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

office and I was heading to my car I’d parked in one of the roads behind the university. I was popping in to work afterwards to pick up some research papers and have a coffee with Mary.

I was halfway across Oxford Road and there she was standing twenty or so feet away on the pavement edge, facing me.

She was surrounded by a river of students in gowns and hats who were flooding out of the university buildings with their friends and family. She looked stunning in a grey figure-hugging dress and heels, her hair braided. Her arm was placed proudly around Alexia’s shoulders and they were posing for a photo. The man taking it was the same man I’d seen in Alexia’s Instagram post some weeks previously.

Though I’d deleted both Karen and Alexia from my Facebook and Twitter accounts, I hadn’t deleted Alexia from my Instagram. I rarely used my account but I was bored one day in the clinic waiting room and I started scrolling idly through when I saw the photo of Karen. She was sitting on the thick knees of a rugged-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and stubble. They were smiling at each other, surrounded by lemon trees, bougainvillea and blue skies. He had a look of Idris Elba and she was wearing a yellow sundress, her bare arms entwined around his neck. I tried to remember the last time I’d seen her looking so happy. Underneath Alexia had written.

Mum and George in his plush pad in the hills. Guys, get a room.

By the time I’d crossed the road my heart was about to implode in my chest. I looked around for an escape route but it was too late. Karen had already seen me. Alexia moved away to talk to another student and Karen said something to George and quickly made her way towards me.

I felt the panic rising and my flight instinct kicked in. I was about to run back across the road but instead I rooted my feet to the ground. No, you don’t, Doherty, I said to myself. This time you stay.

She stood about a foot away from me, searching my face. A flicker of something crossed hers, pain, pity, regret. Maybe all of those things or perhaps none.

“Carmel,” she said with forced cheerfulness. Then she raised her arms as if she was about to molest me in some kind of embrace. I was enraged. How could she think she could hug me as if nothing had happened? I wanted more than anything to give her an almighty whack across the face. But how could I? Behind her Alexia’s face was smiling and laughing. She was enjoying her big day, I was her godmother and I was never going to ruin it despite what Karen had done. Instead I turned and hurried away, tears pouring down my face.

I was still shaking when I got into work. Mary got me a coffee from the vending machine in the staffroom and took me outside to calm down. We sat on the low wall outside our building in the sunshine.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive her?” she asked.

I shook my head and sipped. “I really don’t know, Mary. It’s not just because she had sex with Joe. Sometimes when I look back over our friendship I wonder if it only worked because she was in charge. In many ways I think I’ve always been Karen’s lackey and done what she wanted. Julia said as much when I was in Ireland recently. I think Karen was a bit of a control freak and took advantage of the fact that I was angsty and needy and manipulated me sometimes.”

But, as the months passed, I started to regret not speaking to her that day. I regretted not asking her to meet up for a coffee and not giving her a chance to make amends. And it’s a feeling that’s chipped away at my heart ever since. She was in my life long before Joe and we’ve been through too much together to throw all those years of friendship away. So I contacted Alexia on Instagram and asked for her mum’s address. It’s taking me a while but I am composing a letter.

Declan finished his song to loud applause. Ellie whistled and clapped from the table in the middle of the room where she was handing out slices of pizza. I caught her eye and we raised glasses.

I’d found a near perfect sister-in-law in Ellie Lavelle. Razor-sharp with a heart of gold, she was one of those women who did a million things at once and never complained about her lot. Dan and I had her to thank for the relationship we now had. Without her it might never have happened.

The day after our awkward reunion at the Whitworth, Dan emailed and apologised for his sudden departure. He said he was emotionally all over the place and wasn’t sure he was ready to have a sibling relationship. Then, with Kissinger-like diplomacy, Ellie took charge. Over the next few months she encouraged and coaxed us together, organising coffee mornings, birthday dinners and days out with the kids. It worked. Over time the unease Dan initially felt melted and we started to bond.

It felt good to have a brother again but Dan was no Mikey. Joe was right when he said Mikey was special. He had a charisma and easy-going way about him that charmed people within minutes of meeting him. Dan, on the other hand, was more cerebral and reserved, a much more difficult nut to crack. He was very different to the man I met at the fundraiser. And yet I was grateful to have him in my life. He, Ellie, the kids and Timothy had restored to me the sense of belonging I had lost after Tess and Mikey passed. They’d filled the black hole around me and made me feel tethered again.

On a sunny April afternoon in Southern Cemetery on what would have been Tess’s