The Boatman's Wife(81)

‘It’s okay, Mammy,’ Niamh said, handing her mam Connor, although she dared not look her in the face. Things were far from okay. ‘I told you, Brendan has them,’ she said, glowering at Johnny.

He grimaced and spat on her mother’s carpet. ‘That’s a fucking lie,’ he said.

Deirdre stood up, put her hand on Johnny’s arm. ‘Brendan and Tadhg are informers, Niamh, as bad as the Brits, and by association you’re implicated.’

‘They weren’t traitors,’ Niamh flared up. ‘You butchered them for nothing.’

Her mam gave a tiny scream, but Niamh began to lose possession of herself. ‘None of us are traitors. We’ve always been loyal. My father was killed because of the Cause.’

Deirdre remained calm. Took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one, before throwing the pack to Johnny. ‘We’re not going to hurt you, or your mam, or the wain,’ she said. ‘We’ll go on a wee dander, Niamh, and we’ll get the guns.’ She began walking out of the front room, and Niamh followed her.

‘No, Niamh,’ her mam said in a strangled voice. ‘Don’t go with them.’

‘It’s okay, Mammy,’ Niamh said. ‘Just mind Connor, will you?’



Outside the house, the sun had emerged and Niamh was blasted by glorious sunlight. Deirdre and Johnny began marching towards Niamh’s car.

‘After I found Brendan and Tadhg, I threw the guns away,’ Niamh called out to them. ‘In Lough Melvin.’

‘Why’d you do that, you waste of space?’ Deirdre said icily, turning around.

‘Because I didn’t know who had killed them,’ Niamh said, truthfully. ‘I thought it was the loyalists. I thought they might get the guns off me—’

‘Far enough,’ Johnny interrupted, as he opened her boot to check. ‘Yeah, empty.’

‘There’s a ledge of rock, right by the first bit of lake you come to, and I threw them from there,’ Niamh said.

Johnny turned to Deirdre. ‘Come on, let’s go see if we can fish them out.’ He strode over to their car, lifting up the back seat and concealing his gun beneath it.

‘You killed them, didn’t you?’ Niamh pushed, her voice high and hysterical. She tugged on Deirdre’s arm, and the blond girl spun around, flicking her hand off as if Niamh were a piece of dirt.

‘Don’t start me, Niamh. Your family were informers. Touts. The whole lot of you scum,’ she hissed.

But Niamh could see it in her eyes. Deirdre was lost in her fury, coiled up in her rigid beliefs so tight that she’d just killed a man she’d once made love to.



After they’d driven off, Niamh stood in the yard, swaying. The sun had gone back behind a cloud, and her whole world looked unreal, in sharp relief. Deep, dark shadows and hard edges.

As soon as she came back into the front room, her mam let out a cry. Connor was awake now. Crawling on the carpet and playing with his little green tractor.

Her mam jumped up and grabbed her, hugging her tight. ‘Thank God, thank God,’ she kept saying. In the next second, she stepped back and slapped Niamh hard on her cheek, making her eyes smart. Her relief had given way to pure anger. ‘You stupid, stupid little girl,’ she hissed. ‘You could have got us all killed!’

Niamh stepped back in shock. She had never seen her mother so angry before.

‘I told you to stay away from Tadhg and Brendan,’ her mam shouted at her. ‘Tadhg is the reason your father is dead! They’re bad people.’

‘No,’ Niamh whispered. ‘They were my family. And they just got murdered!’

‘Because you never, never get involved, Niamh!’ her mam screeched. ‘Anyone with any sense knows that around here. Your father knew it. But he was soft on his cousin Tadhg.’

‘Brendan was there for me when Daddy died,’ Niamh retaliated. ‘You were so caught up in your own loss; I was all alone.’

‘My husband had just been murdered!’ her mam gave out.

Their voices had risen to such an extent that Connor looked up at the both of them with worried eyes, while Pixie ran into the room, barking at the two women.

‘He was my daddy too!’ Niamh screamed back. ‘You got into your bed, and you just fucking abandoned me. Brendan was the only one who cared. And he’s dead, Mam!’ Niamh let out a wail, so that Connor began to cry again.

‘I was there for you!’ Her mother refused to believe her. ‘I looked after you. Fed you. Clothed you. I’ve always looked after you. Never a word about you getting pregnant with that American boy’s baby – but Niamh, this is unforgiveable.’

Cold realisation began creeping down Niamh’s spine. As her child continued to cry, it was her mother who bent down and picked him up. Connor immediately stopped crying, soothed by his granny’s touch.

‘Your father would be turning in his grave,’ her mam said in a quieter voice. ‘You’re not fit to be a mother.’

Niamh had stopped crying. She wiped her sleeve over her wet eyes. Her whole body felt a shiver of grief. She looked at her child, nestling into her mother. They belonged together. Her mam was right. She didn’t deserve Connor.



Years had passed living in America in a daze, as Niamh numbly existed through each day. She’d hitched her way across the States to end up in this small town in Arizona. Got a job as a chambermaid in one of the tourist resorts. The first year, she spent all her spare money on phone calls to Ireland, ringing her mam to hear the sound of Connor’s laughter in the background.