Now Maisie focused on Lynn, who had been knitting since she took her seat, lost in one-plain, one-purl. Over the years Lynn had grown more and more nervous of crowds, but she had been determined to be there for her best pal, and knitting calmed her. Everyone who had contributed to the book was there to support her. Even after all these years they stood by one another. Her heart swelled. The gang’s all here.

It would be the first and possibly last – depending on how badly she ballsed it up – college lecture she’d give. Barely educated Maisie Bean Brennan lecturing a bunch of academics? It didn’t feel real, but there she was, waiting in the wings a few feet away from a large glossy poster of her book: Jeremy’s Spoken: A Recollection of Love and Misunderstanding. It was a larger-than-life photo of her sixteen-year-old son Jeremy and his best friend Rave, both glistening, fresh-faced and beaming. She’d been looking at that photo for twenty years and it still made her well up.

The plummy-accented academic looked her way. It was time.

‘Ladies and gentleman, I now take great pleasure in introducing you to Maisie Bean Brennan.’ The audience clapped and Maisie felt her husband nudge her gently on to the stage.

‘Go get ’em, Ma’sie,’ Valerie whispered.

What am I doing here?

The clapping died down. She stood behind the lectern. The room returned to silence, save for the murmur of youthful restlessness.

Shuffle, click, boom, shuffle, click, boom.

Maisie cleared her throat, took a sip of water and separated her teeth from her lip. All eyes were on her. Theirs had been a story a long time in the making and it was time to tell it. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, opened them and began.

‘My name is Maisie. My husband calls me Mai and me children call me Ma’sie but yous can call me what you like.’

There was a little laughter. Maisie wasn’t sure if it was because of her opening line or accent. It didn’t really matter, so she forged on.

‘Me first-born, Jeremy, was conceived in violence and he died in violence, but while he was alive he was the light of me life.’ Maisie’s voice hitched slightly. My sweet, lovely Jeremy. ‘I’m here to talk about him and the things our short time together taught me, if yous’ll bear with me for just a little while.’

The students stopped shuffling, whispering and giggling. The fancy mahogany wood-clad hall disappeared. The shuffle, click, boom, shuffle, click, boom slowly quietened.

As Maisie continued, she was back in her small cottage in Tallaght, twenty years ago. It was the morning of 1 January 1995, the day her life had changed irrevocably, and the day her son’s had ended.

‘It started with my sixteen-year-old boy Jeremy waltzing his granny Bridie around the kitchen table …’

SUNDAY,
1 JANUARY 1995

Chapter One

‘Jeremy’
Pearl Jam, 1992

Maisie