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264 pages, Paperback
First published August 18, 2022
She was four in her earliest memory, or maybe just turned five.
It was springtime so it must have been near her birthday. The cherry blossom tree was heavily flowered at the edge of the small front garden; it was itself the greater part of the memory.
Seventeen years and ten months after her mother, after a half-day of labour, she came crying into the world. Her grandmother and great-grandmother attended her birth, despite the snooty midwife and the shooing nurses.
The house was filled with women. Mother and Nana and Saoirse and Honey and Kit and Josh’s mother Moll, and Moll’s old friend and alleged lover Ellen Jackman, and Doreen, quiet but friendly and no sign about her of the harridan that Nana had made her out to be, and in the centre of all of them, sitting up and trying her best to move around her soft-edged space, grizzling now and then against her cutting buds of teeth, smiling at the rank of women smiling back at her, delighted with and fascinated by all the sounds and smells and shapes and textures of her universe, was Pearl, a perfect little queen, fat with love. Ellen Jackman said: Aren’t we the queerest coven that ever stirred a pot? And they all laughed.
Saoirse took a doleful stock of herself. Twenty-one years of age with a three-year-old daughter. No Leaving Certificate, never even had a job. Never really had a proper boyfriend, except Oisín who’d hardly been more than a crush that grew into an obsession in her mid-teens and ended in a burst of anger in an alleyway in Nenagh. Her greatest joy in life, besides her daughter, whose unlikely father didn’t know she was alive, and outside of the narrow confines of the bungalow she lived in with her mother and her grandmother in a small estate in a village that nobody’d ever heard of, tucked between a hillside and a lake, was a friendship that seemed now to have ended with a girl from London whom she’d loved and, almost completely unknown to herself, been jealous of, in equal measure.