The Boatman's Wife(76)

‘They’re not good people,’ she warned her daughter.

Her mam had never asked her about Deirdre’s appearance in their house in the middle of the night. It was as if she’d blanked it from her mind. Sometimes, Niamh wondered: did her mam suspect? Especially now she’d caught her creeping back in at night?

If she did suspect something, she never let on. Strangely, this hurt Niamh.

Niamh carried Connor up the stairs now, and put him down in his cot at the bottom of her bed. He stirred for a second, and she stroked his soft dark hair, the same colour as his dad’s. She wondered what kind of little boy he would become. Would he be asking about his daddy? What would she tell him? And what kind of man would Connor become? She knew with certainty she didn’t want him mixed up in her kind of life. But surely by then, things would be better? There was so much talk of a ceasefire between the Republicans and the Loyalists in the north. Niamh was praying for it to happen. It would be her liberation.

She was tired of the secrets. Tired of driving out to meet Brendan in the woods, or on the bogs at night-time. Hunting for the latest stash of guns, and moving them either to another location, or back to her shed. Or, on several occasions, she’d driven them over the border herself, each time as terrifying as the last. She was waiting for the day the soldiers would stop her and give the car a good search. Waiting for the day she’d not return to her son.

Had Brendan lied to her when he’d promised he’d bring her to London for the abortion that day? She didn’t think so. But as they’d driven off in her car to move the bag of guns, he’d told her again she wasn’t alone, that if she kept the baby, he and Tadhg would help her out.

‘Mam won’t want your help,’ Niamh had said, wavering.

‘Don’t tell her we’re helping, then,’ Brendan had said, putting a hand on her knee. ‘You’ve secrets from her as it is. One more makes no difference.’

The question of what to do was in her mind the whole time as they lugged the bags – two of them – across the bog, and into the boot of the car. Niamh wasn’t even thinking about what she was moving, or what would happen if they were seen.

As she and Brendan had driven along empty bog roads, the skies loaded with dark clouds, spots of rain splattering the windscreen, the idea of going to London had begun to fade. Brendan would have her back. Like he always had.

After burying the guns in a new spot in a bleak, blasted corner of bog, hidden from view by scraggy bushes and spindly birch trees, she and Brendan had had to walk for an hour across the marshy land back to the car. They had to pick their way gingerly across, and the effort of concentrating on avoiding sink holes had made Niamh feel dizzy and sick. All of sudden, she’d been consumed by nausea. She’d bent over, throwing up on the dark, fecund earth. Brendan knelt down by her side.

‘You okay?’ he asked, gently lifting her hair away from her face and holding it back.

‘Yeah,’ she gasped, heaving again. Afterwards, she fell back on her haunches, feeling weak and tearful.

Brendan pulled a small bottle of water out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘Take a sip.’

She gulped the water down. Took a breath. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said to Brendan, looking into his searing blue eyes. So different from Jesse’s brown eyes, with their long lashes and dreamy appeal. Brendan’s lashes were so fair you couldn’t see them, and his eyes were the colour of blue flames.

‘Whatever you decide, Niamh, I’ll support you,’ Brendan said. ‘I told you, I’ll go with you.’

‘But abortion’s a sin,’ she whispered.

‘Ah, come on,’ Brendan said, squatting down on the bog next to her. ‘You know that’s a load of bollocks made up by misogynists!’

This made her laugh. The release felt good. She clutched his hands, which were warm. Her own were freezing.

‘And if you decide to keep it, I’ll stick by you,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ she whispered, knowing he meant every word.

‘It’ll be okay,’ Brendan said, helping her up. He took her hand and they headed back across the bog together.

This was the problem. Brendan had been true to his word. Stuck by her side the whole time since Connor was born. Not just supporting her materially, but also emotionally. After Deirdre, he’d never introduced her to another girlfriend. At times, Niamh caught him watching her, and a part of her worried. She loved Brendan, but she wasn’t in love with him.

There had been three occasions now since Connor had been born, when she’d felt so lonely that she’d gone to Brendan.

The first time, Connor had been just over six months old. Niamh had called Brendan on a weekday morning, and asked him to meet her in a couple of hours. She’d driven along the coast to a deserted cove, with Connor chirping away in the back seat. Brendan had got there first. She’d seen him as she’d pulled up, leaning against the bonnet of his car in his long coat, smoking a cigarette. It had been cold. The sea had lashed onto the empty beach, and the wind had whipped past her.

‘What’s up?’ he’d asked her as she’d walked towards him.

But he’d known. He’d been able to see quite clearly in her eyes what she needed. Niamh said nothing, just grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her.