If You Were the Only Girl. Anne Bennett

and a tin of shortbread biscuits that Clara had made.

      Lucy set off in high spirits that Sunday morning, 13 December, anxious to be home, thinking about the faces of her mother and brothers and Grainne. The food would be treat enough for them, but when they realised that she had presents for them to open on Christmas Day she knew they would be so excited. As the rail bus ate up the miles she began to tingle in anticipation.

      Lucy was surprised that Danny was the only one to meet her, and even more surprised that he had a good thick jacket and long trousers on. ‘Farmer Haycock’s wife gave them to me,’ Danny said as they made their way to the cottage. ‘She said it was time that I was in long trousers and she has given me jumpers too, and good thick shirts.’

      ‘But who are they from?’

      ‘Her sister’s son,’ Danny said. ‘Older and taller than me. Mammy unravelled a couple of the jumpers to knit up some things for the others.’

      ‘I didn’t know Mammy could knit.’

      ‘Well, she can now. Said it made sense.’

      ‘I suppose it does,’ Lucy conceded. ‘Where are the others?’

      ‘They went to the half-six Mass with Mammy this morning,’ Danny said.

      That was a surprise for Lucy, but Danny forestalled any questions by catching up the bulging bag. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ll leave this in at the cottage and then we will have to get our skates on or we’ll be late.’

      However, as they neared the cottage, Lucy’s eyes opened wide with astonishment, for it had been newly whitewashed and there was a fresh coat of paint on the door. The cultivated garden looked better than it ever had done and so did the hens that were pecking at the grit in the cobbles in the yard. Once through the door the warmth hit Lucy and she noted the fire blazing in the hearth where normally a few embers eked out the turf. The children, who had been on the rag rug in front of it, ran towards her in welcome, and her mother, who had been turning something in a frying pan, looked round with a smile. But though she saw all this, her attention was rooted on a chair to the right side of the fire, the chair that her mother had put away in her bedroom the night her father had been taken to the sanatorium. ‘No one will ever sit in that again,’ she’d said at the time.

      But the chair was back, and sitting in it as if he belonged there was a thickset man. Lucy glared at him. He had dark hair streaked with silver, a ruddy complexion, a large mouth and very dark eyes. In those eyes was a certain wariness, for as Minnie approached her daughter, her arms outstretched, Lucy pushed her aside. The man got up a little uncertainly and the atmosphere seemed suddenly charged as Lucy spoke and her words fell into the room like chips of ice.

      ‘What are you doing sitting in my father’s chair?’ she demanded.

      There was an audible gasp from the children and Minnie barked out, ‘Lucy! That was a most incredibly rude thing to say.’

      ‘No, it wasn’t,’ Lucy protested. ‘You said no one would ever sit on it again.’

      ‘I’m real sorry,’ the man said. ‘I had no idea the chair belonged to your father. The settle will do me well enough.’

      ‘Don’t be silly, Declan,’ Minnie said. ‘Why sit on the uncomfortable settle when there is a perfectly acceptable chair to use?’ Then she turned to her daughter, her eyes full of reproach. ‘Lucy, apologise to Mr McCann this minute.’

      ‘No,’ Lucy said. ‘I will not. You said no one would ever use Daddy’s chair and you put it away, and I come home to find a stranger is sitting in it.’

      ‘Declan McCann is no stranger to me,’ Minnie said. ‘Though there is no reason that you should know him because he has been in America some years.’

      Declan, still standing before the fire, said, ‘I went to America the day after your mother married, Lucy. I was a great friend of your father, Seamus, and also of Sean O’Leary, who married Clara.’

      ‘So why have you come back now?’ Lucy asked truculently.

      ‘Lucy …’ Minnie began, but the man, Declan, put up his hand. ‘No, Minnie,’ he said. ‘She has a right to ask.’

      ‘Did you know my father was dead?’ Lucy asked bluntly.

      ‘Not till I arrived here, no,’ Declan said. ‘I was not a regular correspondent since I left Ireland.’