Chapter Two - part 2

The thirty days prayer was all of five pages long and didn’t offer any indulgences. Sean took that as a good sign of its efficacy: it seemed to be just a straight contract between God and himself, with the Blessed Virgin Mary as a go-between. He had never tried a five-page prayer before, but then he had never in all his life wanted anything with the same intensity that he wanted this: He’d start tomorrow in Portstewart.
      Fr O’Loughlin was reading out the stipends now: everybody was listening carefully – far more carefully than they listened to his sermon. He was a soft-spoken man and owned a big St Bernard dog which had knocked Sean down one day as he passed.
      ‘Mrs B. Kane, 9 Barry Street, two shilling and sixpence.’ It was a bit above average for Barry Street and sixpence more than last year, though his mother couldn’t really afford it. The Culmore Road people who headed the list always gave a pound, but they were in a different world.
      ‘Mr and Mrs J. McCarron, 13 Barry Street, one shilling.’ They had more money than his mother, but seemed to have no great interest in advancing themselves. Some people were like that.
      He’d have to go across the Crescent later, to see if there was any chance of saying hello to Sue as she came back from Sunday school. He’d call for Ger McCabe first and it wouldn’t be so obvious if the two of them just happened to be chatting together near Mackey’s door. Ger would come with him – no doubt about that: he was mad about Sue’s young sister Babs.
      Fr O’Loughlin turned to give the final blessing and the end of the mass was in sight at last. Sean’s mind was made up now about the thirty days prayer. He did a perfect genuflection under the watchful eye of his mother and followed Jenny down the aisle and out into the bright sunlight. It was going to be a great day.
      Ger and himself spent a long time that afternoon outside the Mackey’s front gate. The Crescent was quiet, for Protestants didn’t play games on Sundays and many Catholics considered that was a good example to follow. Peter Bentham, accompanied by his mother and father, passed them with scarcely a nod. This was no surprise, even though Peter was their friend and played with them every day: Prods were different on a Sunday and you’d get used to that. The good suit and the peaked cap pulled down over the eyes and the big Bible under the arm were declarations of that difference.
      ‘I don’t think they’re in the house at all,’ Ger said impatiently. ‘Come on round their back lane and peep over the wall.’
      Richmond Crescent houses had been built into the slope of the hill, looking down towards the factory and the Strand Road: beyond that was the Lough Swilly railway station, separated from the river Foyle by the shipyard. The high back lane of the Crescent meant that one could see over the wall at the bottom of Mackey’s sloping garden, right into the kitchen. It was a simple matter for an adult to glance in as he passed along the lane, but it was much more difficult for children, who did not have the necessary height.
      Sean gave a little leap in the air as he passed and tried to see as much as he could of the Mackey’s kitchen in the fraction of a second that he was airborne. Ger was smaller, but a better jumper, so they both had about the same short time to ascertain if their true loves were at home. Even if they were, there was no hope of actually talking to them on a Sunday, but even a distant glance of a half-second’s duration was worth risking a lot for. Both lads knew that they had to be subtle about it too, as if they were casually walking by and giving two equally casual leaps in the air. One wouldn’t like anyone to get suspicious, least of all Mr Mackey, who was in the RUC.
      But a half-second look was not enough to let one’s eyes get accustomed to the indistinct view through the window. They continued their walk right along the back lane, turned round into the front of the Crescent and completed the circle by aiming for the back lane again: it was all low-key and casual, so that no-one would be any the wiser. Another pair of jumps at the back of Mackey’s let them know that there was definitely someone at home, but they had to do the full round of the Crescent again before they could venture another look. As they performed their next despairing leaps, completely disregarding subtlety so as to get a longer view of the kitchen, they were left in no doubt that someone was there: they recognised their true loves’ father, making unmistakeable signals to them to be off – and quick about it! They ran.