‘Wow,’ Peggy said. Her eyes were wide, as if she was trying to understand it all, to take it all in. ‘You can find out a lot in a few hours, huh?’ She gave a weak laugh.
Frank noticed that she didn’t ask him about John Maxwell’s other family. Her half-brothers and sisters. That would come later, he supposed.
‘Washington were able to trace him fairly quickly based on the dog tags. And Hugo’s connections helped too.’
‘Hugo’s connections?’
‘Well, working in the Irish embassy. It has its benefits. They can apply a little pressure. Get things done faster. He made a call and, well, it helps.’
‘Hugo works for the Irish embassy?’
Frank could see that this was news to Peggy.
‘Eh, yeah. He seems he’s quite senior there. In London.’
Peggy just laughed a little laugh, and went back to looking at Frank’s hand in hers. ‘It seems all the Caseys have secret lives so,’ she said. ‘Who would have thought it?’
Frank’s hand was starting to feel hot and sweaty, but he didn’t want to move it from Peggy’s. He sat, fighting the urge to put his arms around her and hold her there at the table. He could pretend all he liked that he was just there in his capacity as a member of the Garda Síochána, but he knew it was a lie. He thought hard about what he would be saying to another person in her position. Someone he didn’t think he was falling in love with. He coughed, and used the opportunity to take his hand from hers, leaning in a little closer to her as he did.
‘Peggy,’ he said softly. ‘They will arrest John Maxwell today. He will be questioned about Bernadette Murphy and his time here in Ireland. In Crumm. You realize … you realize that he must have known about you all this time?’
Peggy just stared at her glass and nodded.
‘They will want to question you. In Dublin, most likely,’ he went on. ‘And Coleman, of course. And Hugo.’
Peggy just nodded again.
‘I want to bring her home,’ she said suddenly. She looked into Frank’s eyes. ‘My … my mother. I want to bring her home to Crumm. She should be buried here. Properly buried here.’
‘Of course.’ Frank made a silent promise to himself and to Peggy it would happen. And he also promised himself he would be here with her for it. If she wanted him to be.
‘The family that left,’ he said. ‘The Murphys?’
Peggy shook her head emphatically, startling Frank by her sudden movement.
‘No. No,’ she said. ‘I can’t think about them right now. They left her here. They never came to look for her. No.’
Then she turned in her seat a little and looked up at the row of rusted relics hanging above the bar.
‘The loom. I told you? It came from the mill.’ She stared up at the innocuous piece of metal nailed high above her head for years without her being aware of how significant it was. It looked to Frank like something you might find in the bottom of an untidy toolbox, and yet that piece of the mill was the closest link Peggy had to her real past.
Her real family.
Her truth.
She kept her eyes trained on it. ‘Do you think she’s at peace now?’ she said in a whisper.
Frank swallowed, and reached over to take her hand in his own once more. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I do.’
Then they heard footsteps on gravel, and the sound of laughing voices got louder outside until the door of the bar swung open. Then four, six, eight smiling men stood inside. Frank recognized Fergal Maher.
‘’Tis like a morgue in here!’ One of the men exclaimed, a wide sunny smile on his face, which he directed at Peggy. ‘Did ye watch the match, lads? They made some job of poor Mickey Ned, wha? Them Dublin boys? What a day, huh? What a day for Kerry. The cousin played a blinder!’
Within moments, it was as if someone has flipped a switch on The Angler’s Rest, and life pulsed through the bar again. Two of the men went to sit in the corner and started to unpack musical instruments they had brought with them, while the rest of the men stood talking, finding stools, calling to Jerome for pints.
Frank was wondering if he should bring Peggy back into the kitchen and away from all the noise, when she surprised him again by pulling her hand gently from his, and standing up. She smoothed her hair back and tied it with a rubber band she took from her wrist.
‘Lads. Ye must be starved after the journey. Will ye have sandwiches with those pints? We can’t have our customers complaining that they weren’t fed. Not at Casey’s Bar.’
‘Good girl, Peggy.’
‘Oh that would be grand, Peggy.’
‘Go on the Caseys.’ The few men standing at the bar who had got their drinks first raised their glasses in appreciation of her.
‘Peggy,’ Frank stood behind her, speaking quietly into her ear. ‘You don’t have to do this. You should go inside to Carla, no? Maura can sort these lads out?’
Peggy turned to him. He looked and could see many things in her eyes. Defiance. Hurt. Anger. But he could also see love. Trust. And hope. He prayed silently that the hope had something to do with him.
‘I am a Casey,’ she said, her eyes shining, her voice breaking. ‘This is my bar, my family’s bar. My father’s bar.’ She took Frank’s hand and squeezed it quickly. ‘This is my home. And I have customers that need looking after.’
And then the music slowly started and grew until it filled the ears of everyone in The Angler’s Rest, and Peggy Casey walked past smiling faces and friendly nods back towards the place she knew she truly belonged.
Acknowledgements
Sincere thanks to Catherine Ryan Howard, Hazel Gaynor, Helen Bovaird Ryan, Vanessa O’ Loughlin, Eoin Purcell and Clodagh Burghold. Thanks also to Ger Nichol, Sarah Hodgson and everyone at Killer Reads. With particular love to my fabulous family and friends.
About the Author
Sheena Lambert is from Dublin, Ireland, where she worked as an engineer on landfill sites before leaving the glamour of waste management behind to focus on writing novels, plays and newspaper articles.
Her writing has been shortlisted in a number of prestigious UK competitions.
Also by Sheena Lambert
A Gathering Storm (previously Alberta Clipper)
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