Description:

May & Joe McPartland are getting ready to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary in the small Irish town of Derry with their entire family. All should be happy on this momentous occasion, but fractious family issues and a visit by the Blessed Virgin Mary (the B.V.M.) to some of the children reveal that all is not as it should be.

Kerry Quinn is the teenage granddaughter of the McPartland's. She sees an apparition of the B.V.M. in a lane not far from where she lives. The B.V.M. tells Kerry that she will appear for two more nights at the lane, and Kerry is anxious to have her friends witness this appearance. Meanwhile, May McPartland is preparing for the anniversary celebration, but she is adamant that their youngest daughter, Sinead, is not welcome on their big night.

When Sinead arrives, all hell breaks loose at the party as family secrets are revealed. And out in the lane, the friends are waiting for the B.V.M. and are joined instead by two out-of-control teenagers who entice them into a game that will change their lives forever.

Excerpt:

Two years ago I saw the Blessed Virgin Mary—or as Paul used to call her, the B.V.M. That year was my grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. Christ, a lot happened that year! Oh, by the way, my name is Kerry Quinn and I live in Derry in Northern Ireland. My da actually wanted to call me Derry, but thank God my ma had more sense. I’m not too fussy about Kerry, mind you but Derry—Jesus!

Anyway, this year I’ve decided to write down what I remember about what happened that year. I’m doing this course in creative writing, you see, and my tutor has asked everyone in the class to write about an incident we remember in our past, an incident that changed our lives. Well here it is, the incident—or as much of it as I can remember. There are parts of my story where I have had to use my imagination and add to it, for there were times I only heard about what happened from my ma and da.

Anyway, a week before my granny and granda’s big night I called to see them. They are called May and Joe Mc Partland and they live at the bottom of Bishop Street. I lived on the Lecky Road in the Bog-side then and most days on the way home from school I would call in to see them. It was always nice and quiet there and I could get peace to do my homework. I have two younger sisters and it was almost impossible to do my homework when they were in the house.

Back then my granda was a wee wiry man with thick grey hair. He was always smoking a pipe and I had rarely seen him without it in his mouth. He was sitting on the sofa staring into the fire puffing away. My granny (who was at least four times his weight) was sitting beside him. Her hair was darker than my granda’s and she had pale yellowy skin.

“It just seems like yesterday, and here we are Joe, nearly fifty years married. God, fifty years—that’s a long time isn’t it? Yet it’s gone so quick.” She sighed then smiled. “Just think, Joe, they’ll all be here next week, all the wains. Wains, ha, ha, ha. That’s a good one. Our Kathleen’s some wain eh. She’s what? Forty-nine. Imagine Joe, we have a daughter who is nearly fifty years old.”

She nudged granda. “Remember the day she brought her Frank home from the Yankee Base to ask fer her hand? God Joe, he looked like a film-star in his American navy uniform.” She sighed again. “Aye, it only seems like yesterday.”

She looked up at the mantelpiece. Several photographs, some in silver frames were neatly lined across it. “It’ll be nice to see our Tom again. He says his Bishop won’t need him fer a whole week.” She frowned as she turned to granda. “How long is it now since we went over to England to see him, two years, last summer?” Shaking her head slowly and grunting she rose and ran her forefinger along the edge of the mantelpiece. “I’d better start gettin’ the house cleaned up. The curtains should be back from the cleaners on Monday.”

She frowned as she studied my granda. He took a long drag on his pipe then puffed softly. The sweet smelling smoke curled down into the fire and was suddenly whisked up the chimney.

“Joe, are ye listenin’ to me?”

Startled, my granda coughed then tugged the pipe from his mouth and looked up at her. “Aye May, aye of course I am,” he said hoarsely then coughed again.

My granny’s frown deepened as she asked, “Joe ye are happy about our big night, aren’t ye? I mean ye are glad they’re all comin’ aren’t ye? I know ye hate all the fussin’…”

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