Martha's Girls Read Free Page A

but we have self-respect,” he said.’
They sat in silence a while, no sobs now, nor anger either. The light was fading fast in the kitchen, but no one felt inclined to turn on the light. The clock high on the mantelpiece ticked on and Pat thought of the people at church singing hymns and, although she’d never admit it, she wished that she could sing right now, for it was the only thing she knew that could ease the pain she felt. The room was almost totally dark when Peggy broke the silence.
‘Well, that’s it. I’ve decided. I won’t be singing again. As from now, the trio of Goulding sisters is a duo!’ With that she left the room, switching on the light with a flourish.

Chapter 2

The grey clouds hung low over Belfast City Cemetery. The sliver of the Lough and the shipyard cranes like Meccano toys were barely visible and the Cave Hill was topped by low cloud. The old Belfast saying: ‘If you can’t see the Cave Hill it’s raining and if you can it’s going to rain,’ was true enough today. The fine drizzle, which had begun in the early hours of the morning, seeped steadily through the coats of the mourners as Robert Goulding was lowered into his grave.
Martha and Robert had few relatives, but family friends and Robert’s workmates from the shipyard swelled the numbers. They were strong men used to hard and sometimes dangerous physical labour, men who clamped their emotions inside like a vice and no doubt a few of them were strengthened this morning by a stiff drink to keep out more than the rain. They were in their working clothes, some with tin piece boxes under their arms, many carrying tool bags. When they had seen their friend laid to rest, they would finish their shift having lost a couple of hours’ wages and not one of them would begrudge it.
Pat was aware that Jimmy McComb, her father’s apprentice, was watching her closely, but she refused to meet his eye after his behaviour the previous evening. She’d been alone in the house; everyone had gone to the funeral parlour except her. She’d pleaded a headache, but the truth was she couldn’t bear to see her father lying in a coffin. Shortly after they left, Jimmy came to the front door, which suggested some formality in his purpose. Every other time he’d been to the house, he’d come round the back.
‘I’ve come to bring you your father’s tool bag. They had it in the office at the yard.’ He held out the brown canvas bag with the outline of tools bulging its sides and the handle of a saw poking out of the top. Pat didn’t take it. Instead she looked from the bag to his face and back.
‘You’d better come in then. Mammy and the others have gone to the funeral parlour,’ she explained. Then noticing how uncomfortable he was, she added. ‘You can sit down for a while if you like.’
The windows were open and the sound of the children playing in the street floated in on the soft breeze that ruffled the curtains.
‘I’m very sorry about Mr. Goulding. The lads at the yard were shocked, so we had a wee bit of a collection.’ He handed her a grease stained paper bag. ‘I know Mrs Goulding will get a pension, but we just wanted to show youse we were sorry.’
‘Thank you, Jimmy. Please tell everyone we appreciate their kindness.’ His face fell and Pat wondered if he expected a less formal response.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she offered.
‘Ah … no.’ He shifted awkwardly, but showed no intention of leaving. They sat in silence as the sound of a skipping rhyme filtered through the open window:
‘Apple jelly, blackcurrant jam
Tell me the name of your young man.’
Pat smoothed her skirt over her knees. Jimmy stared at the hem where it met her firm legs and in a rush began to speak. ‘The foreman offered me a permanent job at the yard when I finish my apprenticeship next month. I’ll get a rise in pay.’
‘That’s great, Jimmy.’
He didn’t detect her lack of interest. ‘Aye, I’ll have the money to be going out and