But it wasn’t like that at all. This was devoid of any romance and, therefore, of any reason he could have found to forgive her. She had no idea who was the father of her child and she didn’t seem to care either. It was as if the child she was carrying inside her was nothing more than an inconvenience. She just wanted it gone from her, aborted, taken away as soon as. It was actually her complete disregard for the child inside her that really concerned him. His Assumpta, his lovely girl he had adored, was treating her pregnancy as simply a problem to be solved. She did not seem to comprehend the enormity of what was happening to her, that she was now the guardian of another human being, a child that she had created. She didn’t understand that, as Catholics, they had no option but to bring the child into the world, and love it unconditionally, no matter the circumstances of its conception. That was the whole ethos behind being a fucking Catholic in the first place – especially an Irish Catholic. You sinned, and you then lived with that sin. You loved that sin, and you cared for that sin until it wasn’t a sin any more – it was the best thing to have happened to you, a gift from God Himself. It was given to you for a reason – to make you a better person, and show you the miracle of life, and how it can bring you peace, and more love than you could ever imagine.

Assumpta just wanted it gone from her, as if she was drowning an unwanted kitten.

The door of his office opened quietly, and he stood still as a statue. His daughter was there. He could smell her, the perfume she wore, the heavy scent of her make-up. She had always worn far too much make-up. She was a beautiful girl, and he had never understood her fascination with painting her face. But he had allowed it. He had given his wife the final say on the girls and their lifestyles. Now he was sorry, even though he knew that his Carmel had done her best by the girls. She was as baffled as he was about Assumpta and her predicament. He stood stiffly, looking out of the window, seeing the beauty of the view, all the while forcing down his anger, his disappointment and his shame that his daughter had really thought that he would not have a problem arranging for her to have her child scraped out of her. One wrong word from his daughter now, and he would likely seriously harm her.

Assumpta looked at her dad. For her whole life he had only been there as a provider – her mum had been the main carer. She had done her best, but she had always been more interested in how she herself looked, or in how they were dressed.