Mercy of St Jude by Wilhelmina Fitzpatrick Page A

pressure. “Goes around comes around. We all gets what’s coming to us sooner or later. And the Hanns got what was coming to them that time, by the Lord. The whole thing was all for naught, the rushed wedding, getting everybody all worked up, hurt feelings everywhere. That Beth had the wedding so she could have the baby, and Lucinda didn’t see fit to add one more person to the guest list. Just one. Me. Didn’t have to have the whole kit and caboodle. But no. Had that whole frigging Green clan, youngsters and all. Boiled me. And look what happened - wedding was all for nothing. Hah! Maybe if they weren’t so mean, maybe God would have spared that baby. Then again, do the world want more of that lot gracing the earth? Plenty Hanns already. Turning their fat arses away from us. I done the right thing, though. First thing next day I bought a Mass for that dead baby. Lot of good it did him. All the masses in the world wouldn’t get him into heaven. Limbo-Larry forever. One less I’ll see when I gets there.”
    His mother’s cheeks are rosy under her grey waves. She could easily pass for a sweet little old lady if she didn’t open her mouth. It doesn’t help that she’s been into the booze. It always revs her up to life’s injustices, real and imagined.
    Out of nowhere, the image strikes. Close up this time. Again, more vivid than is possible. Emerald eyes. Lips like raspberries on fresh snow. Firm chin, the smooth white skin of her neck, her body so close, so out of reach. And those eyes, those eyes…
    His mother has a point. Life is full of injustice.

4

    1999
    â€œI don’t remember her ever going into a hospital before that day. Even when you girls were born, she’d wait till I got home to come see you.” Lucinda’s sigh is extra long. “We were all heartbroken, especially Beth, but Mercedes blamed herself. And we could never talk sense to her.”
    â€œGuilt is a powerful thing,” says Annie. “It doesn’t always make sense.” She feels a pang of remorse run through her, for herself, for her mother and Mercedes, for Beth and her baby, the helpless infant in perpetual limbo. That particular concept no longer worries Annie, however. She has long ceased believing in limbo and purgatory. Hell is another matter.
    â€œHard to believe she’s gone.” Joe stands abruptly. “I think I’ll go sit with her for a bit. Keep Dermot and the boys company.”
    Joe has hardly left when Pat and Aiden bounce in, making as much noise as two strapping young men can make after spending an evening pent up with a corpse.
    â€œThought you were keeping the vigil,” Annie says, relieved to see them.
    â€œUncle Joe wanted to say his goodbyes,” says Pat, scratching his unruly head.
    Aiden sizes him up. “My brother, the Viking.”
    â€œJust call me Leif.” Pat looks him up and down. “And by the way, you’re no fucking oil painting yourself.” He says it low and out of the side of his mouth so Lucinda, who is moving the cups from the drying rack into the cupboard, won’t hear.
    Aiden pats his neatly combed hair. “Prettier than you. Always have been.”
    â€œAnd me,” Annie adds dryly. “Remember when old man Canning caught us raiding his rhubarb patch? He called me and Pat delinquents, while you managed to talk your way into getting paid to harvest the whole frigging crop.”
    â€œI never met a person could lie like you.” There is admiration in Pat’s voice.
    â€œIt’s a gift from God,” says Aiden.
    Lucinda shuts the cupboard door hard. “You can leave God out of it.”
    â€œWhat do you say, Aiden?” Pat flops down into a chair. “Time to raise a toast to Great-Auntie Merce.”
    Lucinda frowns at him. “Like you two got so many fond memories of her.”
    â€œI’m fond of anybody gets me out of jail,” says Aiden.