Read A Prayer for Blue Delaney for Free Online

made something ache deep inside him.
    That night in the crowded dormitory, Colm lay staring up at the high roof. Boys whimpering in their sleep kept him awake long into the night. It was nearly six months since he’d left Liverpool. He counted up the weeks and months, trying to calculate when his mother might have got his letters. What if she went to Clontarf and didn’t find him? Surely they’d tell her he was here at Bindoon. Maybe if she came, she would take Tommy away as well. Colm pulled out his prayer card and pressed it against his chest, praying to Mary to guide his mother to him.
    The next morning after mass, some of the boys went to the dining hall to write letters home. Colm went to follow them, but Tommy grabbed his arm.
    ‘Where you going?’ he asked.
    ‘I’ve been writing to my mum every weekend. I have to tell her I’m at Bindoon now. One day, she’s going to come and take me away.’
    Tommy laughed, but it was more like a bark than a happy sound. ‘Don’t go wasting your time with that caper. She won’t be coming for you. Not if it’s the letters that you think is bringing her.’
    ‘Yes she will,’ said Colm, clenching his fists.
    ‘Look, lad,’ said Tommy, putting a hand on Colm’s shoulder. ‘They don’t send your letters nowhere. I was moving cupboards when they got me working on a painting crew a while back. Found a whole pile of boys’ letters fallen down behind them. They’re not gunna waste good pennies on postage for us lot.’
    Colm stood on the steps of the chapel and felt darkness descend on him. By the banks of the dam, families were spreading out Sunday picnic lunches. The Brothers encouraged families to visit the grounds of Bindoon so the world could see the good work they were doing, but they banned the boys from speaking to the picnickers. Now Colm stared at these people, wanting to shout at them, wanting to tell them that nothing was as it seemed.
    Some of the boys who had come from Clontarf seemed to think that Bindoon would be a holiday. But on Monday morning, all the boys started work. Colm didn’t care. Anything that kept him from thinking about the dark future was a good thing. And at least he was working with Tommy.
    The new boys were set to work alongside boys and tradesmen who could teach them what to do. Colm’s job was to help concrete the floor of the entrance to the main building. He and Tommy worked on their hands and knees, crawling along a plank and smoothing the concrete with blocks. The slurry was gritty and rough against Colm’s skin but the work was rhythmic. As he scooped up the concrete and slapped it down, he hummed the melancholy song that Tommy had sung last night. He had just reached the chorus when a boot kicked him so hard in the backside that he landed face first in the wet concrete.
    ‘You’re learning a trade, Biddy-Ann. There’s nothing for you to be singing about,’ shouted Brother Keaney, towering above him. The song froze in the back of Colm’s throat. He had to shade his eyes against the bright sunlight as he looked up at Brother Keaney’s shock of hair, white against the blue sky.
    Colm was made to stay concreting until the portico entrance was finished, even after the dark night came down around him. Every hour a Brother would come to check on him and tell him to keep at it. The moon rose and shone down brighter than the dim kerosene lamp that hung from a pole to light Colm’s work. When he’d finally reached the top of the steps, Brother Dennis came to tell him he could go to bed.
    ‘Can I wash the concrete off, please, sir? It hurts my skin.’
    The Brother looked at Colm for a long moment. ‘Come with me,’ he said.
    In his long black gown the Brother looked like a dark spirit as he wove in and out of the shadows of the building. Colm was so tired, so hungry and sore, that he could barely keep up. They were halfway across the moonlit yard when a wiry figure came hurtling towards them and bowled straight into Colm.