The Stone House by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page B

him.
    â€˜Not today, pet. You stay home with your sisters and help mind the baby.’
    Annoyed, Romy flounced out of the room as Frank Dillon left.
    Moya was intent on trying to tidy her bedroom and create a study zone as Sister Breda had advised them, clearing a place for notes and revision and a study planner. Getting rid of the clutter of old shoeboxes and little baskets of old Rimmel and Revlon and 17 make-up, and the collection of stuffed dolls and teddies she had grown out of, would certainly help create a bit more space. Romy could choose from them as she was into that sort of stuff now. First she’d dust them off and clean them up so they’d look more appealing to her younger sister.
    Kate interrupted her an hour later, calling her tocome downstairs to the kitchen quick. ‘Wait till you see what Romy’s done.’
    The two sisters stood in utter disbelief at the kitchen door as they surveyed the mess and the crestfallen expression on their dog Lucky’s face.
    â€˜Christ Almighty, what have you done?’ roared Moya, taking in the damage, the wet floor, the spilt shampoo and soaked towels and the clumps of wet dog hair scattered everywhere.
    â€˜His hair had got too long!’ she argued. ‘Mammy wouldn’t bring him to Monica to get cut because she was too tired and too busy so I decided—’
    â€˜To do it yourself,’ Kate and Moya said in unison.
    â€˜Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But he kept moving and trying to get away from me. He has far too much hair.’
    Not any more, thought Moya. The poor dog looked like he’d been attacked by some mad thing, with hair and fur missing all over the place, a large bald patch on one side and one leg almost devoid of hair. His face looked lopsided, which gave him a totally different expression.
    â€˜Poor Lucky,’ said Kate, running to hug him and almost slipping on the floor.
    â€˜You have the dog and the place destroyed,’ threatened Moya. ‘Just wait till Mammy and Daddy get back and see what you’ve done. You’ll be in right trouble.’
    â€˜I was bored,’ she muttered. ‘I had to do something.’
    â€˜Well then, you won’t be so bored as you’ll have to get the mop and the big brush, and the brush and pan and give us a hand with cleaning this place up, and taking up all the flipping dog hair.’
    It took three-quarters of an hour to restore thekitchen to a reasonable state, Moya hiding away her mother’s large kitchen scissors.
    â€˜I’m starving,’ murmured an unrepentant Romy, slouching onto a kitchen chair. Moya put on some tinned tomato soup and toast for them, realizing the time and that the baby was due his lunch more than an hour ago. She didn’t want him sleeping all afternoon so she decided it was better to wake him.
    The moment she reached the top of the stairs, she sensed it. Something was wrong. The fraction of a second it took to cross the doorway and see the small still figure in the cot, she knew. The memory of it would stay with her for ever.
    She lifted him up immediately and tried to rouse him, shaking him, listening to his chest but knowing by the cold touch of his skin and the obstinately closed eyes and calm expression on his face that her small brother had stopped breathing.
    She screamed and screamed for Kate and her sister galloped up the stairs to help her. All three of them were screaming and shouting at each other, panicked, disbelieving, useless in their attempts to revive him as his heart had stopped beating.
    Kate ran and phoned for the ambulance and for Dr Deegan. Moya, shocked, sat holding him in her lap till they came, praying that they could somehow resuscitate him.
    The family doctor gently took Sean and laid him on the bed to examine him.
    â€˜It’s nobody’s fault,’ he assured her. ‘It’s what we call a cot death. He must have died a few hours ago. There’s no explanation or reason