Read Online Three Women by Marita Conlon-Mckenna - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marita Conlon-Mckenna
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usually loved her coffee creamy and sweet. Kate tried not to smile when she saw her grimace as she sipped it. She just pushed the milk jug towards her.
‘What about you and the party?’ asked Trish.
‘Paddy is doing up a list.’ Kate sighed. ‘It’s getting bigger and bigger! He won’t listen to me about keeping it small.’
‘I hope I’m on this list!’ laughed Trish.
‘Of course you and Alan are on it!’ Kate took the pad of paper from the worktop and passed it to Trish.
‘Holey Moley, where are you going to fit all these people?’
‘I’ve no idea, but you know Paddy – he is so determined.’
‘Maybe you should count yourself lucky that after twenty-five years Paddy still loves you so much that he wants to celebrate it in style!’
‘I know,’ said Kate. ‘I do.’
‘Hey Mum, hey Trish,’ said Kevin, coming into the kitchen. ‘The post has just come.’ He dropped two letters for Kate on to the table.
‘No bills, hopefully!’ teased Trish as Kate began to open them.
Kate stopped the minute she had opened the large white envelope . The address on the top of the letter inside it was immediately familiar to her. And it seemed to contain another letter.
‘It’s just a charity thing looking for another donation!’ she pretended, as she closed the envelope and put it away on the counter, trying to disguise her total dismay as Kevin busied himself making a sandwich for college.
Her younger son was so like Paddy, easygoing and trusting and great fun. He was very popular and he loved the course on computers and business that he was doing in college. He lived in a uniform of jeans, T-shirt and hoodie, and with his unruly fair hair, blue eyes and broad face he was the spit of his dad.
‘Hey, I’d better get going!’ He leaned down and kissed her quickly as he grabbed his backpack. ‘I’ll be late home tonight, but will you keep me dinner, please, Mum?’
‘Hey, I’d better get going too,’ announced Trish, standing up. ‘I’ve to collect something from the dry-cleaner’s and go to the chemist. But I’ll see you tomorrow, Kate.’
Kate waited till they were both gone, the house quiet and empty, before she picked up the envelope and opened it. It was a letter from the adoption agency to tell her that her daughter had been in contact with them and that she had a copy of her original birth certificate and had written a letter to Kate, which they enclosed. Her daughter wished to establish some kind of contact with her birth mother and was interested in meeting her. The letter had been sent by a social worker called Marian Kelly, and she had enclosed her daughter’s letter to her.
Kate couldn’t believe it. She felt a chill going through her as she looked at the words on the page. How had they managed to find her? How did they discover her current address? She opened the second letter. It had been handwritten on expensive white paper.
She read it over … and over again … It was almost like a voice talking to her.
‘
I am twenty-six years old, happy and healthy … living in Dublin … with my family
…’ Kate had to stop. She couldn’t breathe. This was too much.
‘
I often think about you. I wonder what you are like and wonder if the two of us are any way alike?
’
Kate read on.
‘
I would really like to talk to you, to see you, to meet you, even if it is only once in my life so that I know who you are and … I suppose, who I am
.’
Kate read the letter over and over again. Touching the words, she traced them with her fingers. Her daughter had written them only a day or two ago … Suddenly there was a link between them.
She read both letters again. The agency shouldn’t have contacted her. She had told them, years ago, that she didn’t want any future contact with her child. Didn’t they understand that? This is what all these reforming social workers and justice people were doing by saying people had rights to information. What about her rights to protect
‘What about you and the party?’ asked Trish.
‘Paddy is doing up a list.’ Kate sighed. ‘It’s getting bigger and bigger! He won’t listen to me about keeping it small.’
‘I hope I’m on this list!’ laughed Trish.
‘Of course you and Alan are on it!’ Kate took the pad of paper from the worktop and passed it to Trish.
‘Holey Moley, where are you going to fit all these people?’
‘I’ve no idea, but you know Paddy – he is so determined.’
‘Maybe you should count yourself lucky that after twenty-five years Paddy still loves you so much that he wants to celebrate it in style!’
‘I know,’ said Kate. ‘I do.’
‘Hey Mum, hey Trish,’ said Kevin, coming into the kitchen. ‘The post has just come.’ He dropped two letters for Kate on to the table.
‘No bills, hopefully!’ teased Trish as Kate began to open them.
Kate stopped the minute she had opened the large white envelope . The address on the top of the letter inside it was immediately familiar to her. And it seemed to contain another letter.
‘It’s just a charity thing looking for another donation!’ she pretended, as she closed the envelope and put it away on the counter, trying to disguise her total dismay as Kevin busied himself making a sandwich for college.
Her younger son was so like Paddy, easygoing and trusting and great fun. He was very popular and he loved the course on computers and business that he was doing in college. He lived in a uniform of jeans, T-shirt and hoodie, and with his unruly fair hair, blue eyes and broad face he was the spit of his dad.
‘Hey, I’d better get going!’ He leaned down and kissed her quickly as he grabbed his backpack. ‘I’ll be late home tonight, but will you keep me dinner, please, Mum?’
‘Hey, I’d better get going too,’ announced Trish, standing up. ‘I’ve to collect something from the dry-cleaner’s and go to the chemist. But I’ll see you tomorrow, Kate.’
Kate waited till they were both gone, the house quiet and empty, before she picked up the envelope and opened it. It was a letter from the adoption agency to tell her that her daughter had been in contact with them and that she had a copy of her original birth certificate and had written a letter to Kate, which they enclosed. Her daughter wished to establish some kind of contact with her birth mother and was interested in meeting her. The letter had been sent by a social worker called Marian Kelly, and she had enclosed her daughter’s letter to her.
Kate couldn’t believe it. She felt a chill going through her as she looked at the words on the page. How had they managed to find her? How did they discover her current address? She opened the second letter. It had been handwritten on expensive white paper.
She read it over … and over again … It was almost like a voice talking to her.
‘
I am twenty-six years old, happy and healthy … living in Dublin … with my family
…’ Kate had to stop. She couldn’t breathe. This was too much.
‘
I often think about you. I wonder what you are like and wonder if the two of us are any way alike?
’
Kate read on.
‘
I would really like to talk to you, to see you, to meet you, even if it is only once in my life so that I know who you are and … I suppose, who I am
.’
Kate read the letter over and over again. Touching the words, she traced them with her fingers. Her daughter had written them only a day or two ago … Suddenly there was a link between them.
She read both letters again. The agency shouldn’t have contacted her. She had told them, years ago, that she didn’t want any future contact with her child. Didn’t they understand that? This is what all these reforming social workers and justice people were doing by saying people had rights to information. What about her rights to protect
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