‘Mammy? It’s me.’
‘Sorcha, how are ye?’
‘I’m okay. And you, Mammy? How are you?’
‘Well now, Sorcha. I have some bad news for you.’
‘What, Mammy?’
‘Your daddy passed away yesterday. He had a heart attack. I was wondering whether you might come home for the funeral. It’s tomorrow.’
‘Oh, Mammy, are you okay?’
‘I’m coping. The neighbours have been fierce kind. It was the shock more than anything. He was walking home from a meeting in the community hall and dropped dead there and then, in the middle of Connolly Street.’
‘I’m so sorry, Mammy, I really am.’ Although Sorcha struggled to feel sorrow in her heart for her dead father, there was plenty of compassion for her mother. ‘You say the funeral’s tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’d have to fly over today.’
‘Would you, Sorcha? Oh, would you?’ There was desperation in her mother’s voice.
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you. Apart from anything, it would be grand to see you. And Con, if he’s of a mind to come. I...’ The catch in Mary’s voice betrayed her bravery. ‘There’s a lot to organise.’
‘Mammy, I can’t promise but I’ll do my best. I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve news.’
‘Do you have the office telephone number?’
‘Somewhere, but give it to me again.’ Sorcha searched in Con’s bedside drawer, finding a felt-tip pen and an empty cigarette packet. ‘Okay.’ Sorcha scribbled the number down. ‘I’ll ring you back as soon as I can.’
‘Bye, Sorcha.’
She put down the receiver and sat staring into space. A hand on her naked back made her jump out of her skin.
‘Steady on, it’s only me. Who was that?’
‘My mother.’
‘Your mother? What did she want?’
‘She called to tell me that my daddy died yesterday.’
‘Ah.’ Con lapsed into silence, trying to gauge his wife’s reaction. ‘Do you want sympathy, Sorcha?’
She turned around slowly and looked at him. ‘No. But he was my father. I’m sorry he’s dead. He was only in his fifties.’
‘How’s your mammy?’
‘She sounds as though she’s not really taken it in. Con, the funeral’s tomorrow. I must go home for it and I should probably stay a few days afterwards.’
‘Of course you must go. Jenny’s in at nine. We’ll get her to organise the flights.’
Jenny was Con’s part-time secretary who came in to dealwith the sacks of fan mail and any general administration required.
‘And what about you?’ she asked quietly.
