My Mother's Children: An Irish family secret and the scars it left behind. by Annette Sills (top rated books of all time .txt) 📕

“I thought the nature of the relationship between Mags and her daughter was a bit over the top,” said a middle-aged woman with a Maureen O’Hara head of curls. “Do you really think women are that vicious to each other in real life?”

“They are in Leitrim,” interjected an elderly man behind to much laughter.

A handsome young man with floppy of blonde hair took the microphone.

“I enjoyed your production very much,” he said softly. “I’d like to know if you think there are still small-minded communities in Ireland today like the one portrayed in the play. Or do you think the country has moved on?”

Dempsey sat up and peered at the man, nodding enthusiastically.

“I think there’s been a huge generational shift in attitudes. Most of it is to do with young Irish rejecting the values of the Catholic Church. The paedophile scandals and the Magdalene Laundries have sent them running. There’s a lot of support for the upcoming vote for gay marriage and the lobby to legalise abortion.” He sat back and cleared his throat. “Yet whenever I go back I can’t help thinking the older generation are still quite a conservative lot. Especially in the small towns and villages.”

I shifted in my seat. So he was a smooth-talking liberal now, was he? Agreeing with abortion and outraged by the Magdalene Laundries after what he’d done to Tess? I tutted and exhaled loudly to the annoyance of the man and woman sitting either side of me. A few more questions followed then the theatre director looked down at her watch and said there was time for one more.

Something took hold of me. I took deep breaths and tried to ground myself.

Then gathering every ounce of inner strength I had, I put my hand up.

With a racing heart I watched the microphone make its way along my row of seats. I clutched it immediately with both hands so no one could see how much I was trembling.

Then I spoke.

“I see that you are a native of County Galway like my mother, Mr Dempsey,” I said, swallowing. “You mentioned the Magdalene Laundries earlier so I was wondering if you have any thoughts on the recent discovery of the mass grave at the Mother and Baby home in Tuam?”

Dempsey flinched, craned his neck forwards and looked at me. Then he shrank back in his chair. In the long silence that followed a mobile phone rang at the back of the theatre and someone sneezed.

“Mr Dempsey?” I prompted.

“It’s a terrible tragedy for all those involved,” he said quietly, “but I’m afraid I don’t really know much about it.”

I gripped the microphone tighter and tried to control the quiver in my voice.

“I think you do,” I said, “I think you know an awful lot about it.”

People turned and stared but to my great surprise I held my ground. The search for my sibling had been long and painful and I was finally face to face with someone who could give me answers. I’d been waiting for this moment for months.

“Maybe I should ask you about the illegal adoptions instead,” I said. “About the babies who were trafficked from the Mother and Baby homes all across Ireland and sold on to families and individuals in the US and here in the UK? I suppose you don’t know anything about that either, do you?”

Dempsey froze then crumpled back into his chair, exchanging a look with the blonde who started to shuffle the papers on the table in front of her.

At the sight of his tired-looking arm flopping over his chair arm, I stopped. He was an old man. He was also my uncle. I’d made my point but it was now time to leave. There was no need to humiliate him further.

I dropped the microphone on my seat, grabbed my coat and bag and stumbled towards the exit, treading on toes and apologising. A nervous-looking usher pushed open the door. Before going through it I glanced back at the stage. The director was telling the audience about a new play the theatre was about to launch and Dempsey was sitting with his chin on his chest like he’d suffered a gunshot wound to the head.

I ran down the corridor into the main reception area. Ushers were standing around and a security guard was talking on a walkie-talkie by a side door. I went through the main entrance and stopped at the top of the steps, a blast of cold night air chilling me to the bone. It was snowing heavily and a white blanket covered the ground. I watched the flakes swaying and drifting like feathers, dusting the road and painting a white rim on the roofs of the line of black taxis queueing up outside. Shivering, I pulled on my coat and wound my scarf around my neck. As I made my way gingerly down the steps, a burst of applause erupted behind me.

Chapter 34

Apart from a group of women at a corner table surrounded by Prosecco bottles and discarded wrapping paper, the wine bar was empty. I found a seat by the window, put my glass of Merlot down on the table and took out the theatre programme from my bag. My stomach was twisted with knots as I took off my coat, unravelled my scarf and sat down. I opened the programme and stared at Dempsey’s photograph. I felt sick.

I’d never intended that to happen. I was going to wait behind after the Q&A and introduce myself in a civilised manner. But now I’d blown it good and proper. Dempsey would have nothing to do with me and I’d never find out what happened to my brother.

Out of the window I could see the theatregoers flooding out onto the pavement. Some were getting into waiting taxis and others were putting up umbrellas and hurrying in the direction of the train station. Two teenagers in hoodies were having a snowball