Sorcha followed Maureen into a tiny room, furnished with a battered sofa, a coffee table and an old black-and-white television perched precariously on a small shelf. The floor was awash with children’s books and toys.
‘Ah, you three! Look what you’ve done. You promised you’d keep it tidy for me,’ Maureen chastised them as she bent down to pick up a rag doll and a car. She went over to the window and sighed. ‘I’d send them out into the yard to play, but the heavens have opened. Sit yourself down, Sorcha. There’s a little whiskey to drink if you like.’
‘No, just a glass of orange squash would be lovely.’ Sorcha sat down. As she did so, the smallest child, her face covered in freckles, her hair a mass of thick, curly red, came shyly towards her, climbed on her knee and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
‘Honest, Teresa, you are an incorrigible child. She’ll take a lap from anyone,’ Maureen said proudly. ‘Fierce outgoing she is. How she’ll be at sixteen with the lads I dread to think.’
‘Introduce me to your two boys,’ encouraged Sorcha.
‘This is Tommy Junior.’
‘Hello, Tommy. And how old are you?’
‘Four, missus.’
‘Well now, you are a big boy. And your brother, how old is he?’
‘Sean’s three. Still a baby.’ Both boys moved slowly towards Sorcha.
‘I’ll be getting your drink,’ said Maureen. ‘You look after your Auntie Sorcha now.’ And she went into the kitchen.
An hour later, after Sorcha had read several picture books, played with toy cars and admired drawings scribbled in her honour, Maureen called them in for tea. She picked up Teresa and went into the kitchen. The round table in the corner had been covered with a lace cloth and Maureen had put a pretty floral decoration in an old vase in its centre.
‘The table looks lovely,’ Sorcha enthused.
‘Thank you. Sit where you’re comfortable. I’ll call Tommy.’
The two boys were already sat up, so Sorcha squeezed by them and perched with Teresa still in her arms.
‘There now. Tommy’s coming. I’ll serve up. I’ve cooked bacon and cabbage to remind you of your old life,’ smiled Maureen.
Tommy entered the kitchen with a bottle tucked under his arm.
‘Wine, no less, Tommy? Jesus, Sorcha, you are honoured,’ teased Maureen as Tommy searched in the drawer for a corkscrew.
Eventually, they were all sitting down and Teresa was torn off Sorcha’s knee and placed in her wooden high chair. Sorcha looked down at the mountain of bacon, cabbage and potato in front of her.
‘This smells delicious, Maureen.’
‘And I want to see that plate clean. You’re a little too skinny for my liking.’
‘Take no notice. She’s just jealous because of her generous curves,’ smiled Tommy.
‘And who was it that gave them to me, Tommy Dalton? Three babies in four years?’
‘And I love every ounce of them, as you well know. Sean, take your hands out of your potato and eat with your spoon!’
As she ate, Sorcha listened to the playful banter between husband and wife and the affectionate way they chastised their offspring. She found herself envying the warmth in the tiny, cluttered home.
Later, with the three children tucked up in their broom cupboard of a bedroom, Tommy laid out the plans for the new bungalow on the kitchen table. Maureen took Sorcha through every detail.
‘Of course, Tommy and I will do most of the work ourselves to save money. It’ll take that bit longer but it’ll be worth it when it’s done, especially with another on the way.’
Sorcha looked at Maureen in surprise. Maureen rolled her eyes and nodded. ‘I suspected but it wasn’t confirmed until I visited the doctor’s this morning. At least it gives us a goal. And we wanted another, didn’t we, Tommy?’
‘So you tell me, sweetheart.’ He put his arms round her waist and kissed her on the cheek.
Sorcha joined Tommy for a tot of whiskey in celebration.
