Following the launch of my Short Story, I have received a lot of applause regarding the story-line. I am posting Chapter 1 for those who would like a brief in-sight to the story. I hope you enjoy reading and the book is available on my site http://www.briankermode.com for purchase. The cost is £10 and includes postage and packing to anywhere in the UK & Ireland. For those overseas…please drop me a line for postage costs…info@briankermode.com

Enjoy reading and thank you for your interest.

Chapter 1 Homeward Bound

“Excuse me, can you fasten your seat belt please? We will be commencing our descent into Shannon shortly and the captain has put the ‘fasten your seat belt’ sign on.”

Michael quickly wiped his eyes and straightened his hair, trying desperately to make himself look presentable for his arrival
into Ireland. He had fallen asleep on the 8-hour flight from New York.
“Yeah, no problem, sorry. Sure I’m still half-asleep.”
“Oh I know that, sure I tried to wake you a few times when we were going around with the dinner trolley. We gave up after three attempts and the lady beside you told us that you were asleep for
most of the way.”

The young air hostess smiled and quickly made her way down the aisle towards the rear of the plane. Michael quickly buckled his seat belt, securing himself safely to the seat. When it was tight around his waist he eased himself up slightly, stretching both his legs out under the seat in front of him. He began rubbing both his legs at the same time to try and get the blood flowing again.

“Are you home on holidays?” asked the pretty woman sitting next to him.
“Actually, I’m home for a funeral. It’s the first time I’ve been back to Ireland in almost thirty years and, to be honest, I’m not really sure what to expect. It’s my mother, you see. Unfortunately, she’s
just passed away and I didn’t even know she was sick.”

Michael was an only child and due to the lack of work in Ireland when he was a teenager, he was forced to emigrate along with thousands of others to earn a living. His friends had sent letters home mentioning plenty of opportunities for work on the building sites around New York and Boston. So, with no sign of improvement on the local work scene, he was left with no choice but to head over to the Big Apple in the hope of a better life. The choice was always going to be a difficult one because it would mean leaving behind both his mother and father.

“It’s very nice to speak with you. My condolences on the loss of your mother. I’m Kathleen Ryan. I’m from Brooklyn but I do have an Irish background. By the way, I can still hear your beautiful
Irish accent through that American one. I was born in Ireland but raised by my adopted mother in the States. I’m a lawyer in Wall Street and today, believe it or not, happy days, it’s actually my
birthday. But please, do not tell anyone that I’m fifty-five.”

Her eyes were sparkling and she had a beautiful complexion that made her look much younger than her fifty-five years. In fact, she looked five years younger than Michael, who was only fifty.

“Michael Kennedy, Kathleen, it’s very nice to speak with you too. I must say, I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman than yourself. I suppose it’s all that easy living you have over there on Wall
Street, what with all them fancy beauty parlours and what have ye.”

Kathleen smiled and hoped that she wasn’t blushing.

“Yes, very funny Michael. But I think with all the stress these days, it’s making me age very quickly. I’m just here for a meeting in Galway this week. I need to sort out a company takeover but
promised myself that I’m going to use any spare time that I get, to try and trace some of my family roots in the West of Ireland.”

Kathleen had done some research using the company private detective and had found out that she was adopted in Ireland when she was a baby. At the time, her adoptive mother was doing work for the American Government and a friend of hers had encouraged the adoption of a child. But the private detective hired by Kathleen had failed to find out any more information because her mother’s work had been deemed classified. The only thing they were able to confirm, was that Kathleen ended up at an orphanage in the care of the nuns around Galway somewhere. They couldn’t find out any other details about her real mother other than the fact that a document stated she had died giving birth and the father had run off to England somewhere when he found out she was pregnant.

“Well, I wish you good luck in Galway, Kathleen, and I do hope you’re able to find someone that can help you. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again when we’re back in Wall Street. Saying
that, I would probably need to save for a month to make that journey. You take care of yourself now Mrs Ryan and have a safe onward trip.”

“Nonsense Michael, it’s Kathleen to you, and I hope that we’ll meet again. Here’s my card if you’re ever looking for a lawyer in New York and I’m sorry again on the loss of your mother. They say
that time is a great healer, Michael.”

They both got off the Aer Lingus Boeing 747 that day to get on the airport bus that would eventually take them to the arrival hall. They spoke about the weather in Ireland, comparing it
to the climate in New York. Both of them enjoyed a brief laugh together about why the bus only travelled a few hundred yards to the terminal to drop them off when, in fact, it would have been
quicker to walk. Michael reminded Kathleen that she was in Ireland and not in America. When they came to the baggage reclaim area, the two of them shook hands for the last time and parted
company. They both had two different itineraries for their visit to Ireland. Michael made his way through the immigration area after proudly showing his Irish passport to the Garda on duty. He left the terminal, pulling behind him a small travel case that contained only a few clothes so that he could look smart for his mother’s funeral. Ireland had changed so much compared to the days when he left Easkey on the West Coast of Ireland. The work was scarce in the early fifties and it meant that a lot of the young men and women had to emigrate to England or America. Some even went as far away as Australia depending, of course, on how much money they could raise within their families to buy a ticket. Michael was lucky enough that his mother and father had saved some money and that they were both there with him on the pier head to see him set sail on a steamer for America – all the time checking to make sure that he had a few punts in his pocket to help him on his way. That was a heartbreaking day for the family; all of them crying with the sad thought of him having to leave home. It was the same for most people – having to emigrate to another country to start a new life.

When he left the terminal, he soon came across a row of buses that was parked outside. There was an elderly man with a walking stick waiting at a stop.

“Hey there, sir, can you tell me which of these buses I need to get if I want to go to Ballina? I don’t know my way around here so good, a lot has changed”

“Bejaysus now, let me think. You’ll have to get that bus over there at stop six. That one is heading for Sligo but then you’ll have to change. Make sure you ask someone when you get there where
the bus for Ballina will be. My God, do you Yanks never think about getting a feckin’ timetable when ye are in the airport, or do ye all still think we just get around here with a horse and cart?”

“God damn old-timer, someone must have got out of the bed the wrong side this morning. Thanking you kindly, young man, for the directions. And by the way, I’m an Irishman that did have a horse
and cart”, said Michael, laughing as he smiled over at the man.

“I’ll feckin’ aul-timer ye. If ye get a belt a this walking stick you wouldn’t be going around with that fancy twang”, replied the old man waving the said stick.

Michael did exactly as he was told and made his way over to the stop sign marked number six. He kept pointing out the number six bus, making the old man think that he would never have found it,
if it were not for him. He saw the luggage compartment was open and placed his case in towards the back. Michael waved over to the old man and boarded the bus, paying the driver for his ticket to
Sligo. He wasn’t even sure where to get off for Easkey. It was just a small town only a few miles from Enniscrone. A town where everyone knew each other and gossiping was clearly a normal thing in that part of the world.

After about two hours into the journey, Michael noticed a signpost that showed Sligo was only ten kilometres away. Looking out at all the houses and buildings on the road for Sligo, it showed him
that Ireland certainly did change since the day he’d left. Disembarking the bus at the station, he looked around and saw a sign for Ballina over a doorway. But according to a waiting passenger, he had about forty-five minutes to spare – enough time for him to sit down and have a nice cup of tea and a scone in the small cafe that was opposite the station.

Sitting at a table close to the window, he noticed how people moved very quickly to-and-fro and didn’t even stop or say hello to each other. He felt that the Irish had become just like the people in New York, London, Sydney or anywhere else in the world that had a high population; people that had no interest in what others were doing. He wondered about all the selfishness that had crept into society.

Boarding the bus for Ballina, he asked the driver if it was going through the town of Easkey.

“Nah, sorry, mate. This is the express bus that goes all the way to Ballina. We’re only allowed to stop in certain places along the way. You’ll be able to get another bus when we get to Ballina. That
one will take you back out to Easkey.

“There’s a stop close to Enniscrone and I can drop ya off there if ya want. D’ya know anyone that can collect ya from the stop? There’s a phone box just outside that door there. Can’t do any
more than that for ya mate.”

Michael listened to hear what the driver was saying to him and struggled a bit to understand his accent. He found it strange and knew that it wasn’t a Sligo one but similar to a friend’s accent
in New York who originally came from County Louth.

“Ah… not to worry, sure I can get off there where you said. It’s a nice day for a walk anyway but I’d appreciate it if you could let me know when we get to that stop please.”

Michael took a seat about half-way down the bus and managed to find a window seat that was vacant; one that would give him a nice view of the changed landscape. Pulling out of the depot in Sligo, the bus was soon heading towards Ballina. He knew after half an hour into the journey that he was getting closer to home. Familiar landmarks were already stirring his memory and when the bus passed Croagh Patrick, he promised himself he would walk up that mountain again before he returned to America.

Croagh Patrick was known as a holy mountain because it had annual pilgrimages each year to the summit. Pilgrims would walk barefooted to the top of the mountain over a stone path as a way to repent for their sins.

Shortly after they passed the mountain, Michael spotted a familiar landmark that was close to his home and he shouted out to the driver.

“Bus driver! Will you be able to drop me off at the next stop please?”

“Not a problem, my American friend. Would ya not be better off going on to Ballina? There’s a bus there that goes back out to Easkey every hour and we’re only a few miles from Ballina now?”

“Not at all my good man, sure I used to run up and down these roads when I was only a nipper”.

The bus driver was quick to reply to Michael and let him know that he’d spotted the hint of an Irish accent.

“I had a feeling ya were only back home. That Yankee accent didn’t put me off ay-der, let me tell ya.”

“And you haven’t hid that Louth accent ay-der”, Michael replied.

“Thanks a million for letting me off here. I’m sure this stop will leave me close to where I need to go.”

Michael waved goodbye to the driver as the bus continued on in the direction of Ballina. The driver beeped the horn in acknowledgement. Carefully, he crossed the road to the other side which was much busier than it was when he left home. Looking across the hedges on the road towards Easkey, Michael kept checking to see if things were still the same.

To his amazement, some things actually were. Brannigan’s old barn was still there, right beside the big Lodge up on the hill. The Lodge
where he and his friends use to steal apples from. Yes, things certainly did look the same out this direction. About a mile up the road, he heard the sound of a car approaching and a quick glance
over his shoulder revealed a small black car heading his way. He could hear the car slowing down. When it got closer, it pulled up beside him. A young curate was carefully stretching his neck lower
so that he could see Michael through the passenger window.

“Well I do declare, a man pulling a suitcase towards Easkey. That would not be a normal thing you would see around here. It’s usually the other way around, if I might say so myself. Hello, I’m Father Donnelly and I would guess that you are the long lost son, Michael Kennedy? Do you want to hop in and I’ll give you a lift?”

Father Donnelly opened the boot of his car and lifted Michael’s case in. They shook hands, smiled, and then headed off towards the town of Easkey.

“Well, I had some job trying to track you down, Michael. Your mother was sick for a while but, unfortunately, the doctor said there was nothing he could do for her. I’m sorry Michael. That was
about a month ago and I’ve been trying to find you ever since. Councillor McCann from the town here was able to get in touch with the Irish Embassy in New York.”

Michael knew that he was home again when Father Donnelly told him about his sick mother. It was he first time since he’d arrived back in Ireland that he was able to contemplate that his mother
wouldn’t be waiting for him at the front door with open arms. He wiped a tear from his eye.

“Eventually, Michael, they were able to get an address for you. But even if you’d arrived here any sooner it wouldn’t have made any difference because the stroke had taken away her memory and she couldn’t speak properly, right up until she passed away.

“She couldn’t even recognise her closest friends and it was Kitty O’Shea that nursed her up until she passed away.

“She couldn’t even recognise her closest friends and it was Kitty O’Shea that nursed her up until the end. So, Michael, the funeral is all set now for tomorrow at noon and the local community in the
village have arranged everything. You don’t need to worry about a thing”.

Michael searched in his pockets for a handkerchief as his tears became heavier and blurred his vision. Father Donnelly handed him one of his own.

“Father, I don’t have much money with me because I had to pay for the flight at short notice; it was very expensive. But I do have some cash that I can give you towards the ceremony, if that’s okay. And I haven’t even thought about the coffin either. I don’t know what my plans will be after this, Father. I suppose I will need to sort out the house too, and a few other things as well”.

Father Donnelly shook his head sympathetically. He knew that Michael felt very emotional and being an only son, it made things even more difficult.

“Now Michael… I’ll be having none of that talk from you. Your mother was a respectable woman in this parish and she always donated whatever spare money she had to the Church. Sure you were sending her home that money from America anyway, so you’ve already donated to the ceremony.”

Michael worked on a building site erecting large apartment blocks. His wages were good and he always remembered to send money home at the end of each month. Being in America didn’t stop
him from looking out for his mother and father and this was his way of supporting them. He felt it was his duty to do it, but he loved to send them registered mail with money in it.

“Sure she even left an envelope in the Church one day, Michael, saying that it was money to bury her in the event of her death and that I was to do everything in my power to get you home for the
funeral. I’m happy to say now… that I’ve managed to do it.”

Michael looked at the handkerchief and wiped the tears from his eyes again. But in the midst of his
grief there was anger too that he had had to leave home in the first place.

“By the way, Michael, she left another envelope for you and said that under no circumstances were you allowed to open it – not until after the funeral. I have it in the safe, Michael, up at the Parochial House for you.”

They arrived into Easkey and Father Donnelly pulled up at the Kennedy house where some of the neighbours were already there, paying their last respects to Kathleen. As soon as Father Donnelly
entered, they all moved in closer to the coffin and a silence came over the room – everyone was waiting for him to start the Rosary.

“My dear friends, this is Kathleen’s son, Michael Kennedy, and he has just arrived from America. I know that I had arranged for the Rosary to be said at five but that was on account of me not being
able to get in contact with Michael here. So I have decided to postpone the prayers until tomorrow morning at ten. This will give Michael the time to say goodbye to his mother on his own.”

The mourners acknowledged the Priest and shook hands with Michael, each person consoling him as they left the house one by one. When everyone had gone and he was finally alone with his
Mother for the last time… his tears became uncontrollable. He looked at her lifeless body all laid out and admired the great job her friends had done. Her cold hands were joined together and
intertwined with a pair of rosary beads. He touched them, knelt down beside her and began to pray.

Michael spent that night alone with his mother. He spent a
long time looking at her in the coffin and would have given anything to see her just sit up and say, “hello son”.

Before he went to bed, Father Donnelly called over to the house and handed him the letter his mother had left. On the way out, he reminded him, her wish was for him not to open it
until the funeral was over.

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