Page 20 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

The morning started like every other in the cold and damp of Connemara.

That was until Mary Elizabeth felt the weight of her parents, grandparents, ancestors, all of them, like sacks of potatoes on her shoulders.

The first wave of nausea hit her as she got ready for school, bending over to pull on her white knee socks.

She sat back on the hard wooden chair in the corner. She was never sick.

Mentally she went through the little she’d eaten the evening before. Boiled potatoes, bacon and cabbage. Maybe it was the cabbage. But she knew deep down. She knew what was wrong, and that was why the weight settled on her and she would never again be able to remove it.

The second wave had her pulling the door open and racing to the only bathroom in the house. Her brother was inside. Typical.

‘I need to go to the toilet,’ she said calmly. ‘Open up.’

He didn’t answer, or didn’t hear her with the flow of water.

She imagined him dunking his drunken head under the tap.

He’d been out the night before and she could smell the stink of stale alcohol wafting through the slats and door jamb.

It’d take more than water to rid him of the smell of pints of Guinness.

The very thought had her retching right there on the landing, bent in two, holding her stomach as if it was about to fall out of her body.

‘What’s all that racket?’ her mother shouted up the stairs, a woman who rarely lowered her voice. ‘You’ll have your father running in from the field thinking something is wrong, and you don’t want that, do you?’

She was below in the kitchen stirring porridge, and the smell rose and mingled with Joseph’s overindulgence.

Another retch tore through Mary Elizabeth with such force that this time she couldn’t hold it in.

Bile dribbled through the fingers of the hand she’d clasped to her mouth, and she thought she would surely die with the force of it.

The door opened, and bare-chested, green, her brother came out and stalled at the sight of her. ‘Jesus, you look worse than I feel. What’d you drink?’

She couldn’t answer him. She ducked under his arm and skidded on the moist floor, dropped to her knees and puked into the rancid toilet. Her brother still had to learn to flush. Another wave. More expulsion. Then she felt her hair being gripped and gently held back.

‘Sis, what’s wrong?’

She didn’t have to say it. She knew by the look on his face that he understood.

‘Daddy will kill you. He’ll put you in the convent. You have to run away.’

‘I can’t do that. I have to tell them.’ The enormity of her predicament hit home, and it scared her. But she couldn’t bring her brother into it. ‘Leave me be.’

And he did.

He fecked off to America two weeks later, leaving her totally alone.

She curled up into a ball on the floor and sobbed into her arms.