them, sensing the sudden tension.

‘Yes,’ Niamh ploughed on. ‘I don’t want to be involved…’

‘Darling, that’s not up to me,’ Tadhg said, his eyes wide with apology – but now Niamh could see his expression was fake. ‘Sure, do you not know that?’

‘Well, who is it up to?’ she asked.

Tadhg shook his head. ‘You’ll have to ask Brendan,’ he said, his face shutting down. The smile gone.

‘But he told me to talk to you!’

Tadhg released her arm. ‘Have we not looked after you all these years, Niamh?’ he said, his tone sharp. ‘We’re family.’

‘It’s just dangerous,’ she whispered.

‘You knew that,’ the old man said, shaking his head. ‘Where’s your conviction, girl?’ He threw the keys at her, and they landed in the mud. ‘Take the car,’ he said. ‘It’s yours now.’

Part of her wanted to refuse, to go inside and shake Brendan awake. Make her cousin drive her home and then tell him she never wanted to hear from him or his father again. But she didn’t. What made her bend down and pull the keys out of the muck? Shame, deep down, as she heard Tadhg’s stick hard against the concrete on his way back into the house. What if Tadhg was right? Had she gone soft? Where was her faith gone?

She didn’t turn around, and she didn’t go back inside. What was the point? All she wanted was to leave.



Niamh wound down the window and let her hair blow in the breeze. She’d never owned her own car before. She should be elated, but this sense of freedom was an illusion. Her conversation with Tadhg had left her feeling even more frustrated. She wished she’d had the guts to throw the car keys back at Tadhg. Stomp away down their tiny country lane, and hitch a lift home. But she knew what the truth was. In all Tadhg’s enquiries after her mother, he was letting Niamh know what she risked if she betrayed them. Her mam. Of course, she would never, ever inform. She just wanted out.

She banged the steering wheel with her hands. What had she done? Just made things worse. She put her foot down as the car gathered speed, racing to get away from Tadhg and Brendan. To put the brown house and those dark obligations behind her.

A she tore round a bend in the road, a checkpoint appeared out of nowhere. The soldiers on alert, guns raised because of her speed. She slammed on the brakes, her heart beating frantically. They lowered their guns as she screeched to a stop, the heat from her brakes stinking up the air. Her hands were shaking as she wound the window right down. She must never forget where she was, or who she was.





Chapter Eleven





Maine to Mullaghmore, 14th November 2017





Connor,

The ocean was always my safe place. All my first memories are by the sea. I could swim almost before I could walk. It was the same for you. I remember you saying it to me on our honeymoon. Why you loved surfing, because the ocean made you feel freer than you had ever felt your whole life. It was your passion and your love before you met me.

Of course, you surprised me with a trip to Hawaii for our honeymoon! You’d talked enough about going there and riding the waves, ever since the day we found out we both loved surfing. We could get swell in Maine, but not much in the summer, and fall was a bit cold. Sure, the waves were great for surfing in winter, but the payoff was extreme: icicles hanging off the end of your nose, and full head and body wetsuit. You told me you’d never surfed out of a wetsuit, that it was your dream to get on a board, in your surfer shorts, and slice through those big blue Pacific waves. I was excited too, but nervous to fly so far. White-knuckled the whole way, downing vodka after vodka. I don’t like to travel. I told you that right from the start. If you wanted to be with me, then we’d stick where I grew up. I’m a homebody and all about family.