Chapter Two
Margret Hegarty
(Ten Years Later)
There are some things in this world that are forbidden. Like my mother’s apple tart. The only day we are allowed some is a Sunday. Prayers before bed are a must, and to be seen with any of the O’Reagan’s or his crew was the deepest sin of all.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I watch Michael O’Reagan. He normally doesn’t show up to things like the Monalty fair but this year he’s here. Everyone gives him a wide birth. His grey suit stands out against the sea of black and brown clothing. Pushing a lock of brown hair behind my ear I take in a breath as he gets closer. I try not to chew on my lip or twitch as I stand taller behind my meagre stall.
My gaze slides to the seats behind me that my mother and father had vacated only moments ago. Saying they were taking a brief walk. I knew it would be brief.
“Would you like to buy some fresh brown bread?” It was bold of me. His blue eyes slide towards me and I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground as Michael O’ Reagan walks over to my stall. One hand in his trousers pocket like he owns the show. Maybe he actually does.
My heart skips too many beats making my head grow light. I let my hand flutter to the stall top as Michael stops at the edge of it. He doesn’t look at the brown bread or my mother’s famous apple tarts, his eyes slide across me and my cheeks heat.
“Is it really fresh?” He asks and I blink rapidly.
“The brown bread?” My mind is still trying to process how close I am to Michael O’Reagan.
A slow grin tugs at his lips but doesn’t fully form.
“Of course the brown bread.”
I roll my eyes feeling stupid and this time his grin spreads across his handsome face. Something shifts in my chest and I mirror his smile. I can’t stop it.
“I’ll take three.” His voice is deep and raspy and I inhale deeply while still holding my smile.
I’m on auto pilot gathering the three pans of brown bread that my mother and I baked this morning.
“I’m Margret,” I say while trying to keep the quiver in my voice at bay.
“I know who you are.” His raspy words send a shiver through my body. I wanted to ask how did he know me, but he looks away and takes out his wallet. A crisp five pound note is held between long fingers.
“It’s seventy five pennies.” My cheeks heat knowing I couldn’t give him change back. We didn’t make that much today if we did it would mean an empty stall and a very successful day.
“Keep the change.” He doesn’t miss a beat as he places the leather brown wallet back into his jacket pocket.
I don’t know what to say. Panic tears through me as my parents arrive back at the stall. My father takes one look at Mr O’Reagan and I know he’s going to do something appalling.
He pulls back the three pans of brown bread. “We’re all sold out.”
I close my eyes briefly. “Father,” I plead. One look tells me to be silent. His white long beard is wiry as he is. My mother takes her place beside me.
“You can keep your money.”
I die a little more and glance up to find Michael watching me. My chest rises and falls rapidly as shame at my father’s behavior scorches my cheeks.
“Would you like to go for dinner, Margret?” My mouth gapes. I’m not sure if I like how brazen he’s being or not.
My father’s laugh is bitter and short lived. “My daughter.” Michael clenches his fists the movement we all see including my mother who steps toward Father.
“David. Please. Let’s pack up and go home.” My mother almost whispers.
“Be quiet woman,” My father doesn’t even look away from Michael. “No she doesn’t.” My father answers for me.
“I was talking to Margret.” My heart slams rapidly against my ribcage as Michael’s blue eyes intensify on me.
“Yes,” I say it as my father turns to me with thunder in his hard brown eyes.
Rain starts to fall from the sky and people run for cover.
“David lets go,” My mother tries again to reason with him but he won’t look away from me. I see so much in my father’s eyes. The worst is the disappointment.
“He’s a man now because he has money, but once it’s all gone. He will only be a boy.”
I flicker my gaze at Michael hoping he hadn’t heard my father’s insult, but he had. The hardness in his jaw tells me whatever small amount of restraint he’s holding onto is slowly slipping.
My mother grabs some apple tarts and starts to place them in the back of the car.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.” Michael’s words are said through clipped lips and he turns to leave.
“Over my dead body.” My father counteracts. I see the brief pause in Michael’s stance even as the rain starts to pour down.
“Is that really your wish?” The blood drains into my shoes at Michael’s words. He leaves and fear has me shaking. My father grips my arm tearing my gaze away from Michael.
“Have you lost your mind?” My father’s wrath scared me but nothing like what Michael’s threat did to me. Breaking free from my father’s grasp I run after Michael. He turns before I reach him as my father growls my name loudly.
“Please don’t hurt him,” I beg as the rain pounds down onto the field. Most people have gotten under cover, the ones who haven’t still run for some, unlike me and Michael. I’m soaked through but I need to make sure he wouldn’t really hurt my father. Michael doesn’t answer me but glares over my shoulder as my father continues to shout my name.
“Please.” He finally looks at me and his face softens.
“I won’t.”
The relief has my shoulders sagging as I step away from Michael.
“I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Margret Hegarty.” I’m smiling as I turn away but the smile slips as my father’s angry brown eyes seem to slice through the rain.