Faith

Is the bird

That feels the light

When the dawn

Is still dark

RABINDRANETH TAGOR

Tara remains loyal to Biddy Harte who has left her troubled past in Ballygrace behind and is now a respected landlady in Stockport.

When Biddy’s husband Fred is seriously injured in the wrestling ring, Tara soon realises that Biddy has reverted to her old ways. And when the shocking consequences of her actions are revealed, Biddy discovers that all her friendships – including Tara’s – are sorely tested.

But Biddy is not Tara’s only concern as a terrible tragedy takes her idyllic life back into the darker days of her past

Tara's Fortune is the sequel to Tara Flynn and was published in the UK, Commonwealth by Orion and Ireland by Poolbeg in 2004. It is also available in audio-form, large print and has been translated into Swedish.

You can buy Tara's Fortune at Amazon

You can now read chapter one of Tara's Fortune

Chapter One

Ballygrace, Summer 1962

Tara Fitzgerald stood at the tall bay window in the drawing-room of Ballygrace House, holding several blue sheets of Basildon Bond notepaper in her hand and an envelope that bore a Stockport postmark. She was dressed for going into town in a short-sleeved sweater with an amber necklace and earrings and a russet-coloured knee-length flared skirt – but the post arriving had halted her departure.

Her eyes gazed into the cloudy distance – over the house’s garden and the fields beyond – and far above the slightly bowed figure as he pushed the lawnmower back and forth over the already tidy grass.

She stood motionless for a good five minutes, then suddenly moved with purpose out into the hall and down to open the front door of Ballygrace House.

“I’ve had a letter from Biddy,” she called out to her father, waving the sheaves of paper she had just received from her oldest and dearest friend. “There’s some news about Fred in it.”

Shay brought the lawnmower to an abrupt halt. He pushed his working cap back on his greying curls, and wiped a brown forearm across his brow. Then he stood looking at Tara, waiting to hear what she had to say.

She came down the high steps at the entrance smartly, but taking care with the high-heeled brown shoes that toned perfectly with her skirt.

Shay folded his arms over his chest. “Poor oul’ Fred,” he said, shaking his head. “Is there any change for the better at all?”

“A slight one,” Tara replied, coming across the lawn to her father. “Biddy says they have him sitting up now … and that he’s able to eat soft foods rather than just liquids …” The description of the sad state of Biddy’s poor husband suddenly struck her silent – and she held the letter out to her father.

“Go on, work away,” Shay prompted her with a wave of his hand. “You read it out, you’ll make a better fist of Biddy’s handwriting than I will … for I’ve left the oul’ glasses at home.”

She scanned over the first page, which was full of thanks for Tara having visited them the week before last, and saying how much Biddy and the children had enjoyed having her over. She then moved on to the second page that concentrated on the details of Fred’s slow but steady recovery.

“They have Fred sitting up in the bed now,” Tara read out to her father, “and they’re feeding him soup and custard and semolina and that kind of thing. They’ve taken down most of the tubes, so that’s a relief. The doctors have told me that he has a long road to recovery, and not to hope for too much as he may never be the same man again. But I have to say, Tara, that I am hoping for a lot more. I don’t care how long it takes, he’ll always be the same big Fred to me.”

Tara and Shay looked at each other and shook their heads sadly. Poor, poor Fred. It was now nearly two months since his accident in the wrestling-ring. A simple enough wrestling bout had gone tragically wrong when Fred had fallen out of the ring and had suffered serious head injuries.

The particular fight had been with an old adversary, who Fred often met up with in the ring. They were more or less evenly matched, even though Arizona Jack was nearly a head taller than Fred. They knew each other’s moves well enough, and whoever was beaten in one match was usually the winner in the return fight.

According to Biddy, Fred had left home as usual on the Friday night for the match in Bellevue in Manchester. Apart from repeating to his wife that he was going to give up on the wrestling shortly – because he hated being away from home at the weekends – he was in grand form.

And now, Biddy wrote, it seems that the wrestling has given up on Fred. If he manages to walk and talk normally ever again, it’s as much as the doctors could hope for.

She finished by saying she hoped that Tara would visit them again soon, and that her houses were being well looked after by the tenants, and that before Fred’s accident he had paid regular visits to check up on things. Biddy herself had visited the two houses at the weekend, and all was well.

We all miss you here in Stockport, Biddy concluded, and God willing Fred will be up and about on his feet, when you pay your next visit.

Shay rubbed his cap over his face, catching the start of a tear in the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t it make ye wonder,” he said in a low voice, “how the biggest-hearted ones are the ones that get the worst of the luck?” He paused. “And d’you know something, Tara? I’m beginnin’ to wonder about that house in Maple Terrace … they’ve had nothin’ but bad luck in it.” He shook his head. “And I’m not a superstitious man as a rule, but it would make ye wonder.”

Tara patted her father’s shoulder, knowing that he was referring to Ruby Sweeney, Biddy’s old landlady and Shay’s close friend. Too close friend, for the married man that Shay was when he was living and working over in Stockport several years before. But that was all water under the bridge, and poor old Ruby was dead and gone and Shay’s life in Tullamore with his second wife, Tessie, more or less back to normal.

“We’ll go in and have a cup of tea,” Tara told her father, glancing up at the cloudy sky. “I think Angela has some bread and scones just out of the oven.” Tessie and Shay’s youngest daughter, who had a considerable talent for cooking and baking, now worked alongside Ella in keeping the domestic side of Ballygrace House ticking over

Tara was actually delighted to have her half-sister in the house, as she brought a breath of fresh air with her lively chat and enthusiasm about everything. And Gabriel liked Angela, too, and often stood chatting with her and Tara in the kitchen whilst drinking a cup of coffee – something that would have been unheard of back in his parents’ day when everything was so formal.

Shay wiped the cap across his face again, and put it back on his head. “I was all but finished here, anyway,” he said in a choked voice, “tryin’ to beat the feckin’ oul’ rain. We’ve had nothin’ but rain this whole summer long, and now we’re headin’ into the winter it’ll only get worse. The weather in this country isn’t worth a feckin’ damn!”

Tara pursed her lips tightly, knowing that her father was only using the weather as an excuse to give vent to his frustration about Fred’s condition.

They walked across the lawn together towards the front of Ballygrace House, then when they reached the front steps of the house they parted wordlessly, Shay to walk around to the kitchen entrance at the back of the house – and Tara to walk up the front steps.

Tara made her way in first, her heels tapping down the long hallway to the kitchen. Shay was still outside kicking the grass and earth from his work-boots until he felt he was in a fit state to step into the house. It didn’t matter how many times that Tara told him to come in through the front door, he never would.

The ghosts of too many Fitzgeralds and their like who had owned Ballygrace House hung too freshly in the air for Shay. He was far more comfortable entering and leaving through the kitchen, where he could mix with the people he felt on a level with.

And at times that was his daughter, Tara Fitzgerald. And at other times, it was not

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