She’ll play the piano, and she’ll know love.’
Lena and Ria didn’t say a word. Theresa, they knew, missed her mother and her sister so badly it was a constant pain inside of her. But they had turned their backs on not only her, but on her two children, and that, she could not –
would
not – ever forgive.
‘She’ll be a comfort to you in your old age! That’s what the old shawlies used to say in Ireland about a late child, especially a daughter. Oh, God love her, she’s gorgeous.’
Lena sank back into her pillows, and sighed happily. She would be just that, a comfort to her in the years ahead. She was thirty-three years old, and she finally had the daughter she had always wanted. She wondered when Daniel would arrive to greet his only daughter, but she knew he would come as soon as he could. Until then, she would do what she had always done and wait patiently for him to come to her.
But, as time wore on, Lena began to feel uneasy. Where was her husband? He knew she had given birth, knew he had a daughter, he should have been here by now, should have been beside her. He should have come straightaway, and she knew that Ria and her mother-in-law both thought the same, even though neither of them had said it – not in front of her anyway.
She looked at her daughter’s tiny hands, curled up into little fists, at her heart-shaped face, and she saw the long eyelashes that would one day attract a man, and she felt the panic rising inside her.
She breathed as deeply as she could, knowing that she had to stop this feeling before it got out of control. She had to swallow it down, as she had swallowed it down in the past. She had to be strong, had to put her brave face on for the world. She had to gather her strength, because this little child would need her to be strong. But, as she fought against the terror rising in her breast, she felt the first stirrings of discontent inside her. Daniel had let her down, and badly. As ever, he had more important things on his mind. There was always something more important than his wife or his family. And until now, until this second, she had never before admitted that to herself.
She hugged her daughter to her so tightly she made the child cry, and as she soothed her daughter she wondered at how she was ever going to make peace with herself again.
Chapter Fifteen
Alfie Clarke was an ugly man, but he had a funny personality; he could, as his own mother said, make a cat laugh. This was his secret with not only the ladies – who he was sensible enough to spend money on as well as giving them his undivided attention – but also with the men around him. He was always smiling, always in a good mood.
And he was in an especially fantastic mood since the birth of his only child eighteen months previously – a son, Alfie Junior. He loved that boy with a vengeance. No one would ever have believed he could feel as he did about his son, least of all Alfie. The boy’s mother, Annette, was a young girl he had picked up with two years ago – pretty, with a killer body and the personality of a lettuce. Just his type – no real conversation. But she had been a virgin, a fact that had shocked and thrilled him all at the same time. He liked her well enough; she was like a pet – he rang and she came round. He had never heard of her being with anyone else, and she didn’t frequent the clubs. He had met her on one of her first jaunts out on the town for a mate’s birthday, otherwise he would never have laid eyes on her, or she him. He had liked that she was greener than the proverbial grass, and he had quite liked that she was not a chatterbox. Annette expected
him
to do the talking and, after years of Essex girls and East-End birds who could talk the hind leg off a fucking camel, that was quite a novelty. So he had seen her again and again.
When she had told him she was up the duff he had been sceptical to say the least. But he had asked around and, in fairness, no one could say a
Lena and Ria didn’t say a word. Theresa, they knew, missed her mother and her sister so badly it was a constant pain inside of her. But they had turned their backs on not only her, but on her two children, and that, she could not –
would
not – ever forgive.
‘She’ll be a comfort to you in your old age! That’s what the old shawlies used to say in Ireland about a late child, especially a daughter. Oh, God love her, she’s gorgeous.’
Lena sank back into her pillows, and sighed happily. She would be just that, a comfort to her in the years ahead. She was thirty-three years old, and she finally had the daughter she had always wanted. She wondered when Daniel would arrive to greet his only daughter, but she knew he would come as soon as he could. Until then, she would do what she had always done and wait patiently for him to come to her.
But, as time wore on, Lena began to feel uneasy. Where was her husband? He knew she had given birth, knew he had a daughter, he should have been here by now, should have been beside her. He should have come straightaway, and she knew that Ria and her mother-in-law both thought the same, even though neither of them had said it – not in front of her anyway.
She looked at her daughter’s tiny hands, curled up into little fists, at her heart-shaped face, and she saw the long eyelashes that would one day attract a man, and she felt the panic rising inside her.
She breathed as deeply as she could, knowing that she had to stop this feeling before it got out of control. She had to swallow it down, as she had swallowed it down in the past. She had to be strong, had to put her brave face on for the world. She had to gather her strength, because this little child would need her to be strong. But, as she fought against the terror rising in her breast, she felt the first stirrings of discontent inside her. Daniel had let her down, and badly. As ever, he had more important things on his mind. There was always something more important than his wife or his family. And until now, until this second, she had never before admitted that to herself.
She hugged her daughter to her so tightly she made the child cry, and as she soothed her daughter she wondered at how she was ever going to make peace with herself again.
Chapter Fifteen
Alfie Clarke was an ugly man, but he had a funny personality; he could, as his own mother said, make a cat laugh. This was his secret with not only the ladies – who he was sensible enough to spend money on as well as giving them his undivided attention – but also with the men around him. He was always smiling, always in a good mood.
And he was in an especially fantastic mood since the birth of his only child eighteen months previously – a son, Alfie Junior. He loved that boy with a vengeance. No one would ever have believed he could feel as he did about his son, least of all Alfie. The boy’s mother, Annette, was a young girl he had picked up with two years ago – pretty, with a killer body and the personality of a lettuce. Just his type – no real conversation. But she had been a virgin, a fact that had shocked and thrilled him all at the same time. He liked her well enough; she was like a pet – he rang and she came round. He had never heard of her being with anyone else, and she didn’t frequent the clubs. He had met her on one of her first jaunts out on the town for a mate’s birthday, otherwise he would never have laid eyes on her, or she him. He had liked that she was greener than the proverbial grass, and he had quite liked that she was not a chatterbox. Annette expected
him
to do the talking and, after years of Essex girls and East-End birds who could talk the hind leg off a fucking camel, that was quite a novelty. So he had seen her again and again.
When she had told him she was up the duff he had been sceptical to say the least. But he had asked around and, in fairness, no one could say a
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