Chapter 4
MOIRA
Iwake the next morning to a drizzly, grey day. It suits my mood to a T. The news from last night comes crashing back, and I know I should feel more upset than I do, but all I feel is relief.
I’d had my moment last night when the garda had broken the news to me. Now that I’d had time to process it, I realised that I wasn’t sad at all. And that gave testament to how broken Harry and I were.
Through the baby monitor I hear Mikayla waking, so I drag myself out of bed and hurry through my morning routine. I’ve got a lot to do today, and I may not get a chance to shower if I don’t fit it in now.
Not wanting to change our morning routine, I go about my day as if it’s any other day.
Once I’ve got Mikayla down for her morning nap, only then do I open the envelope the Garda gave me.
If I’d been more aware of how things like this worked, I’d probably have realised that this wasn’t usual procedure, but at the time I didn’t know any different.
I found all the information I’d need to take care of his body. I still had to go and claim it, but there was a note inside from Doherty to say they’d meet me at the mortuary and walk me through what needed to happen.
I’d just popped all the information back in the envelope and got up to make a cup of tea when there was a knock on the front door. I check to see who it is first before I open it. I’m surprised when I see who is standing on my front steps, and I hurriedly open the door.
“Mrs. O'Shea, can I help you?”
Jess O’Shea smiles at me and reaches out, drawing me into her arms.
“Ah, my lass. I just heard the news. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Surprised, I stiffen a little and then I relax into her hold. I hadn’t even realised that I’d needed the comfort but as she held me, the dam I’d been holding back since I’d had Mikayla burst and I let out a sob.
“There now lass,” she whispers, moving us into the house and closing the door. “You let it all out. We’ve got you.”
I curl further into her and sob my heart out.
I’m not sure if I’m crying because Harry is gone, or because I’m relieved that I no longer have to worry about him and how he treated me.
Or maybe I’m crying for a life I longed for but had never had, or I’m just exhausted with life.
Whatever it was, Jess O’Shea didn’t let go of me once, and I’d never appreciated a hug more in my life.
When I’m down to hiccups, she steers us into the kitchen, pushing me down into a chair.
“Sit now, Moira. It’ll all be alright, you’ll see.”
Somehow, I believed her. Inhaling a hiccupping sigh, I watch as she wets a cloth and brings it to me. Squeezing my shoulder in silent support as I take it from her. “Dry your tears and we’ll get you and your wee lass all sorted. You’re not alone now, lass.”
Doing as she orders I wipe my face, peering over the edge of the washcloth. “I’m not?”
“’Course not. You’re one of us now and we O'Sheas, we take care of our own.” She pats my hand and goes to the kettle, switching it on.
I’m both confused at her comment of being an O’Shea and relieved at the same time as I watch her take over my kitchen as if it’s her own.
Jess O’Shea’s not a big lady, she’s average height and weight with bright blue eyes and steel grey hair that she wears in a bun.
She may not be big in size, but you feel her presence all the same.
Before long I’ve got a steamy cup of tea in my hands and a plate of biscuits in front of me.
“Get that down ye lass.” She orders, picking up the envelope the garda had given me and opening it.
Sorting through everything, she hums under her breath as she puts each piece of paper into a pile. When she’s happy with the piles, she looks up at me.
“Right then, so we’ll go to the mortuary this afternoon and make plans from there. Yes?”
I open my mouth to protest that she doesn’t have to do anything, but she gently touches her finger to my lips. “Yes?”
Helpless, I nod because I don’t want to do this by myself, “Yes. Thank you.” I whisper.
“No thanks necessary, Moira. The quicker we get all this sorted, the quicker you and that lovely babe can get on with your lives.”
“Now,” Jess pushes away from the table and stands, gathering up our mugs and plates, “go get your little one and I’ll take you.”
“Okay,” I agree obediently because I have a feeling that when Jess O’Shea uses that tone, she doesn’t want any arguments and honestly, I wasn’t in a place to argue.
I’m glad I didn’t because what to me was a huge mountain of information to wade through, for Jess it seemed to be a tiny hill.
She took charge and arranged everything.
Before I knew it, Harry’s body was released to the funeral directors, and we were given a date for the funeral.
She held a fussy Mikayla while I signed what seemed to be a never-ending pile of forms and paid for what I was told to pay for.
Although it didn’t seem to be much, Jess assured me it was all fine, so I let it go.
Jess took me back home after it was all done. I’d never been more grateful to feel his gaze on me as I stepped out of her car, and we walked up the steps. I stopped at the top and searched all around but didn’t see anything, not that I expected to.
“Are you okay Moira?”
I’m dragged back to the present by Jess’s hand on my arm. “Mmh,” I look at her and see the concern in her eyes. “I’m okay,” I nod. “Thank you for helping me today.”
“No worries at all,” she assures me, bending slightly to tug Mikayla’s blanket more firmly over her before looking up at me, “now the two of you get in the warm. I’ll be back in the morning to check on you. A day at a time, that’s what we’ll do until you’re back on your feet.”
She leans over and hugs me, before turning and trotting down the steps with the energy of a woman half her age. Shaking my head, I unlock my door and wave at her as she drives away.
Over the next few weeks, I find she’s right and I take it a day at a time.
Harry’s funeral comes and goes with little fanfare with only me, Jess and Jess’s husband Sean O’Shea at the service.
Not long after that I start my new job at the O’Shea bakery, and life settles down. I’m still not sure about staying in the house I rented with Harry, but it will take me a little time to get together enough money to move out.
After the funeral, the garda from that night stopped by and the one named Doherty handed me some information on a possible rental. It was in a lovely neighbourhood, and I wasn’t sure if I could afford it.
In the end that decision was made for me when there was a shooting down the road from where I lived.
Our neighbourhood wasn’t the safest, but so far this had been the first shooting in years. The next morning, I found the piece of paper with the number on it.
Nervously I bit my thumb nail as the phone rang and rang. Was anyone going to answer? With how long the phone was ringing, I was about to hang up when suddenly a deep voice came over the line. “You’ve got Butcher.”
“Um hi,” I squeaked. Clearing my throat, I start again. “Sorry. Hi, my name is Moira Ryan. I was given this number to call for a potential rental property.”
The line is silent and I’m wondering if I’ve phoned the wrong number, especially with the name he answered with. Did I really want to rent a house from a man called Butcher?
“Yes, I’ve got a house. Did Doherty give you the number?”
“Yes, he did.” I responded, feeling a little better that the garda knew him.
“When do you want to see it?” he growls in my ear, and my belly quivers as the sound reverberates through me.
“Today if possible, please.” I answer shakily. What was wrong with me? I never responded to a man this way. Ever.
“Two o’clock good for you?”
“That’s fine, thank you. I have the address. Will you be there?”
“Either me or my aunt Jess.”
“Oh,” I whisper, “You’re an O’Shea.”
“I am,” he replies, sounding a little grumpy. “Is that a problem?”
“Nope, quite the contrary.” I tell him with a small smile that I know comes through in my tone. “It makes me happy, because I trust Jess.”
“Good,” he says. “She’s a nice lady, my aunt. See you at two Moira.”
“Bye,” I whisper to the dead phone.
His phone etiquette could do with some work. But that afternoon when I meet Jess and look around the house that’s in a lovely neighbourhood, I decide he can be as rude as he wants if we get to stay here.
I’m a little suspicious of the low rent, but then Jess explains why. “My nephew doesn’t really like people and he’s particular about who lives here, he doesn’t need the money. This is the rent for all the houses.”
She shows me a leaflet for the one’s over the road, and she’s right. They’re all the same price.
Mikayla makes a gurgling noise, and I look down at her, wide-awake in her car seat. “What do you think, baby girl? Shall we make this our new home?” she gurgles again, and I laugh. Looking up, I find Jess watching us with a smile on her face.
“We’ll take it, thank you.”
“Excellent,” she responds, whipping a contract out of her bag and laying it on the table. “Let’s get this signed and back to Andy, then we’ll arrange to get you moved in this weekend. I’ll feel much better when you’re living here where it’s safe, plus it’s closer to the bakery.”
She’s not wrong, the bakery I work at is just down the road. I sign where she wants me to. As I sign on the last dotted line, a feeling of rightness comes over me. This would be my first home by myself, and I knew without a doubt that we’d be happy here.