Winnie of the Waterfront by Rosie Harris

Kathleen Flynn. Being on her own wasn’t the end of the world, it was the start of a new one for her. Two more days of her old way of living and then she could wipe the slate clean of all the O’Mara family.
    She’d say nothing; she’d do everything they asked. Then she’d go with them to her mam’s funeral and once that was over it would be the end of it all. Then she’d be free of them.
    Winnie found it wasn’t easy. When the women came round she had to endure their curiosity about her legs and being criticised about what she could and couldn’t do. She had to listen to them discussing it amongst themselves. They spoke as if she was a freak because she was incapable of walking. They seemed to think she was deaf as well as lame and they made no attempt to lower their voices when they talked about her.
    On the day of the funeral their children were there as well and they were even worse. Francis and Pansy pretended they had funny legs and staggered all over the place until Kathleen screamed at them to stop, saying they were driving her bleeding mad.
    Father Patrick conducted the funeral service and the interment. He said so many good things about her mam that Winnie wondered if he was talking about someone else. He knew full well that she’d practically drunk herself to death and yet he eulogised about her as if she was on her way to becoming a saint. She wondered if Father Patrick was as false in everything else he said. Some of her euphoria about the new life that lay ahead of her, when she was handed over to the Sisters of Mary, began to fade.
    As they lowered her mam’s body into the cold, dark ground a shiver ran right through her. She felt so alone. If only her dad was here standing beside her, she thought longingly.
    All her feelings centred on her own future. She could do nothing for her mam – she was dead; the soul gone from her body to dwell in Purgatory. Probably for ever if she believed what Father Patrick preached from the pulpit every Sunday about people who sinned.
    Was it true, though; was anything he said true? People hung on his every word and believed implicitly in what he said. She had herself until today, but even though she knew one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, was it in order to sing false praises? Was it right for Father Patrick, who was God’s representative on earth, to say things that he knew to be completely untrue?
    She felt uneasy. If Father Patrick could talk about a dead woman in such glowing tones, when he knew she was not a bit like he was describing, then had he told her the truth about how loving and caring the nuns would be?
    All the O’Mara family were anxious to get back to their own homes so they didn’t hold a wake after the funeral. Apart from themselves, Father Patrick was the only other person there so it didn’t seem necessary.
    They wheeled Winnie back to the dismal dump in Carswell Court. Then they stripped the room of the bits and pieces they’d decided to keep. They took everything that Grace had owned, even the chipped cups and plates.
    Kathleen had brought some paste sandwiches, a piece of wet Nelly, and, as a special treat, a bottle of sarsaparilla for Winnie to have before she settled for the night. ‘You can drink the sarsaparilla straight from the bottle,’ Kathleen told her. ‘Father Patrick said someone will collect you first thing in the morning. Now don’t forget,’ she warned as she turned to leave, ‘don’t go letting that great gormless lad wheel you off to school.’
    ‘I’ve already said goodbye to Sandy and told him not to come round again,’ Winnie said dully. The mention of his name brought tears to her eyes. Sandy was the only person she would really miss. He’d been a tower of strength, collecting her each morning and pushing her to school, and bringing her home again. He’d done more for her than any of her relations. He’d been kinder than anyone she’d ever known, apart from her dad, that was, and she wished he was her