The Women at Ocean's End

Sisters’ Promise

On The First Day Of Christmas

Constance Macken wiped her nose with the back of her hand; her hanky was nowhere to be found and she wasn’t going back onto the street to look for it. She’d had enough of Mickey Kane calling her names and making fun of her in front of the others. The girl with no da. Her mother called him the original invisible man. ‘One minute he’d been promising me the earth, moon and stars and then quicker than you could say a baby Guinness and a chaser in the local pub, he’d hightailed it off to Dublin with the barmaid.’ That wasn’t much use to Constance, she could hardly go telling the other children that her father had run away and left them. She could scarcely admit it to Dotty, never mind anyone else.

The girl with no da. That’s what they called her, but since news of her mother’s good fortune was in the paper, it had become much worse. ‘They’re only jealous, you know that yourself,’ her best friend Dotty said, but even if she was right, and Constance doubted it, that still didn’t make things any easier.

Constance was small for her age, tiny, in fact; an easy target. At twelve years, she was still waiting to sprout up, but it felt less likely with every passing day as everyone in her class at school shot up around her. Her mother said she was like a little sparrow, not like her best friend. They were the same age and already Dotty Wren had developed curves and stood taller than any of the boys their age. Constance sighed now. Her mother talked about going away, leaving Galway altogether, and maybe that would be for the best. She’d miss Dotty though – for all she’d be glad to leave behind in this grotty little street, she’d miss Dotty Wren.

‘There she is, boys.’ Mickey Kane’s thin voice cut through the hedges opposite. They must have slipped over the low wall at the side of Mr Wren’s garage. They wouldn’t dare come into Constance’s garden, would they? ‘Want it back? You’ll have to come and get it, Constance.’ Mickey’s hand protruded through the thick privet, waving her handkerchief over and back like a sail swaying on the high seas.

‘Give that here.’ Constance shot to her feet. She was within grasping distance of the hedge when she remembered herself. The last time they caught her, they’d held her down and forced a worm into her mouth. She still remembered the taste, the feeling of it slithering about on her tongue; she’d almost choked through tears and trying to keep it from the back of her throat. In the end, to catch her breath, she’d had to swallow it. The humiliation of it was unbearable; even now, it was like a sharp whack against her gut, doubling her up in its unexpected intensity. If she allowed it to play out in her mind, she could almost be back there lying on the pavement, holding her breath until it felt as if she was going to drown under the weight of them. Their laughter had jeered

irst published in the UK in 2025 by Head of Zeus, part of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Copyright © Faith Hogan, 2025

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This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN (HB): 9781035906529

ISBN (XTPB): 9781035906512

ISBN (E): 9781035906505

Cover design: Leah Jacobs-Gordon

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