“And Heather?”

  “Heather is my daughter,” Claire said coldly. “Did you really think I would hand her to you without a fight?”

  Kellie smiled slightly. “It’s been seven years. Forgive me if I doubt your motherly instincts.”

  “Never mind that,” Claire said impatiently. “Will you go?”

  “I can’t go yet.”

  Claire shrugged and changed her tactics. “There are plenty of rooms. As long as you know how things stand, I don’t mind your staying.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Kellie Delaney had a temper after all. “Do you really think we can all stay here together?”

  Claire sighed. “This is my house. If anyone goes it will be you.”

  Kellie’s lips tightened. She had a point. “Tom will be back soon. He’s taken the dog out.”

  Claire nodded. “I’ll wait upstairs in the room overlooking the garden. You can tell him I’m here.”

  Kellie’s face was white, pinched. “This is a nightmare. You can’t possibly mean for me to tell him his wife is home from prison?”

  “What I’d like,” Claire said pointedly, “is to see him alone.”

  Kellie stood, her face frozen. “I’ll leave you to him,” she said, and left the room.

  Claire watched her leave. Was Kellie Delaney really so cool and collected, or was there more beneath her reserve?

  She sat down at the table and crossed her legs. Coming home had shaken her. The idea of seeing Tom again left her brain befuddled and her hands clammy. What would he think of her after all these years? Would he help her or reject her completely?

  Claire forced herself to think objectively. She hadn’t been much of a wife to him when he’d come home after Long Kesh. She’d been absorbed with the life she’d made for herself. She pushed the thought aside. Too many regrets. She wouldn’t go there, not now, perhaps not ever. She had today to get through, today and tomorrow. That would be difficult enough. She didn’t like to depend on people. They rarely came through. But this time she had little choice. Her mind wandered. If only she could talk to Heather. It was absurd, of course, to imagine that Heather would want her. The child knew only Tom and now, Kellie. She had to think of her. It wasn’t good to uproot a little girl no matter how much one wanted it. Not even a mother had a right to do that. She would reassure Tom that she had no such intention. Perhaps, then, he would help her find her place again.

  When had it all become so complicated? How had she come to this point in her life, a fugitive with no place to go and no one to care? There had been moments when she’d had it all, when she was Claire Donovan of Banburren and all of life was ahead. When had it changed for her? How could anything have been more important to her than her freedom? What had drawn her in? She thought back. Nothing came to her. Christ, it was cold. She closed her eyes and concentrated, taking herself back and back, further back, her mind settling on a spring day when she first became aware of Tom Whelan.

  She’d always known the Whelans, of course. There wasn’t anyone on the Taig or Nationalist side of Banburren who didn’t know everyone else. She assumed it was the same on the Loyalist side although she had no way of really verifying that. She’d never known a Protestant, never even spoken to one other than to hurl insults across clumsily constructed barricades. Children’s games that fed adult hatreds, feuds that spanned the centuries. Did they think it would all go away because a few men had signed a piece of paper? They could mandate jobs and housing and education, but that was all. It would go no further because as long as the drums rolled in July and men gathered to march wearing orange sashes and bowler hats, the anger would endure.

  Tom Whelan was different from the beefy lads who slouched on street corners, smoked incessantly and swore vengeance on those from the other side who walked away with the jobs. She remembered the first time their eyes locked, the slow magic of his smile and the lean, spare look of him that stopped the breath in her throat.

  Claire was no stranger to admiring glances. She knew she was pretty, the prettiest girl in Banburren except for Maggie Whelan and she didn’t count because she was Tom’s sister. But when Tom looked at her and then looked again, she felt a stirring inside that she’d never felt before.

  He wasn’t forward like the others. Neither was he shy or self-conscious. Rather it was his reserve, a serious sort of calm, that she’d noticed. It was as if he valued himself too much to allow anyone close to him who, when all was said and done, wouldn’t matter.

  Claire became the aggressor, arranging to be where she knew he would be, pretending it was all mere coincidence. Whether he knew or not he never said. It took time, nearly a year, but Claire was tenacious and in the end she won him. Tom was a one-woman man and a terrifyingly traditional one. She bound him to her by giving him her body, willingly and frequently. Looking back she should have known that a man so single-minded in such matters would be the same in other ways as well. It was his single- mindedness, his regimented focus that allowed for no other way but his own and, in the end, that drove her away.

  Uncomfortable with her memories, Claire looked around, struggling against the claustrophobia of closed doors. She’d had enough of those for a lifetime. The walls were covered with family photos, mostly of Heather at various stages of her life. There was Lexi as a puppy and Susan with her brood. Her own mother and father smiled at her with Heather balancing on unsteady legs between them. The entire family was represented with one exception. Claire’s mouth twisted. How he must despise her to have eradicated her so completely from his life.

  Was Tom a different man than he’d been seven years before because he’d changed or because he was with a different woman? An interesting question. One that should be explored, but not now, not in this room that was growing colder as the minutes passed.

  She’d given no real thought as to where she would go if Tom wouldn’t have her back. Canada, perhaps, or America. She couldn’t stay in Banburren, not with Tom here. The thought of leaving Ireland was like a fist closing around her heart. She was a revolutionary, not a pioneer. She wanted to fix the old, not take on the new. Ireland was in her blood, its rhythms a part of her, ebbing and flowing, always present even in the prison cell that had been her home for the last seven years. What would she do if she had to leave, how would she live, a stranger in a strange land? She swallowed hard. Sometimes survival carried a price and she would survive. She would return someday. Nothing was forever except death.

  She glanced at the clock and ran her tongue over her lip. For the first time in years she wished for lipstick. What did one say to a husband after seven years in prison? She finger-combed her hair and pushed it behind her ears. If only she could take back the wasted years.

  Suddenly, the door opened and he was there in the room with her. She stared at him, her eyes wide and dry in the pale thinness of her face.

  He stepped forward and gripped her shoulders, his fingers hard and hurting, his gaze searching, fierce, urgent. “My God,” he said harshly, “it really is you. I stopped at Mam’s and she said—”

  Claire nodded and would have replied, but he pulled her against his chest and held her in a tight, impenetrable embrace.

  “Claire,” he said, brokenly, “Claire.”

  It was the sound of her name on his lips that broke her reserve. Nothing had prepared her for this. She’d expected anger, sarcasm, coldness, even rejection, but never this hurting sorrow that came from a place deep inside of him.

  Pain and regret and loss welled up and spilled over. The tears flowed and flowed, tears for the years of separation and all the years before that. She cried for hope that was lost, for what she had given up and could never bring back. She cried until her eyes were beyond swollen and her nose ached and she no longer felt anything at all. It was only then that she stepped away, wiped her eyes and nose with the hem of her shirt and looked at him.

  What she saw shocked her beyond tears. Seven years had changed him. She’d left behind a boy and come home to a man. Silver threads softened the dark hair at his temples and fine lines radiated from his eyes. He was still lean and spare of flesh but sorrow and experience and time had taken their toll and the bones of his face had hardened into the man he would be until the end of his days. He allowed her inspection with a quiet stillness that was new to him.

  “They let me out,” she said at last.

  “Aye.”

  “Are you pleased?”

  “Very pleased.”

  “Will you send her away?”

  Something flickered in his eyes. He spoke carefully. “I’m happy that you’ve been released, Claire, but we have a great deal to settle.”

  She wanted to ask if he was in love with Kellie but the words wouldn’t come. How did a woman ask her husband if he loved another woman?

  “You haven’t asked about Heather.”

  “I was coming to that.”

  “I assume you’ll want to see her.”

  “Of course.”

  “Who will you say you are?”

  Color flamed in Claire’s cheeks. “I’m her mother, Tom. She has a right to know that.”

  “Does she?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think she has a right to know why her mother hasn’t asked to see her in seven years.”

  He was bitter after all. The back of her throat was very dry. It was difficult to breathe. “You know why.”

  “I know you wanted no part of me, but your own daughter? Why, Claire?”

  “Don’t do this, Tom.”

  “How could you? Is there anything more reprehensible than to ignore the existence of your child?”

  Her eyes filled. “I’m not going to discuss this with you, not now after all this time.”

  “When should we have discussed it? Before she was born or at some point during the last seven years?”

  “Don’t blame me for that.” Her voice shook. “You have no idea what it was like for me.”

  “You wouldn’t see me. You refused my help.”

  “You brought a barrister, a British barrister.”

  “I wanted to help you.”

  “I didn’t want his help.”

  “We both know you served seven years because you wouldn’t implicate Dennis McGarrety. Your friends were no help to you, Claire. I wanted to help you. What was wrong with fighting British injustice with a British barrister?”

  She tightened her lips stubbornly. “You don’t understand. You never did.”

  He sighed. “Whether I do or not is beside the point. The issue at hand is more important. What do you want from me and what do you expect from Heather?”

  “I want my daughter,” said Claire fiercely. “What I didn’t want was a little girl visiting a prison, knowing her mother lived there. Until very recently I had no hope for parole. There was no point in knowing my daughter. I did it for her. Do you think I wouldn’t have rather seen her if I was thinking only of myself?”

  “What do you want now?”

  “I want to know my daughter. I want to be her mother all the time.”

  “That’s a tall order, Claire.”

  She lifted her chin. “A person can change.”

  “Have you changed?”

  “I’m not the person I was. If you give me a chance, I’ll prove it to you.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “What exactly is it that you want from me?”

  “I want to come home.”

  “For how long?”

  She wasn’t getting through to him. He wasn’t understanding. She drew a deep breath. “Permanently.”

  Seventeen

  For a third time Claire walked around the play- ground. Little girls in plaid skirts and blue jumpers skipped rope, bounced balls or hung upside down on monkey bars. She’d spotted Heather immediately. It was as if everyone around her moved in a blur of slow motion and her own child was the only sharply defined image in her vision. She would have known her anywhere, a slightly built little girl, all arms and legs with lovely bones, too large eyes and thick straight brown hair that hung together and swayed like a curtain when she moved. Heather Whelan wasn’t pretty or even cute, but she had the promise of growing into someone unusual. Claire was delighted with the looks of her and petrified of meeting her face-to-face, hence the surreptitious walk around the grounds, the quick glances, the hope that no one would take notice and report her for suspicious activity in the vicinity of junior school.

  So engrossed in the lovely, illicit pleasure of watching her daughter, she didn’t notice the nun overtaking her. Not until the woman tapped her on the shoulder did she realize she wasn’t alone.

  Claire turned around, startled, her hand over her heart.

  “May I help you?” the nun asked in a firm voice. She looked familiar. Claire frowned. “Sister Mary Carol? Is it you?”

  The blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t—”

  “It’s Claire Whelan.”

  Recognition and then shock froze the nun’s features. “My goodness. Claire. You’ve changed. I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

  “Yes,” said Claire.

  “What are you doing here? I thought—” She stopped embarrassed.

  “I’ve been released.”

  “How long have you been home?”

  “Since last night.” She nodded toward the playground. “I wanted to see Heather.”

  “Heather. Of course. Does Tom know you’re back?”

  “I’m staying with Tom.”

  “I see.” The nun held out her hand. “Welcome home, Claire.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Under the circumstances, I can’t release Heather to you without her father’s permission.”

  “Of course not,” said Claire softly, turning away. “I didn’t expect it. I just wanted to see her.”

  The nun’s voice stopped her. “This is rather embarrassing, Claire, but your interest has been noticed. A few of the parents who live in the neighborhood are worried. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “I understand.” She walked away, conscious of the nun’s eyes on her back.

  Claire hadn’t expected to slip back into her past life without some reservations from the local community, but she hadn’t expected it to hurt. Her own reaction puzzled her. She had never been particularly concerned about appearances. Somewhere that had changed without her realizing it. She wanted to fit in somewhere. She wanted to walk down the streets of the town where she was born and smile and wave at her neighbors. She wanted to bake soda bread and drink tea and wash sheets. She wanted to hold her daughter’s hand and tell her stories and admonish her for eating too many sweets. She wanted her husband’s eyes to light up when he saw her, just as they had years ago. For the first time, the magnitude of what she’d thrown away was clear. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Horrified, she brushed them away. She never cried. What was the matter with her?

  Tom was waiting for her when she arrived home. She knew what that white line around his lips meant and braced herself.

  “May I ask what in bloody hell you thought you were doing?”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “I wanted to see my daughter. Is that so unusual?”

  “Why couldn’t you wait a few more hours until she came home?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure you would allow me to see her,” she shot back.

  “Are you insane?”

  “No,” she said calmly, “just desperate.” She opened the refrigerator. Where was Kellie? He wouldn’t show this side of himself if she were around.

  He’d followed her into the kitchen. “If you are going to live in this town—” He stopped. “If you are going to be accepted in this town, your behavior must change.”

  “That’s the real question isn’t it?”

  He ignored her comment. “You can’t simply go your way and not consider the consequences.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, damn it, you have a daughter. She has friends who have parents who don’t want their children associating with a child who has a strange mother.”

  “If you’re referring to my prison years, may I remind you that you are an ex-felon as well.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You know perfectly well why that’s different. Unfortunately the world isn’t as kind to women as it is to men. I’m sorry if you think it’s unfair. I do, too, but it’s Heather who will suffer unless your behavior is that of a completely rehabilitated woman.”

  She stared at him poker-faced. “May I see my daughter?”

  “Don’t push me, Claire. I’m not predisposed to giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “May I see my daughter?” she repeated.

  He sighed. “Of course you may. I’d never intended it otherwise. She’ll be walking home soon. We’ll meet her halfway and then I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

  “Where’s Kellie?”

  “Out,” he said tersely, without elaborating.

  Wisely, Claire kept silent. She wasn’t interested in where Kellie was, only that she wouldn’t be interrupted when she was with her daughter for the first time. She would allow Tom to arrange the details. He was the one who had complicated their lives with another woman. Let him work it out.

  Heather stared at Claire and clung to her father’s hand. Tom had said all he could. The rest was up to Claire.

  “Hello,” she said softly and held out her hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you. I’ve thought of you every day since you were born.”

  Heather, formally polite, took her mother’s hand, gave it a brief shake and let go. “Are you really my mum?”

  “I am.”

  “You’re very pretty.”

  “Thank you. So are you. In fact I think you look like me. What do you think?”

  Heather tilted her head, her eyes moving over her mother, from head down. “Yes,” she said at last. She looked at her father.

  Tom cleared his throat. “I’ve a few errands to run, Heather. Your mum will walk the rest of the way home with you.”