Martha was friendly too. She was always straight with me when I said things that were inappropriate. I asked her to point these things out. Tina thought that a great idea. I no longer assumed that people meant exactly what they said. ‘Reading between the lines’ was something I put into practice every day.

I went to dinner in Martha’s house a number of times, and every time I saw Udo, he taught me some Igbo, which is his native language. He cooks great Nigerian food. I babysat for Maduka and Abebi a few times and they are the friends I like best. They say what they mean all the time. That year, they invited me for Christmas dinner. Aunt Christine invited me a few days later but I told her the Adebayos were more fun.

Tina was delighted with my progress and encouraged me to choose appropriate gifts for the family. I asked the children what they wanted and that was easy. For Udo and Martha, I bought a hamper of cheese from the big supermarket in Roscommon. I braved the crowds especially. Thank God for the earplugs.

26

Peter, 1980

As we drove out of the front gate, Dad said, ‘Right, calm down and think. Think!’ He was talking to himself. Fifteen minutes later, we parked directly outside the Allied Irish Bank. I had seen advertisements for it on the television. ‘Wait here,’ he barked at me. I had no intention of going anywhere. Dad was a long time and when he came back to the car he said, ‘Bitch! I had to get the manager. It’s my money. I’m entitled to take it all if I want, and no jumped-up little bitch is going to stop me.’

Next, we drove down a side street and pulled up beside a building. There was a door on the street and, beside the door, there was a brass plate which said:

GLENDALE DENTAL PRACTICE

TEL. 809915

CONOR GEARY

B. DENT. SC

DENTAL SURGEON

This was where my dad worked. I wanted to go in with him but he ordered me to stay in the car. A few minutes later, he came out with some files and a framed certificate. He dismantled the frame and threw it in the garden of an adjacent house and rolled up the certificate, opened the car boot and put it into the suitcase. I didn’t dare ask any questions.

We swerved away from the kerb and drove off this main street to a coastal road. He parked the car down on the pier and then we got out. Seagulls swooped low over our heads. He pulled a cap out of his pocket and put on a pair of glasses. I had never seen either before. ‘Let’s go to England,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll think about how to get passports.’

We walked together and he smiled and nodded at every second person we passed, even women, pulling his cap lower every time. We walked ten minutes over to the ferry port and stood in a queue. I stood at a distance, afraid to touch anyone, but he yanked me towards him and gripped my hand. At the top of the queue, he bought two second-class tickets to Holyhead. I knew from geography books that Holyhead was in Wales. But I wasn’t going to challenge Dad on anything. He was so tense. His grip hurt me and his jaw was clenched tightly.

I should have been excited. We were going abroad, for the first time ever. But it definitely didn’t feel like a holiday. We were running away. But for how long? And who were we running from? Didn’t Dad want to report the burglary to the guards? Dad always snorted at them on television. We watched Garda Patrol every week. He would laugh at them and call them ‘incompetent lazy fools’. I tried to understand but my thoughts were scrambled. We boarded the ship and climbed what seemed like endless flights of stairs until we were outdoors on the deck.

‘What’s this town called, Dad?’

‘Dún Laoghaire. Take a good look at Ireland, lad, it will be a long time before we ever see it again.’ The anger was gone, and I could see his eyes glistening behind the clear lenses of his spectacles. Was Dad going to cry? Like a girl?

It was freezing on this deck, in the middle of March. Everyone else was huddled inside. Finally, the foghorn blew and the ship edged out of port, slowly at first and then picking up speed after we exited through the granite piers, one on either side, like outstretched arms, pushing us out to sea.

‘We’re going on our own odyssey,’ he said, sadness in his voice.

‘Dad.’ I felt ready to ask him now that his anger had abated. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening. Why are we going, so suddenly?’

He put his head in his hands. ‘We have to. That’s all there is to it. That burglar. If he were to tell anyone her name, people would come and take you away. They would put their hands on you, and you would die. I’m doing this for you.’

‘But why would they take me away?’