The American Girl

by Rachael English

Genres: General Fiction; Family Life; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

'A true storyteller who keeps you turning the pages' CATHY KELLY

Inspired by heartbreaking true events in a home for unwed mothers, and set between Boston and Ireland, the No.1 bestselling novel The American Girl is a heartrending and captivating story of mothers and daughters, love and cruelty and, ultimately, the embrace of new horizons.

Boston 1968. Rose Moroney is seventeen, smart, spirited - and pregnant. She wants to marry her boyfriend but her ambitious parents have other plans. She is sent to Ireland, their birthplace, to deliver her daughter in a home for unwed mothers - and part with her against her will.

Dublin 2013. Martha Sheeran's life has come undone. Her marriage is over, and her husband has moved on with unsettling speed. Under pressure from her teenage daughter, she starts looking for the woman who gave her up for adoption more than forty years before.

As her search leads her to the heart of long-buried family secrets, old flame Paudie Carmody - now a well-known broadcaster - re-enters the frame.

___________________________________

FIND OUT WHY EVERYONE LOVES RACHAEL ENGLISH:

'A compelling read' Sheila O'Flanagan

'Utterly moving and compelling. That first line . . . wow! I was hooked' Patricia Scanlan

'Fantastic storytelling looking back at Ireland's dark past' Liz Nugent

'A powerful, important, beautiful book' Sinéad Crowley

'Outstanding. I was on the edge of my seat *****'

'It broke my heart. Rachael has managed to tell a truly heartbreaking story beautifully and with real grace and dignity *****'

'Beautifully written and enjoyable *****'

'I loved this book. Despite the subject matter this book is very uplifting *****'

'A beautifully written story, uncovering some untold truths *****'

'An addictive read *****'

'Could not put it down. Highly recommend *****'

Release date: December 1, 2021

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 384

Sample

Boston, 1968

Rose Moroney twirled around the bedroom. Arms outstretched, long brown hair swishing, she felt impossibly light, like a dancer en pointe or a gymnast on a sprung floor.

‘You’re still seeing him, aren’t you?’ said Nancy.

‘You know, Nance, what I do is none of your business. I’m seventeen, I don’t need a chaperone.’

‘Yeah, well, Mom and Dad don’t agree. Before they left, they warned me. “Keep an eye on her,” they said. “Heaven only knows what she’s up to.”’

Rose raised a shoulder, smiled, but said nothing.

How she hated sharing a room with her elder sister. Her prissy, prying elder sister. They’d moved all the way out here to Milton, to this huge house, and still she didn’t have a room of her own. Being the youngest of six was a drag. Oh, other folks had this crazy idea about her having lots of freedom. ‘Lucky you,’ they’d say. ‘The youngest is always spoilt.’ That wasn’t how Rose saw it. Not only did her parents insist on watching her every move, she had to put up with her sister and four brothers meddling in her life. You’d swear they had no lives of their own. Actually, in Nancy’s case this was true. At nineteen, she was already a frump, and her boyfriend, Theo, was the most boring guy in Boston.

A quick stop in front of the mirror, and Rose smoothed the front of her new dress. If she said so herself, she looked good. The sky-blue cotton brought out the blue of her eyes, and the short skirt emphasised her legs. She decided to back-comb her roots just a teensy bit more. She’d seen a picture of the English model Jean Shrimpton in a magazine and that was the look she was aiming for: wide-eyed, willowy, sophisticated. Not that it was easy to achieve. Just applying her mascara – scraping the brush across the black block before coating each lash – took the best part of ten minutes.

When she’d finished her hair and make-up, she turned to Nancy, who remained spreadeagled across her own bed. ‘How do I look?’

‘Available.’

‘That’s the general idea.’ Of course, Rose wasn’t available – she was Joe’s girl – but she liked to keep her sister guessing.

Nancy made a snorting sound and returned to her book. Although Rose was also a reader, Nancy was determined to be the high-minded sister. She was endlessly competitive, anxious to prove to their parents, Ed and Grace, that she was the brighter, more industrious daughter. Rose enjoyed playing up her ditsy side. At school, she’d act dim then confound everybody by scoring straight As. ‘That’s my Rosie,’ her dad would say. ‘She keeps those teachers on their toes.’ Her mom would get all crabby and tell her she was too old for such silliness.

Rose reached into the back of the closet and plucked out her black spike heels. When her parents were around, her favourite shoes had to remain hidden. ‘Inappropriate,’ her mother called them. ‘Inappropriate’ was one of her catchwords, along with ‘trashy’, ‘cheap’ and ‘coarse’. Sometimes it felt like everything that appealed to Rose fell under one of these headings. Her mom didn’t approve of anything young or cool. If she had her way, Rose would be swaddled in a nun’s habit, wimple and all. The thought made her smile. She sprayed a cloud of perfume into the air before stepping into it, the way they recommended in the magazines. Then she pulled on her coat and waved goodbye to Nancy. ‘See you when I see you,’ she said.

‘If Mom and Dad ask—’

‘If Mom and Dad ask, you know nothing.’

Joe was waiting two blocks away in his brother’s car, a wheezy old Pontiac. Given that Rose’s parents were away for the weekend, visiting friends in Holyoke, she was probably overdoing the secrecy. Still, since the fuss at Christmas, they’d had to be careful. Plus, there was something romantic about slinking around. It gave her a buzz, and what was life without a buzz?

‘We-ell, don’t you look fine,’ he said, as she eased into the passenger seat.

Rose leaned in, and they enjoyed a smooch. This was one of the many things she liked about Joe Brennan. My, but he could kiss. By comparison, other boys just slobbered or pecked. They were so awkward, trying to touch her up while making the experience about as appealing as a two-hour math lesson. Joe, on the other hand, made her feel like her insides were rearranging themselves. In a good way. Even though he was barely a year older than her and hadn’t yet finished high school, she thought of him as a man; a grown-up with ideas and plans and opinions. When she’d first met him, standing on a street corner in Southie, chatting with one of her cousins, she hadn’t been swept away or anything. With his bony features, pale brown hair and sad grey eyes, he wasn’t even the best-looking guy she’d dated. The more she got to know him, though, the more smitten she became. Some people just had this energy about them. When they talked, you had to listen. Joe was one of those people.

‘I’d been hoping we might go to the movies,’ he said, ‘except I had to buy gas, and money’s sort of tight, so is it okay if we hang out at Bree’s place?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ she said, before moving in for another kiss.

Bree was Joe’s sister, and the couple spent a great deal of time in the apartment she shared with her two daughters. Occasionally her husband, Davey, was there too. More often, he was missing, busy with … Actually, Rose wasn’t sure how he made his living. She’d learned not to ask too many questions. The last thing she wanted was to appear nosy – or uppity. Money, or the lack of it, was part of her family’s problem with Joe. But only part of it. His folks weren’t exactly model citizens. His father was a boozer and his mom was one of those women who thought nothing of wearing her housecoat in the street. He had an uncle in prison too. As Rose saw it, this made Joe all the more admirable. Any fool would prosper in a strait-laced home like hers, but to grow up with his family and still be such a stand-up guy? That took real character.

By now, they’d left Rose’s world – the immaculate colonial houses, the orderly gardens, the children strolling with their mothers – and were motoring towards Joe’s world: a world of projects, peeling three-deckers and men mooching outside bars. Well, obviously, it was much more than that. For Rose, Joe’s neighbourhood was a welcoming place. She felt like everything, good and bad, was out in the open there. Once, it had been the Moroneys’ neighbourhood too. Not that this was something Rose’s parents liked to dwell on. An outsider would never guess that Grace and Ed had spent a large chunk of their lives in South Boston, or that they had family still living there.

Joe parked the car close to his family’s apartment and returned the keys. Rose waited on the sidewalk. Some days it was best not to get involved in the Brennans’ dramas. According to Joe, this was one of those days.

They decided to go for a walk before calling in on Bree.

‘I want to show you off,’ said Joe, with a wink. ‘If that’s not too offensive.’

Rose smiled. During one of their long conversations, she’d expressed support for women’s liberation. ‘So long as I can show you off too,’ she said.

‘Not only is she cute, she’s funny with it,’ he replied, pinching her cheek. She pinched him right back.

Just a week earlier, the weather had been squally and bleak, but that Saturday afternoon, while still cool, had the sparkle of spring about it. The streets teemed with people, all shucking off their winter gloom. Many had Irish faces. A couple of years back, Rose had discovered that she could spot an Irish person by the shape of their face or the colour of their eyes or the way they held themselves. Often, she wondered about their stories. What had brought them to America? What did they think of their new home? And whom had they left behind? From time to time, her parents received letters from Ireland. More often than not, they were sombre: one person was ill, another had died, somebody else was in need of money. Mostly, her mom and dad shrugged and put the letter in the trash, burying the bad news beneath a mound of coffee grounds and eggshells.

‘What’s up at home?’ asked Rose. ‘Is your mom okay?’

‘As okay as she’s ever going to be while my old man’s around.’

‘What I don’t get is why she doesn’t boot him out.’

Joe rounded his eyes. ‘Money, Rosie. He earns it. She doesn’t. As long as that continues, the poor woman’s stuck.’

Rose had done it again. When it came to Joe’s family, she had this embarrassing ability to say the wrong thing. The harder she tried to show her understanding, the more she displayed her ignorance. Cursing her misstep, she attempted to make light of the situation. ‘Do you know, Joseph Patrick Brennan, I think you’re more of a women’s rights supporter than me.’

She was relieved that when he spoke again his voice was sprinkled with humour. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Just don’t go telling anyone else about my feminist streak.’

Around them, the air hummed with gossip. Some people were on their way up; more were on their way out. One guy was in trouble with his wife; another was on the run from the cops. There was talk of the Celtics and the Red Sox. There were laments for Blinstrub’s nightclub, gutted by fire the month before. Mostly, though, people were going about their business. They were battling on.

When the couple arrived at Bree’s apartment, the bottom floor of a sagging three-decker, she was in the hall fixing her hair.

‘What do you think, Rose?’ asked Bree, as she scowled at the mirror. ‘Up or down?’

‘Down, I think, with a little more height at the crown, perhaps.’

‘Mmm, I reckon you’re right. So, JP, to what do I owe the pleasure?’

Joe gave a full-wattage smile. Oh, that smile! One part goofy, one part kind, one part pure sex. ‘We figured your day might need brightening up.’

‘Aw, how decent of you. You’re too late, though. I’m heading over to Dolly’s place. She’s having a party for her eldest girl. The kids are already there. You could come too … I suppose.’

‘We could …’

‘Or you could be honest and admit you’re in need of somewhere to make out.’

‘Us?’ they replied together, acting all offended. In actual fact, none of them was being honest. Joe and Rose did more than kiss and cuddle. For months, they’d been going all the way, exploring each other in ways Rose hadn’t thought possible. Bree pretended not to notice.

‘Go on, the place is yours for an hour or two,’ she said, as she gave her hair a final fluff. ‘Try to leave it in one piece.’

Joe knew where Davey kept his liquor, and while Rose settled into the lumpy brown couch, he fixed two whiskeys. Bree’s lounge smelt of cigarette smoke and small children, yet Rose had come to think of it as her second home.

‘What would your dad say if he could see us now?’ asked Joe, as they cosied in together.

‘He’d be thrilled, I’m sure. I can hear him saying, “You go for it, Rosie.’”

He gave a gurgling laugh and kissed her neck. ‘And your mom?’

‘She’d be on her knees saying the rosary.’

Truth to tell, the Moroney family weren’t especially religious. Yet when trouble called, her mother sought refuge in rituals and pieties. She liked people to think that they were fervent Catholics too. At Mass, they always had to sit up front. Rose would far rather have been down the back with her friends. When faced with any sort of difficulty, her mom’s other trick was to remind the family of her impoverished start. She loved to bore them with tales from her west of Ireland childhood. The suffering. The indignity. The damp. The last time she’d gone on a misery binge, Rose had made the mistake of interrupting. ‘I think you’ll find, Mom,’ she’d said, ‘that the awful weather in Rathkelly wasn’t my fault.’ Her mother’s sulk had lasted for three whole days.

Now, as Mick Jagger snarled on Bree’s radio, Rose swallowed a mouthful of Wild Turkey and moved in for another smooch. Although the taste was rank, she did love how the whiskey tingled and burned all the way down. It made her lightheaded too, which was cool.

‘I don’t expect you to agree,’ she said, as they disentangled, ‘but my dad’s not the worst guy in the world. He’s … Well, it’s like he has life all figured out for me, and he doesn’t want anything – or anybody – to get in the way.’

‘I understand,’ said Joe. ‘Only times are changing. It’s not the nineteen fifties any more. Old Ed will have to realise that.’

On Christmas Day, Rose had escaped from home to meet up with Joe. The two had spent most of the day in Bree’s apartment. There were swarms of people there, and she’d had more fun than she could ever remember, singing and telling stories and playing games. According to Joe, this was the Brennans’ Christmas ceasefire. ‘Hostilities restart at midnight,’ he’d joked. For her, it was a magical day. Or, rather, it was until her dad had tracked them down. There was an almighty row. There might have been a fist fight, only her father wasn’t a particularly big man and some of Joe’s cousins were tough. Up until then, her parents had been sniffy about Joe. They’d discouraged her from meeting him. Now she was forbidden from seeing him, period.

This only strengthened his appeal. Nancy, her voice buckling with condescension, maintained Rose would grow out of her Romeo-and-Juliet phase. Rose was honest enough to admit that part of her did like playing the romantic heroine. There was more to their relationship than that, though. She was sure of it.

Sometimes Joe and Rose talked about all the places they’d like to see. What would it be like to camp in the Rockies, they wondered, or to swim off the Florida Keys where even in December the water was warm as soup? Was San Francisco as cool as everybody said? How wild was Las Vegas? More often, they talked about what they wanted to do with their lives. Rose kept changing her mind. For a while, she’d wanted to be a teacher. ‘But you don’t like being in a classroom now,’ Joe had said. ‘Why would it feel any different if you were standing up top?’ He had a point. All she could say for sure was that she would like to go to college and she’d like to find a job where she could immerse herself in life. Where she could get involved. Sitting in a typing pool was not for her.

When it came to his own future, Joe had lots of ideas but wasn’t sure how to put them into practice. Some of his schemes were more serious than others.

‘I’m planning on starting a rock band,’ he announced, as he played with Rose’s hair. ‘We’ll all become millionaires. Then I’ll move my entire family – aunts, uncles, everybody – into the same street as your parents. We’ll arrive like the Clampetts in The Beverly Hillbillies and terrify the neighbourhood.’

Rose giggled. ‘I’m not saying your plan won’t work, but it might be good to have an alternative.’

‘Wouldn’t it just? The trouble is, I look at what’s on offer and I find myself thinking, Is that as good as it gets?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Walk down any street, what do you see? Guys who do jobs they can’t stand, boring, back-breaking jobs. Come the weekend, you’ll see those same guys getting blitzed so they can forget about it all. Then on Monday morning, there they are, trudging off to work again. And on and on it goes. And, yeah, I know I’m not exactly the first person to talk like this, but it’s so frustrating.’

‘Some people like what they do. I’m pretty sure my dad does.’

‘Your dad’s the boss, Rose.’

‘True, but he’s had plenty of other jobs too.’

Rose reckoned that it was the desire to make good that bound her parents together. Both had left Ireland in their teens, and both had been determined to grasp whatever opportunity came their way. Her father had taken work wherever he’d found it, mostly on construction sites. Despite clocking up sixty or seventy hours a week, he’d managed to do a business course at night. Eventually he’d accumulated enough cash to start his own construction company. If anything, her mother was more obsessive about forging ahead. ‘I didn’t cross the Atlantic to live in poverty,’ she liked to say.

‘I suppose,’ continued Joe, ‘what I’m trying to find is something that feels like it’s worth doing. Something that’s not just about the money. Does that sound lame?’

‘Nope, I can see where you’re coming from.’

With any other guy, she would be sceptical. She’d accuse him of spinning a line to charm his way into her panties. Joe didn’t need to do that. Oh, she was sure that an eavesdropper would dismiss them as naive kids, but she believed that Joe meant every word he said. He was different. They were different.

Rose rested one hand on his thigh and kissed the side of his face. He responded with enthusiasm and for a while they stayed on the couch, kissing and nuzzling and touching. Pleasure tickled her body.

‘And you,’ Joe said.

‘Sorry?’

‘I’d like you to be part of my life, I mean.’

‘That’s what I’d like too,’ she said, as Joe’s hand crept inside her pantyhose.

‘You know,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper, ‘there’s nothing to stop us using the bed.’

‘Bree and Davey’s bed?’

‘I don’t see either of them here, do you?’

‘Let’s go,’ said Rose, her head all woozy, partly from the whiskey, partly from Joe’s touch. She kissed his forehead. Just in that moment, she was incredibly, deliriously, happy.

It was funny. For the longest time, Rose had been able to picture Nancy’s future: marriage to Theo; a house not far from their parents; a family of dull, well-behaved children. The shape of her own future had remained a blur. That was beginning to change.

How soon did she know? When her period was more than a week overdue, she had a fairly solid idea. Rose lied to herself, though, told herself it didn’t mean anything. She kept pretending she could feel her period’s dull weight, that it would start at any minute. She was like a small animal, hunkering low, hoping the danger would pass.

Hiding was easy. Boston, like the rest of the country, was convulsed by the assassination of Robert Kennedy. Coming so soon after the murder of Martin Luther King, the death felt doubly shocking. At night, the Moroney family sat around the TV, monitoring the tumult, Grace muttering about the world going to hell in a handbasket, Ed complaining that America had become a very strange place indeed.

By the time Rose spoke to Joe, she’d missed two periods. She was bloated and achy – and sick. The previous day, she’d had to throw up at school. Halfway through English class, she’d bolted for the bathroom. ‘Stomach flu,’ she’d explained. Although the nurse had tried to send her home, she’d insisted on staying put. The last thing Rose wanted was to attract her mother’s attention.

They were in Bree’s apartment. Outside, the June heat scalded the sidewalks, melted the roads and left red weals on pale Irish skin. Inside was cooler but airless. Joe was babysitting. Thankfully, both of his nieces had gone for a nap. Rose’s mom and dad thought she was with her cousin, Teresa. They thought she spent a lot of time with Teresa.

As the news sank in, Joe’s face changed. First a tic appeared in his right cheek. Then his mouth tightened, like it was being pulled by a string. Finally his entire face went rigid with panic. ‘Damn it, Rose,’ he said. ‘How did that happen?’

The words cut through her, like a switchblade. That wasn’t the reaction she’d expected.

Immediately, he realised his mistake. ‘Oh, God, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it must have sounded. I was taken aback, that’s all.’

The need to weep had been welling up inside her, and finally she succumbed. One tear became twenty, and one tremble became a hundred shudders. She did her best not to make noise – she was anxious not to wake the children – but hiccups and sobs kept bursting out.

Joe wrapped himself around her, his palms running up and down her back. ‘Please forgive me, Rosie,’ he said, and ‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ and ‘Please stop crying.’

When finally the tears did stop and the shuddering had run its course, Joe lit them both a cigarette. They sat in silence, long curls of smoke drifting to the ceiling. ‘What are we going to do?’ he said eventually.

‘I don’t know.’

He exhaled a last whoosh of smoke and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Well, I do. We’re going to be together … if that’s what you want. You, me and the baby. Our baby.’

‘Of course it’s what I want,’ said Rose. ‘I just didn’t expect it to happen like this, you know? Not to us … to people who have lives to live.’

That was the truth. She’d been stupid. Not controlled enough. Not careful enough. Too caught up in the pleasure and adventure of being with Joe. Too convinced of her own sophistication. Now that she thought about it, she didn’t believe any of her high-school friends were having sex. Sure, they claimed they were. But they exaggerated. To listen to them you’d think every peck on the cheek was a passionate embrace; every bungling fumble a life-changing experience. No, Rose was the only one who’d been dumb enough to have sex – and to get caught.

Joe was talking. ‘We can still live our lives, Rose,’ he said, as he stroked her hand. ‘Don’t you worry.’

She knew he was trying to reassure her, but fear remained in his eyes.

‘I do love you,’ he said.

‘And I love you.’ Another tear slithered down her face.

‘And, okay, this is all moving more quickly than we might have planned but, like my mom says, things happen for a reason.’

Rose was going through a muddle of emotions. Her mouth was paper dry, her limbs heavy. Even though she’d given voice to what was happening, it still felt unreal. She expected that at any moment she’d be back in her bedroom, teasing Nancy, barely a serious thought in her head.

Joe put an arm around her and pulled her in close. ‘How far along are you?’

‘A couple of months, I guess.’

‘All right,’ he said. She could almost hear his brain whirring. ‘We’ve got a bit of time, then. Does anybody else—’

‘Oh, no, nobody at home has any idea. Can you imagine if they did?’

He brushed his lips along her forehead. ‘My poor Rosie, keeping this bottled up. What we need is a plan.’

‘I’ll have to tell my parents, only …’ She started shaking again.

‘First things first,’ said Joe, as he rose from the couch. Before she appreciated what he was doing, he was on one knee, squeezing her hand. ‘Rose Moroney, will you marry me?’

She smiled, and a tear slipped into her mouth. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will.’

It was Nancy who joined the dots. She could have done the decent thing and spoken to Rose first, but she had to go blabbing, telling their mom about her sister throwing up and looking all queer. Whatever else Grace was, she was no fool. She’d been through eight pregnancies – six children and two miscarriages – and she knew what her elder daughter was saying.

Rose was terrified. She wished she’d had more time to rehearse her lines but she also felt an instinctive need to tell the truth. What was the point in lying? Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t wish her pregnancy away. As the days passed, she was coming to terms with her predicament. Like Joe said, everything was moving more quickly than they’d planned. But so what? The same thing had happened to thousands, millions, before her, and they had coped. She loved Joe. He loved her. That was what mattered.

So, sitting across from both parents in the family’s icy lounge, she gave an honest answer. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I believe I am.’

‘Oh, Rosie,’ said her father, his face wilting. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I—’

Her mother intervened: ‘I should have known that something like this would happen. How could you be so stupid?’

Again, Rose tried to reply, but her mom didn’t want an answer. She wanted to continue her tirade. When she got angry, she lost all subtlety. The world was black or white; dirty or clean; respectable or cheap. Oh, and she went back to her roots. As she shouted, her accent returned to County Mayo. No insult was too base, no language too strong. Rose was no better than a whore; her behaviour was sordid; she was damaged goods and would end up in the gutter.

Rose stayed quiet. Her eyes remained dry. She had expected something like this. She would have to ride it out.

After a while, her dad attempted to speak, but her mother hadn’t finished. She waved a hand as if to say, ‘Butt out.’ ‘And the father?’ she said, her voice confused, as though the baby’s dad might be some random guy Rose had met on the street.

‘Joe,’ Rose said quietly. ‘Joe Brennan. It’s okay, though. We’re going to get married.’

Her mom appeared to lift herself up by a few inches. ‘Be sensible, Rose. Do you really think you’re going to get married and raise a child in some cockroach-infested apartment? You and a gang of criminals? You’re little more than a child yourself.’

‘Joe’s not a criminal.’

‘Some of his family are,’ said her dad. ‘And, whether you like it or not, most people end up living the life their family lived before them.’

‘You didn’t.’

With that, her mother leaned forward and slapped her – thwack – across the face. ‘You won’t compare your father to the sort of people you’ve been hanging about with.’

Rose recoiled, her only sound a feeble ow. She expected her dad to step in, but while a frown rushed across his face, he said nothing.

‘Of course,’ continued her mother, ‘we should have done more to stop you seeing this Joe Brennan fellow. What we—’

Finally, her dad cleared his throat. ‘You’ve made a serious mistake, Rose, and we’re very disappointed in you. Whatever you might think now, you don’t want to marry that boy. You haven’t finished school, and I doubt he has any means of supporting you and a baby.’

Although her face was stinging, Rose willed herself to sound strong and firm. ‘You don’t know Joe. I promise you he’s a smart guy. Like, really, seriously smart. He’s just finishing high school and he’s going to get a job and …’ She was on the brink of suggesting her dad could give him that job only she feared it would be a step too far.

Silent panic filled the room. Rose had the feeling that her mother regretted the slap. Respectable women didn’t slap their daughters. Respectable women were subtle.

When her mom spoke again, her tone was more measured, her Boston accent restored. She looked directly at Rose. ‘Please can we stop this foolish talk about marriage?’ Before Rose could reply, her mother lobbed in another question. ‘Apart from Joe, does anybody know you’re expecting?’

‘Unless he’s told somebody, no.’

‘That’s how it’s going to stay. While we decide what to do, you’re not to say anything. Do you hear?’

‘But I need to talk to him. He’s entitled to know what’s going on.’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps you could invite him over.’

Her mother gave a hurried shake of the head. ‘That, Rose, is out of the question. You’re not to talk to him – or to anybody else. The last thing we want is word of your situation getting around.’

‘I don’t understand. You can’t keep me here like I’m a prisoner or something.’

‘You’ll stay here while we work out what to do.’

‘I don’t follow you.’

Her mother massaged her forehead with both hands. Some time passed before she spoke, and when she did, her voice was flat. ‘There are ways of handling these things,’ she said.

There was consternation in the house, all of them weighing in with opinions and suggestions. Everybody was allowed to have a view – except Rose. Mostly, she was confined to her room. Her mother told her to stay there and reflect on the damage she’d done. Even school was off limits. Rose didn’t hear everything her family said but she heard enough to know there was friction. Her dad suggested a trip to the doctor to confirm the pregnancy. Her mom said no, she didn’t trust the man. ‘The news will be all around the neighbourhood, and where will we be then?’ she asked. The one person who was consulted was the parish priest. Once again, bad news had brought out Grace’s religious streak. Candles were lit, and previously unknown saints were asked to intercede.

Nancy and two of Rose’s brothers, Ed junior and Ray, acted all shocked and appalled. Rose suspected they were enjoying her shame. ‘I always said she was spoiled,’ said Ray, sounding closer to fifty-five than his actual twenty-five. Another brother, Gene, didn’t seem overly bothered. Then again, Gene was rarely bothered by anything. He lived in his own world, his face suggesting his thoughts were on another plane, far away from the dreariness of Moroney family life.

Her fourth brother, Kevin, thought she should be allowed to marry Joe. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘the situation’s not ideal, but it’s obvious Rosie loves the guy. Why not invite him over and talk it through?’

‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ said their mother. ‘Or is that the type of liberal nonsense they’re teaching at BC these days?’

The brightest of the family, Kevin was in his junior year at