Page 43 of The Altar Girls

‘No need to worry.’

She watched as Rose scanned the counter top. ‘Ah yes. The kettle is boiled. You’ll have a cup?’

‘Sure.’

She stood to help. Rose shooed her away.

‘I can make a pot of tea without scalding myself.’

‘Are there any of your friends you’d like to see? I can ask them to come round for a chat.’

‘Not at all. I might go out myself later on.’

‘It’s too icy. Stay in today.’

With the tea made, Lottie put milk on the table and smiled at the mess Louis had made with the cups and spoons. An idea crossed her mind.

‘Do you know Mrs Coyne? She lives down John’s Terrace.’

‘Betty? Sure I know her. We went to school together.’

It never ceased to amaze Lottie how her mother’s brain worked. ‘Have you seen her recently?’

‘Not since I stopped going to my knitting group.’

‘I wonder does she still go to it?’

‘I doubt it. She had a stroke and went a bit forgetful after.’

‘I could get her to call here. Would you like that?’

‘Louis is the child, not me, so don’t treat me like one.’

Had she done that? Probably.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘But it’s a good idea. It would be nice to catch up with her. Maybe she saw my jumper.’

‘What?’

‘I’m joking,’ Rose laughed. ‘I could help with her knitting. She had trouble with an Aran sweater last time we met.’

Wishing her mother could have more lucid episodes like this, Lottie sipped her tea and planned how to get Mrs Coyne on board.

31

It was snowing again, and he planted his nose against the frosted glass. He could hear the crash of the waves but could no longer see them. He tried to imagine what the long beach would look like with snow on the sand, but it was impossible to conjure up an image. In Malaga he’d never seen snow and the sea was always blue, unlike the dark, forbidding waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

And the sky! He peered upwards. It had been bright a few moments earlier and now it was grey-black. It felt like night-time, though he thought it must only be around midday.

Still Mama did not come back.

He tried the handle again, but the door was securely locked. He wished he had a phone so he could call… No, she had warned him, no phones and no contacting his papa. But Papa would be able to open the door and let him out.

The walls were coming in on top of him and he felt trapped. Because he was trapped. His throat suddenly clogged up and his breath was stuck somewhere in his chest. He tried breathing through his nose. In and out. Better.

Banging on the door with his fists, he cried, ‘Let me out!’