The Irish Midwives Book 2

Book 0: The Irish Midwives

by Seána Tinley

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

The second book in the The Irish Midwives series, following more heartwarming and emotional tales from Peggy and her midwife friends.

Release date: March 12, 2026

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 320

Sample

1

Belfast, New Year’s Eve, 1936

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ The voice rang out around the hall. ‘Welcome to the New Year’s Eve gala party, as we prepare to greet the year nineteen hundred and thirty-seven!’

Sometimes, change comes as a surprise – a lightning bolt with no warning. On other occasions, you can almost feel it in the air before it arrives; a rumbling sense of tension, of occasion, of transformation. All day, Kathleen Gallagher had had a strange feeling inside: a delicious mix of excitement, and nerves, and anticipation. If asked, she could not have said precisely what it was that was making her pulse thrum and her senses hum that day, and would have muttered about the fact it was New Year’s Eve, she was going to her first dance, and everyone in Belfast was excited and ready to usher in 1937.

Yet there was more to it. Kathleen knew there was. She just did not – yet – know what the more was.

I am sixteen now. Perhaps that was it. The number had a magical ring to it, for everyone knew that respectable girls were allowed to walk out with boys once they turned sixteen. Kathleen and her best friend Therese Flynn had been speculating for months about what it would be like to walk out with a boy, to hold a boy’s hand. To kiss a boy.

Sixteen meant excitement. New freedoms, maybe. At least it would be a change from dreary ordinariness. At the age of twelve Kathleen had started as a half-timer in the Broadway Damask Works – a fancy name for a bog-standard mill – with three days in school, three days in the mill, and Sundays off. At fourteen she had left school along with most of her classmates to become a full-time milly, and since then she had known only the humdrum of life as a mill-hand: up at five winter or summer, standing at the hackling machines or looms all day long, with a couple of breaks and a dinner hour at one. There were two hundred hands employed there, and thousands more across Belfast. Some of Kathleen’s school friends and their families were in the match factory or the brickworks, but most were in the mills, and would be for life.

Belfast was famous for its fine linen and intricate damask, all created on the back of heavy labour from its poorest citizens working six days a week. Thank God for God, for without religion no doubt the mill owners would have them working seven days a week. Yeah, and Christmas and New Year, too, if they could get away with it.

For now, more important matters were claiming Kathleen’s attention. She and Therese had just arrived for the dance in the parish hall – the first time Kathleen had ever been allowed to go to a proper grown-up dance. How different the place looked, festooned with greenery for Christmas, and with only half the lights on! The hall was rapidly filling up, though the dancing had not yet begun. Kathleen and Therese had timed their arrival perfectly, for judging by the announcement things might get underway very soon.

A team of volunteers were looking after the drinks: tea for anyone who wanted it, club orange or lemonade for under twenty-ones, but Kathleen also saw some of her friends’ parents and older brothers drinking alcohol, the men supping bottles of beer and the women with glasses containing an interesting-looking liquid which, she deduced, must be sherry.

Mammy would always have a wee couple of sherries at Christmas, despite generally disapproving of alcohol. Mammy disapproved of quite a lot of things – including dances. And since Kathleen was the youngest, she always seemed to come in for more attention from Mammy than the others had, or so she suspected. Kathleen’s older brothers John and Dominic were married and away, as was her sister Jane. Kathleen already had half a dozen nieces and nephews, the older ones being only a few years younger than herself. Though Mammy was very loving, she was also very . . . protective. She was certainly a lot stricter than Therese’s mammy.

The only ones left in the Gallagher home now with Mammy and Daddy were the eldest, Bronagh, who had never married, and Kathleen, the youngest, and Mammy was strict with both of them. Even though Kathleen had turned sixteen and was feeling like a proper young lady, she suspected Mammy would continue to treat her as though she was a child.

Maybe it was because she was the last child in the house. Was that why Mammy always seemed to come down so hard on her? Mammy seemed to expect much more of Kathleen than Therese’s mother expected of Therese. To be fair, Therese had plenty of work to do, being the oldest girl in a house with six children and a mammy but no daddy. Poor Mrs Flynn hardly got a minute from one end of the day to the other.

But no, for Kathleen’s mother was equally strict with Bronagh, who was long past sixteen. Maybe it was just Mammy’s way.

Despite having all that worry on her, Therese’s mammy Mrs Flynn was here tonight making tea, Kathleen saw. Therese’s older brother Liam was probably here too somewhere, though Kathleen hadn’t yet seen him, and their younger sister Christine would be minding the two wee ones at home along with the other brother, Seány. Their Granny Flynn lived with them, but was too old to help much now. Kathleen was so close to them all that she called Granny Flynn ‘Granny’ as well.

Six children in that house, five in her own. Most families around here were even bigger; nine and ten childer wasn’t uncommon, some families had eighteen or twenty children, and most homes were beautifully chaotic.

Her mind flicked briefly to her own house, which was the opposite of chaotic now that there were so few of them living there. Kathleen could clearly picture the current scene. Mammy and Bronagh would be knitting or darning quietly, Daddy reading the paper, and the radio would be on in the background. Like every night. She shuddered. If they had stopped her from coming here tonight she might have gone pure mad.

Why Mammy and Daddy wouldn’t even come to a dance at the parish hall, and why Bronagh hadn’t even asked to go, Kathleen simply couldn’t fathom. She’d had to do some serious persuasion even to be allowed to come herself, and Mammy had only agreed because Mrs Flynn had put her on the spot.

Still, I’m here, Kathleen thought, a thrill of excitement running through her. The band was already up on the low stage, fiddles being tuned along with a banjo, while she also saw a bodhrán and a couple of tin whistles on the wee table on the stage.

‘Let’s walk about the hall,’ Therese suggested, and Kathleen, her heart pounding, agreed. Exactly as Therese had told her would happen, all the girls were sitting along the left-hand side of the hall, or standing chatting in groups on that side, while the boys were doing the same on the right-hand side. Therese had turned sixteen in September – a full three months before Kathleen – and had managed to get to two dances before the pause for Advent had begun.

Running a critical eye over the lads, Kathleen spotted quite a few that seemed to be about sixteen or seventeen. There was an unwritten rule that you were supposed to stick to lads that were within a year of your own age. While there was many a boy at the far side of the hall, Kathleen wasn’t at all sure how long it would take to find one of the right age that she liked, and then to get a kiss. It could be months – years, even! Yet she was also quite ready to be fussy. Boys generally were unattractive creatures who used to pull your hair at school. It was odd that they had become strangely fascinating all of a sudden. The thought of even having to speak to boys now made her feel nervous.

After folding their shawls and placing them on two chairs near the third window, Kathleen and Therese ambled about, keeping to the female side of the invisible line that bisected the space, which was only currently being crossed by those helping with the event. Naturally, both girls were in their Sunday best, Kathleen having received her new dress as a combined Christmas and birthday gift a few days ago. It was a gorgeous shade of blue with a full skirt and tiny flowers embroidered along the edge of the bodice, and Kathleen knew she had never worn anything so pretty. The wardrobe in Mammy and Daddy’s room had a mirror in the door, and Kathleen had twisted and turned in front of it, loving how the dress swished and had seemed to shimmer in the electric light.

Her curls could be hard to tame, but tonight she had persisted and with the aid of some hairpins she had managed a semblance of the fashionable styles she had seen other girls wear. Fair hair, blue eyes, and a tall, willowy shape, enhanced by her new dress. She was lucky, she knew, to be reasonable looking. Life was hard enough at fourteen and fifteen without worrying about bad teeth or a nose that was too big for your face. Therese was dark-haired and good-looking like all the Flynns, and Kathleen knew the two of them were attracting exactly the right sort of attention from the boys on the other side of the hall.

Surreptitiously they tried to work out which boys they knew, recognising quite a few of them from Beechmount – their part of Belfast’s Falls Road. These were boys Kathleen and Therese had played with in the streets before they were all old enough to take up their places in the various mills. Tonight, though, the lads had taken on something of an exotic character, as Kathleen assessed each one with fresh eyes – the eyes of a sixteen-year-old looking for an adventure.

‘God, Jimmy McKeown is looking fine!’ Therese hissed. ‘Just look at the shoulders on him!’

‘And he’s good-looking too,’ Kathleen agreed.

‘Flip! He’s seen us looking at him!’ Quickly they turned as if entirely focused on the noticeboard to their left. Since this contained only boring hand-drawn posters about meetings of various prayer groups, Jimmy may not have been convinced.

Thankfully, distraction came from an unexpected source. ‘Therese! Kathleen!’ Mrs Flynn was beckoning them, and so they made their way to the tea table. ‘You remember Mrs Clarke, don’t you?’

Mrs Clarke was well known in West Belfast. Along with Mrs Kennedy and Mrs Quinn, she was one of the leading handywomen in the area, supporting women who were having babies, and helping families where someone was dying.

‘Hello, Mrs Clarke,’ they said politely.

‘This here’s my Therese, and this is her great friend Kathleen Gallagher. As I was saying, they’re both sixteen – Therese since September, Kathleen a few days ago.’

‘Are yous now?’ Mrs Clarke cast a keen eye over them, and Kathleen felt suddenly alert. Why is this happening? This was no casual conversation, she was certain of it.

‘Your mother was saying you’re both working in the mills. Is that so?’

‘It is.’

‘Aye.’

‘How do yous like it?’

What a question! You weren’t supposed to like the mills. Nobody liked it. It was your work, that was all. Everybody worked, and everybody was glad of it. With the world in a Great Depression they were lucky to have work at all. It wasn’t that long since a million Irish people had died in the famine. Work was work, rent was rent, and food was food. But oh! How Kathleen dreamed of something more!

The truth was, she hated the mill. Hated the smells, the heat, the sheer physical toil of it all. Not being blessed with sturdiness she found the lifting and pushing and pulling difficult. Nobody even talked about work in this part of Belfast because there was literally nothing to say. Nearly everybody worked in the mills or the factories, and everybody hated it. There was no point looking at it, for it would only get you down. Which was why Mrs Clarke’s question was so odd. And significant.

Therese shrugged. ‘It’s all right, I suppose.’

Kathleen swallowed, and didn’t answer.

‘Did you ever fancy doing something else alongside your work?’

Mrs Clarke’s meaning was obvious. Become a handywoman? Suddenly there was a roaring in Kathleen’s ears. This was the solution! This was what she had been waiting for!

Of the hundred or so people in the hall tonight, Kathleen was willing to bet that nearly ninety of them worked in the mills and factories and brickworks. The only ones who didn’t were mothers, the old or infirm, or those lucky enough to have found an escape route – another type of work. For the lucky girls, that usually meant working in a shop or as a servant in a big house. The luckiest of boys got an apprenticeship for a trade.

Here, suddenly, unexpectedly, and wonderfully, was another option. Being a handywoman. While laying out the dead and sitting with the dying would be hard, surely helping women with wee babies would be interesting? Anything would be better than mill work from the age of twelve until the day you were crushed by a machine or took tuberculosis.

‘What do you mean, Mrs Clarke?’ Therese asked cautiously.

‘We’re a bit short of handywomen these days. I took over training Peggy Cassidy after her aunt Mrs Devine died near two years ago, Lord rest her, but that still leaves only a handful of us for this whole area. Mrs Quinn and Mrs Kennedy have apprentices, but now that Peggy is a qualified midwife I want to start again with a new girl.’

‘Oh.’ Therese looked dubious.

‘What would it involve? You know, the training?’ ­Kathleen’s heart was thumping with nerves, but in even asking the question she was opening up the possibility of a whole new life.

Mrs Flynn was smiling. ‘Aye, I reckon you’d be well-suited for it, Kathleen.’

Mrs Clarke’s attention focused on her. Kathleen could see it all in her gaze: the intelligence, the compassion, how special she was. Handywomen were special. Could I become special like that? ‘Is that so? And why would you think that, Mrs Flynn?’

‘They’re both great workers – no laziness in them. But our Therese would be a bit of a panicker, wouldn’t you, Therese?’

Therese shrugged. ‘Aye. Can’t cope with blood or anything.’

‘And what about you, Kathleen?’

Kathleen felt as though her entire life was at a turning point. Here was another path – if she was brave enough to take it. ‘I-I don’t mind it.’ God, why could she not say what she really thought? Please take me on, Mrs Clarke!

‘Kathleen’s a wee star, so she is. When somebody’s annoyed or injured or not well, she’s always the one looking after them.’

‘Is that right?’ Mrs Clarke’s gaze returned to Kathleen. ‘When are you back to work?’

‘Not till Monday.’

‘Right so. Come and see me tomorrow. My house is on the corner of the Falls and St James’s Park. About ten?’

‘I’ll have to ask my mammy.’

‘You do that.’

Mammies were the bosses at home. Men always got the better jobs, or were paid more money for the same job, but women were in charge really. Everyone knew that.

Someone else came for tea then, and Mrs Clarke went to serve them. As they walked away, Therese slipped her hand into Kathleen’s arm. ‘God, I wouldn’t wanna be a handywoman – not for a hundred pound! Imagine having to wash and dress dead bodies!’ She shuddered. ‘Would you do it, Kathleen?’

‘I think so.’ The dead bodies were, naturally, the least appealing aspect. ‘Wee babies and all.’

Therese rolled her eyes. ‘That’s cos you’ve never had to mind them. Our Maria and Rita-Anne are well up now, but I still remember how foul the nappies were!’

‘What age were you when your ones were born?’ Kathleen asked curiously.

‘Liam, Therese, Seány, Christine, Maria, Rita-Anne,’ Therese recited in a singsong voice, ‘and wee Alfie who died. He was between Christine and Maria.’ Kathleen squeezed her friend’s arm. Most mothers around here had lost at least one child to miscarriage, stillbirth, or death in infancy. No one really talked about it, but everybody knew. ‘Let’s see,’ Therese continued. ‘Our Liam’s nearly eighteen now . . .’

‘Aye.’ Kathleen tried not to think too much about Liam Flynn – the way his blue, blue eyes smiled when he was in good form, the way he had stepped up to be the man of the house, helping his mammy after his daddy was killed. The way he never saw her. Not really.

Therese was still talking, her brow furrowed in concentration. ‘Our Seány is fourteen so I would have been two when he was born. Christine is twelve so I was four. Maria is nine so I was seven. And Rita-Anne is seven so I was . . . nine!’

Kathleen sighed. ‘You’re so lucky. Being the youngest is horrible.’

‘Being the eldest girl isn’t the best of craic!’ Therese retorted dryly. ‘Oh, the music is starting!’

Sure enough, the band was now ready and playing a few bars of a jig to get everyone’s attention. The dance was of course to be a céilí, with Irish music, Irish dances, and later on no doubt there’d be a couple of locals getting up to sing a song or say a poem. West Belfast had found itself again in the expression of Irishness through music, dance, and song. The English might enjoy their Charlestons and quicksteps: in this part of Belfast people were quite content with a céilí.

The fear an tí – the host – then took up his position again. With a great deal of flourish he called them to the floor, and there was a murmur and a rustle as the crowd all moved into the centre of the dancefloor. ‘The Siege of Ennis!’ the man called, repeating the name of the dance in Irish. ‘Ionsaí na hlnse! Four facing four! Find a partner!’

Find a partner. If only it was that easy! Still, Kathleen and Therese moved with the rest, arm in arm to make it clear they would be part of the same set. Abruptly, Therese pulled Kathleen to the right – and there was Jimmy McKeown and another lad, keenly eyeing all the girls as they moved forward.

Therese planted them straight in front of the lads, while Kathleen died a little inside.

‘Well, Jimmy, what about ye?’

‘Jayz, Therese, you’re lookin’ well. Dance?’ Jimmy held out a hand and Therese took it, leaving Kathleen bereft.

‘Aye.’ Therese and Jimmy both looked at Jimmy’s friend, who shrugged, then held out a hand to Kathleen.

Feeling decidedly second-best, Kathleen took it, and the four of them moved into the line. A minute later the music began properly, and Kathleen went through the steps they had learned in school, while the fear an tí called them out. Advance . . . they moved towards the four dancers facing them. Retire . . . they went backwards again. Advance . . . retire . . . They repeated the opening step then split into couples, Kathleen and her partner weaving behind Therese and Jimmy, then returning to their places for the next move. Kathleen then swung with the lad facing her, afterwards returning to their line of four to move forward to the next set.

The simple sequence was repeated a dozen times, and Kathleen got to swing with a dozen different lads as their line progressed up the hall. Some lads were better looking than others. Some were better dancers than others. A couple of them even made conversation, asking her for her name and telling her theirs. Throughout, Jimmy’s friend didn’t speak. Not one word. At the end they all thanked each other politely, then walked away.

‘How did you do that?’ Kathleen asked, as they retreated to the girls’ side of the hall.

‘Do what?’

‘Just like – walk right up to him.’

Therese tossed her head. ‘If you know what you want, why not go for it?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Now I need to completely ignore him for the rest of the night.’

Kathleen’s jaw dropped. ‘Why would you do that? I thought you liked him?’

‘That’s exactly why.’

Reaching the chairs where they had left their shawls, they sat, retrieving their narrow bottles of club orange from underneath.

‘I don’t get it,’ said Kathleen, sucking her paper straw. The drink was delicious: orangey and sweet and very fizzy. ‘Why can you not let him see that you like him?’

‘Because,’ Therese said, an air of mystery about her, ‘you have to not seem too keen.’

Kathleen thought about this. Boys could be strange creatures. ‘Is it . . .’ She thought for a minute, trying to articulate the thought. ‘Is it that they have to feel they’re winning something or someone?’

‘Yeah. Like we’re a prize heifer at the cattle market. You know, the more bids that are made, the more bidders join in!’ They laughed, but there was something deeper there, Kathleen knew. She did not want to be a heifer. Ever.

And so when the next dance was called she let Therese find them partners again, and once again she kept herself to herself, not encouraging any of the boys. Thank God for Therese’s confidence, or Kathleen might have been left sitting some of the dances out, like the girls who had not managed to find a partner by the time the music began.

There was a fine line here. While she couldn’t bring herself to actually flirt, Kathleen didn’t want to be a wallflower either. God, this is complicated!

About halfway through the evening the fear an tí called everyone to gather for ‘tunny horry’, causing a buzz of excitement around the hall. The Waves of Tory (or Tonnaí Thoraí in Irish) had been the most popular dance in school when they had been taught it by the nuns, and that excitement had clearly persisted for everybody here tonight.

This time everyone took part, for there was no need to find a partner before it began. Instead the boys stood in a single long line, facing the girls. Kathleen knew that as the dance progressed she would end up partnered with a boy from roughly the same part of the line as herself, so cast a critical eye over the boys opposite.

Boys? Some were men, for the dance included people of all ages. Running her eye along the line, she caught her breath. Liam Flynn!

Lord above, he was something special. Like all the men he was sporting his Sunday trousers and a crisp white shirt, but very few of the males opposite had Liam’s good looks. Or his physique.

Gulping, Kathleen drew her gaze away from his strong shoulders and arms, focusing on his face – a face she knew well. Thick dark hair, those blue, blue Flynn eyes, a strong jaw. God, how she wished she was the same age as him! He put every lad in the place to shame.

After the jig part of the dance the march began, and they all followed the leader down the hall to where the top dancers had made an arch for couples to pass under. Kathleen ended up with a grinning, perspiring middle-aged man, missing the chance to dance with Liam by only three dancers. The girl who got him had a gorgeous pink dress and as Kathleen watched, the girl literally fluttered her eyelashes at him!

Kathleen shuddered. Maybe it was a good thing she and Liam hadn’t ended up partnered, for she’d never have managed to behave like that! Mammy’s strictness had rubbed off on all her girls, for both Bronagh and Jane were reservedly polite in company – exactly like Kathleen herself.

Despite this, Jane had somehow managed to acquire a boyfriend (Pat George, who was now her husband), but Bronagh had not. Kathleen knew she would somehow have to break through the Gallagher reserve if she was to have any chance. The thought of being condemned to a life like Bronagh’s filled her with horror. Imagine still living with your mammy and daddy when you were over thirty!

Kathleen and her partner were now in the waves part of the dance, working their way up the hall as other couples worked their way down, alternating making an arch for them to pass through, then bending to go under the next pair of lifted arms. Under and over, under and over, the effect that of waves in the sea. Liam and his partner were always three couples ahead, and Kathleen couldn’t help but look every time she could. Reaching the top, they stopped and turned, lifting their joined hands to the next couple, even as Kathleen and her partner made their way closer.

Recognition flared in Liam’s eyes as he lifted to allow Kathleen and her partner to go under his arch. ‘Well, Kathleen!’ He grinned.

‘Liam!’ she managed, feigning surprise.

And that was that. The dance moved on, and he was gone.

2

‘So, what did you think?’

The girls were standing under the streetlight outside Therese’s house on Clowney Street, where they usually parted. What wasn’t usual was the fact it was twelve thirty in the morning – half past midnight on the first day of 1937. Kathleen had never been outside so late before. It was cold, the sky leaden and not a star to be seen. Yet Kathleen didn’t give a damn. She felt alive, for the first time since the heady freedoms of childhood – freedoms she had taken for granted, not being able to understand what working in a mill would actually mean.

All around them people were making their way home after the dance, being joined by men pouring out of the Rock Bar in various stages of inebriation. The Falls Road and Beechmount Avenue were as busy as they would usually be at dinner time on a work day! The whole thing was wonderfully odd.

‘It was class, Therese. Honestly, it was!’

Therese grinned. ‘Did ya see any boy you might fancy?’

‘Not a one! Jimmy McKeown is the best-lookin’ of the boys our age, and he only has eyes for you!’ She tightened her shawl around her. It was getting colder by the minute.

Therese snorted. ‘Not so sure about that – although he’s danced with me at all three of the céilís I’ve been to.’

‘Well that can’t be a coincidence, surely? He must be after you?’

‘I think . . .’ she said slowly, ‘that he’s getting there. But he’s not there yet. Here—’

‘What?’

Therese shook her head then deliberately changed the subject. ‘What did you make of Mrs Clarke? Are you actually gonna go and see her the morra?’

‘Honest to God, I’d love to. If Mammy lets me.’ She made a face. ‘And I can never predict what way Mammy will go. She could stop this in its tracks, or push me to do it.’

‘Therese.’

I know that voice! Kathleen’s heart skipped a beat as they spun around to where Liam was approaching, his brow furrowed.

‘You may go on in, Therese,’ he said, jerking his head towards their house. ‘Drunks everywhere, and I’m after seein’ a fight outside the Rock.’

Therese grimaced. ‘Aye, s’pose you’re right. See ya the morra, Kathleen.’

‘See you!’ Daringly, Kathleen sent a saucy look in Liam’s direction. ‘Goodnight, Liam.’

‘Wait. I’ll walk you round.’

‘Ach, you don’t need to do that, Liam. I’ll be grand.’ Oh, please walk me home!

Therese was rolling her eyes. ‘You may take his company, Kathleen. Once he gets a big brother notion into his head, there’s no diverting him.’

Big brother. Right.

‘She’s right, you know. And sure you’re only in Locan Street.’

Kathleen fell into step beside him. ‘Aye, it’s two streets away. I’m perfectly capable—’

‘I don’t doubt it, Kathleen. It’s not your intentions I’m worried about.’ He sent a meaningful glance to the far side of the road, where two men were staggering along the edge of the street.

Kathleen grimaced. ‘Fair enough.’

They made small talk then: the céilí, the crowds there tonight, speculation as to what 1937 might bring. Throughout, Kathleen’s spirit was floating about five feet above the footpath. This was the most conversation she’d had with Liam in years.

Impulsively, she told him about Mrs Clarke’s invitation, and his eyes widened. ‘A great opportunity – though it would never do for our Therese. She’s far too fond of drama. The thing about the handywomen is that they have a sort of quietness about them, you know? They’re strong, but quietly strong.’ He eyed her appraisingly. ‘Like you, Kathleen.’ He shook his head then, laughing lightly. ‘Jaysus, listen to me! Getting all soft!’

Storing away his compliment – for it was a compliment, she could tell – Kathleen jumped straight in to reassure him. ‘No, I think you’re right about the handywomen.’ She could picture Mrs Clarke, and Mrs Quinn, whom she knew slightly. And Peggy Cassidy, who had been ahead of her at school. They all had a stillness about them. ‘That’s really well observed.’ She sent him a sideways glance. ‘Do you often notice things that other people don’t?’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes. Not that it’s of any use to me. I’m still stuck in a mill pulling loom beams about or sorting flax once it’s hackled.’

‘I know exactly what you mean. They don’t need our brains at all, only our bodies.’ She shuddered. ‘We’re just part of the machine to the mill owners.’

‘Aye. And supposed to show gratitude for having work at all.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Kathleen, go and see Mrs Clarke,’ he said suddenly, his tone harsh. ‘You have the sniff of freedom. Take it!’

She nodded. He was right. His vehemence touched her, though. ‘What about you, Liam? How do you get freedom?’

He shook his head sadly. ‘I keep looking, searching, thinking . . . but there’s nothing. We don’t have the money to buy me an apprenticeship. I have to keep bringing my full mill wage in – my family needs me.’

Trapped. The word, unspoken, resonated in the air between them. She nodded, and their eyes met. Somehow, they had reached Kathleen’s street, and had stopped walking. Kathleen’s heart was thumping like the noise of a hundred looms, and her knees felt strangely soft. His eyes were on hers, and the world had stopped. Then slowly, allowing her every opportunity to turn away, he bent his head to hers.

Not in a thousand lifetimes would she have turned away. Ignoring the co