The sound of church bells rang out, and I looked around me. I was passing a beautiful, stone building with stained-glass windows. I realized then that this must be St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I’d heard about it all right, but I’d never seen it. On impulse, I climbed the steps and went in. The place was cool and dark, and filled with the scent of burning candles. It reminded me of our church in Kilcross, and a sudden homesickness came over me. I had never been religious, going to Mass only because it was expected, but now, in this cathedral, with the familiar comfort of burning candles and stained-glass windows, I fought back tears of loneliness.

When I got back to my room in the hotel, I turned off the lights, drew the curtains and climbed, fully clothed, into bed. I drew my knees up to my chest like a child. I freed the tears that had been welling up in me all day and began to sob—loud, convulsing sobs of despair.

* * *

It took me two days to get up the courage to leave the hotel and go outside. By that time I had no more tears left. I had wept for everything I had lost: Mrs. Shaw, my fantasies of a rich husband with Sinclair, the comfort of my old life in Donegal and now Dom. I even questioned if I would have been better off if I had drowned. At least I would have avoided all this sorrow.

I realized that in all my life I’d never been alone. In Donegal I had Ma and Da and was surrounded by friends. Even on the ship, Delia had been there, even though I had ignored her most of the time. After that I’d had Mrs. Shaw to look out for me. And in coming back here, I’d expected I’d have Dom to rely on. Now, the fear of being alone gripped me and wouldn’t let go. Eventually, I realized I couldn’t hide from life forever. I told myself that I was not totally alone in the world. I still had a sister somewhere. I tried not to think what might happen if I found her and she wanted nothing to do with me, but she was all I had left. And so, the next morning, I set out to find her.