She’d not said anything before, had waited till she got her mother on her own before speaking. But it was even harder to begin than she’d expected. ‘I’ve, um, got something to tell you, Mam.’ ‘Oh?’ Her mother swung round, expression suddenly eager. ‘You’re not expecting again?’ Sorrow stabbed through Irene, as it always did when she thought of the baby she’d lost. They’d not even let her see it and the doctor had warned her not to have any more babies for a year or two. ‘No. I told you the doctor said we should wait a bit.’ ‘It’s not natural, what you’re doing. If Father Benson knew you were preventing babies, he’d be round here like a shot. I knew nothing good would come of you marrying a heathen. But you wouldn’t be told. No, you had to marry him. You always go your own sweet way, you do.’ Irene bit back her usual argument that Freddie not being a Catholic didn’t make him a heathen. ‘You agreed not to tell the priest.’ ‘Only because your da was so worried about you, he made a fuss.’ Irene swallowed a lump that suddenly seemed to be blocking her throat.
