May 2013
'I was going to be a nurse. I dreamt of it ever since I was a girl in Drogheda.'
Bernadette gazed benignly at her mother, and let her continue.
'My mistake was meeting your father. In a blink of an eye I was here in England with six children. Well that was the end of my dreams.'
Bridie threw down the dishcloth as if it were the cause of all her woes. Calmly, Bernadette rose from the chair and started to dry the dishes.
'You don't have to be doing that, you're only home a couple of days. You'd think they'd spare you for longer than that to see the mother who brought you into the world, who watched you grow up into such a good and lovely girl. I thought you'd be married with children . . . my grandchildren . . . and you throw yourself away . . . a nun, for pity's sake. If I'd known, I'd never have taken you to church. What a waste!'
Bernadette held her mother's shoulders, her clear brown eyes looking into Bridie's angry green ones.
'Mum, I love you, but the only waste here is your bitterness. I'll pray for you.'
Bridie's eyes flashed with renewed fury.
'Don't bother; I don't want your prayers!'
Bernadette went upstairs to pack her case. From the window, she watched her mother wrenching the washing from the line and stuffing it into the basket. She went back to her packing and smiled at the thought of going home.