'Did you let Granny know he was very sick a good length before that?'

'Well, she knew he was sick.'

'I mean that he was dying.'

'Sure I didn't know myself. I suppose I would have let her know the day I knew, or the day after. I left it all to Pat Bolger. But your father was dead within a day or two. He was so young, he was ready for another life, he was looking forward to coming home. He was the light of my life and he loved you and Declan so much. He didn't want to let you out of his sight. And now he was cold, like he was nothing.

'And I made a promise that day in the chapel, after they'd taken his body out of the ward, that I'd do my best with you and Declan, that I'd try to be as good as the two of us would have been. I made a promise to do my best, but I don't suppose, looking at it now, that I did very well.'

Her mother's hands were trembling as she looked out to sea. Her last remark was made so flatly, the tone so factual and melancholy, that Helen did not feel she should say anything in reply. They sat in silence listening to the waves sweeping in towards the shore. Eventually, Helen spoke.

'I was just thinking,' she said, 'that I have a son who reminds me of my father sometimes, just like you said about Declan, when he turns his head.'

'Which son is that?' her mother asked.

'He's Cathal, the older one, he's quiet, he's like the men down here, he loves not having to talk. And then the other is the opposite.'

'Declan was the opposite to you when you were small. Your father loved having the two of you in the bed on a Saturday morning or a Sunday morning. I never wanted it, but if there was a sound out of you he'd bring you into our bed, and if you came, Declan was sure to follow. And you'd be quiet, you'd suck your thumb, but Declan would crawl all over us, he'd pull his daddy's ears, or he'd want to tickle his feet, and you'd hate all the noise, and Declan would get worse until we got up.'

'I always wanted to be an only child, especially when I was around that age,' Helen said.

'All I ever wanted was a sister,' her mother said. 'Your granny tried to adopt. She was all ready and then a woman in a tweed suit \a151 I don't know who she was, some sort of inspector – came down and asked her where the adopted child would live when our house fell into the sea, and was there an insurance policy? And, of course, there wasn't. And my mother was raging. "You couldn't bring a child up here," the woman said to her. And we were turned down for adoption. She was in a terrible state, your granny; that was the winter she didn't speak to us at all, me or your grandfather.'

'A sister would have changed everything, wouldn't it?' Helen asked.

'It would, yes, it would,' her mother said thoughtfully, regretfully. She said nothing for a while, and then began to shake her head and frown.

'What is it?' Helen asked.

'There's something I will never forget about the funeral,' her mother said. 'It's hard to talk about it. Coming home like that from Dublin and your father so young, and everybody looking and watching, there was a sort of shame about it. It sounds mad, doesn't it? I know it does, but that's what it felt like, so exposed, or maybe that isn't the word. But it felt like shame, those days after he died when we came home.'

'But you didn't look like that,' Helen said.

'I don't know how I looked. I spent those days trying to put back time. And maybe trying to stop time too, because I knew when it was all over and the people went away I would be alone, I'd be sleeping alone, I'd be alone at night, and the job of dealing with you and Declan I'd have to do alone. And I couldn't manage, you know I couldn't manage. I don't know why I'm thinking of all this now. I suppose it's because of Declan.'

The strand grew colder as the afternoon wore on. Helen and her mother folded the rug, and took their swimsuits and towels from where they had half dried on the boulder, and they walked until they came to the gap at Mike Redmond's house, where they scrambled up the cliff.

As they made their way back to the house along the lanes, Helen stopped for a moment.

'There's something I've never realised before, that's just struck me now,' she said. 'I've always believed that you took him away and you never brought him back. I know it's irrational, but that's what it was, that's what I felt. I thought that you had locked him away somewhere, that you knew where he was, that it was all your fault. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I believed all this.'

Lily shivered as she stood there.

'I locked no one away, I'm afraid, Helen,' she said wearily. 'He died in my arms. I watched him go. I know I came home to you all without him. There was nothing I could do.'

'I know, Mammy, I know,' Helen said, and linked arms with her mother and they continued walking.

At the top of the lane they saw Madge and Essie Kehoe approaching.

'Say nothing now,' Lily said.

'Well,' Madge Kehoe said as she came close, 'we've just been down to Dora's house and we were wondering where you were.'

'Dora will kill someone,' Essie interrupted. 'You'll have to stop her. She nearly drove into the ditch.'

'Oh, but she used to be a great driver,' Lily said. 'She'll learn again in no time.'

Helen knew that what her mother had just said was untrue; she felt that the Kehoes also knew that.

'Did you hear about Kitty Walsh from The Ballagh and her poor mother hardly cold?' Madge asked. She spoke quickly, breathlessly.

'There should be a law, you know,' Essie said. They were both excited at what they had just witnessed.

'There is a law,' Madge said, 'but it's the guards, they won't stop her.'

'Sure she's too blind to see them. She wouldn't stop for them,' Essie said. 'And now Dora is driving.'

'Oh, it'll be a while now before she hits the road,' Lily said. Helen noticed that her mother was sounding aloof, almost posh.

The Kehoe sisters' eyes darted from Helen to her mother. 'And is your husband still in Donegal?' Essie asked.

Helen nodded.

'And isn't Declan looking very thin?' Madge said. 'He'll never get a wife if he doesn't fatten up a bit.'

'Oh I'd say there are girls only waiting for him to make up his mind,' Essie said and smiled sourly.

Neither Lily nor Helen spoke; the sisters slowly seemed to realise that they had said too much too quickly. For a second or two they said nothing more until it was clear that Lily and Helen were going to move away. Eventually, Madge broke the silence.

'God knows who we'll have driving next. Old Art Murphy, or Kate Pender.'

'I'd say it'll be a while now before they get their provisional licences,' Lily said, laughing.

'And the judge is a queer dangerous driver,' Madge said.

'We'll all have to watch out so,' Helen said, and made as though to move.

'And who is the other fellow in the car teaching Dora?' Essie asked.

'He's a friend of Declan's,' Helen said.

'Is that so now?' Essie asked. 'And is he teaching in your school?'

Helen did not answer.

'God, you've a right crowd,' Essie continued.

The Kehoe sisters searched their faces to see if there might be some more information for them to gather.

'We'd better be going,' Lily said.

'Call in before you go back,' Madge said.

'We'll have the kettle on for you,' Essie added.

'They're mad, they were always mad,' Lily said as soon as the Kehoes were out of earshot. 'You should be down on your knees thanking God, Helen, that you didn't have to go to school with people like that. I pinched that Essie so hard one day that her oul' father came down home to complain about me. God, when I was growing up here I couldn't wait to get away! Even seeing the two of them puts years on me.'