Little Drifters: Part 3 of 4

‘What are you doing here?’ Rosie said when she came in to investigate the hullabaloo.

Daddy smiled at her pleasantly: ‘I’ve come to see my little girls, haven’t I?’

‘No, you’re not supposed to be here,’ she replied primly, pulling her black woollen cardigan over her gigantic breasts.

Daddy towered over her.

‘And who says I’m not? No reason I can’t see my kids – and take them out to get sweets!’

And with that me, Tara, Lucy and Libby started cheering enthusiastically.

‘Won’t be long!’ he called back to Rosie, now utterly stunned and stammering with unconcealed fury.

‘But, but …’

Daddy plonked Lucy on his shoulders, took Libby by the hand and Tara and I skipped gaily out the front door by his side.

It was so wonderful to see our father – he looked well again, and all the way to the sweet shop he asked us about our new life.

‘Yes, they treat us good, Daddy,’ Tara told him happily.

‘We like it here!’ I agreed. ‘There’s nice children and I’m going to school now.’

None of us told him the truth – what was the point? He couldn’t do anything about it now. We were all wards of the state until we turned 16. It would only have brought him anguish and more guilt.

‘We thought we saw our mammy in town,’ Tara confided later as we sat sharing a bag of toffees on the park bench.

‘Yes, I heard she was in town too but I ain’t seen her,’ he nodded sadly.

When he dropped us back at Watersbridge an hour later the police were there, and Rosie was standing next to them, shrieking and pointing at my father: ‘There he is, officer! That’s the man who abducted the children.’

‘What seems to be the problem, Officer?’ My Daddy turned on his famous charm. ‘These are my children and surely you won’t begrudge a man coming to visit his kids or taking them out for a toffee once in a while?’

‘Mr O’Shea,’ the officer said, nodding respectfully at my father. ‘According to our records you only have a twice-yearly visiting permit for these children. And that’s got to be at appointed visiting times.’

Rosie’s little head was bobbing along as he spoke.

‘That’s right!’ she announced triumphantly, jabbing her fat little finger at my daddy’s chest. ‘Twice yearly. And appointed times. You can’t just swan in here without asking and take the children away.’

Sister Helen was standing on the other side of Rosie, smiling coldly at us all. I could see she was acting a part to the police officers. The caring, saintly nun. You’d never believe for a moment that this kindly-looking woman, who’d dedicated her life to the Lord, spent most of her day walloping the heads of little children.

‘Come along now.’ She put on her posh voice as she bundled us inside. ‘Let the officers sort this out with your father. It’s tea-time.’

Daddy winked at us all as we looked back at him longingly.

‘See you next week!’ he called out after us, and we laughed as Rosie exploded at him again.

Nothing on this earth would have kept my father from us. It’s true he only had visitation rights twice a year but he ignored that as much as he ignored Rosie and the nuns. Every two or three weeks he’d come wandering into the house, wherever we’d happen to be, and he’d take us out for toffees. The nuns called the police on him again and again, but only succeeded in annoying the police.