By Joan Lingard
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She lay thinking of Sadie and Tommy. She wouldn’t mind seeing Tommy again but knew she would not. She saw too much trouble all around her to want to cause any more. The McCoy household stirred early in the morning. Mrs McCoy was up first, feeding the baby, and then her husband who was working at present on a building site, and Kevin who started early in the scrapyard. Brede usually rose early, too, to help. Her mother often said that she did not know what she would do without her and that when she married it would be like losing her right hand.
His mother put her hand to her throat. ’ ‘Tommy, go and get the brandy from the sitting-room cabinet,’ said Mr Jackson. ’ Linda put her arm round Mrs Jackson’s neck. Tommy gritted his teeth and went through to the little sitting-room at the front. It smelt musty as he opened the door. They seldom used it, only for Christmas and special company. The room was overstuffed with furniture and every ledge was covered with faded photographs and souvenirs brought from Portrush, Bangor and the Isle of Man.
There’s our Gerald,’ said Brede. Gerald was leading the line; further back walked two of the younger McCoys. ‘Gerald,’ called his mother. ’ Gerald halted with the line behind him. ‘Let the lad alone,’ said his father. ’ Mrs McCoy sighed. It was beyond her. She had not much time for the Protestants but she would have preferred to live in peace in her street and let them live in theirs and she did not see why there was any need to meet in the middle to fight. She wished she were back in the green fields of County Tyrone where she had grown up as a child.
Across the Barricades by Joan Lingard