"Morning, honey," Abbey said brightly as Jed, clad just in his pajama trousers, wandered blearily into the kitchen next morning, his hair tousled and his eyes still half-closed. "Did you sleep well?"

"What on earth are you doing up this early?"

"It's nine o'clock, Jed – last week you would have had at least six meetings by this time!"

"Yeah, that's as maybe – but my body clock is still saying it's four in the morning!"

"Want some toast?"

Jed yawned. "Okay – thanks. Is there any coffee?"

"Over there," Abbey nodded towards the coffee machine. "Help yourself."

As he passed her, Jed stopped to kiss her cheek, and then poured himself a mug of coffee and wandered through to the table in the sitting room. By the time Abbey came through with a pile of wholemeal toast, he was starting to feel a little more human.

"I thought we might try the car today – drive over to Ballykane? It's only about twenty miles."

"Yeah, that's fine," Abbey nodded, then looked across the table at him. "How d'you feel about finally seeing your mother's birthplace?"

Jed thought for a moment. "It's something I've always wanted to do. But it's over sixty years since she left Ireland, and there's no family left there now, as far as I know. She never really talked much about it. Her mother died when she was young, and her father died when I was about twelve. I never met him. It all seems a bit unreal."

"You've never studied that side of your family history?"

"Never had time. Besides, it was always drummed into me that I was a Bartlet – and that the Bartlets practically founded New Hampshire. The Irish side of me was ignored – and of course my father hated the fact that I chose my mother's Catholicism."

Abbey nodded She knew a little about John Bartlet's emotional and physical abuse of his elder son, but only a little. It was the one thing that Jed refused to talk about.

"You want any more toast?" she asked, and then when Jed shook his head, went on, "Okay, you gonna shower first or shall I?"

Jed looked across at her with a grin. "I'd very much like to suggest that we showered together – but unfortunately I doubt that we'd both fit into that small shower stall! So you go first."

Abbey stood up. "Okay, and while I do, would you please get your head around the issue of driving again. Just how long is it since you last drove a car?"

"No problem, you just put the key in and go."

"Heaven help us!" Abbey said, raising her eyebrows to the ceiling.

It was nearly eleven thirty by the time they went out to the car. Jed did a quick survey of the dials and gauges, and started up the engine. Fortunately the car was an automatic, so he pushed the lever and they set off down the lane which led to the main road.

"See, it's just like riding a bike, but more horsepower," he said.

"Fine, sweetheart – but how about you try driving on the left?"

"Ah – yeah, okay – I was just coming to that," he said with a grin as he moved the car over to the left-hand side of the lane.

Forty-five minutes later they had reached the main street of the small town of Ballykane. Jed found a parking spot at the side of the street and switched off the engine. "There, that wasn't too bad, was it?"

"You did okay, honey – I only shut my eyes once when you almost went the wrong way around that circle!"

"Roundabout – the Irish call 'em roundabouts! And – well, I got confused by the road signs."

"As if!" Abbey scoffed as she opened the car door.

The main street was busy with traffic, but fairly short and Jed looked first one way and then the other. "There it is," he said after a couple of seconds. "There's a Post Office sign – that must be it."

He reached out to take her hand, and together they walked along the street until they stood in front of a two-storey stone building.

"So this is it," Jed said quietly. "This is where my mom grew up. Wonder what her life was like then? Small Irish town in the thirties – bet they all knew everything about everyone."

"You want to go in?"

"Yeah, why not?"

They went into the small Post Office building which doubled as a newsagent and candy store and waited while an elderly white-haired man in front of them was served.

Abbey glanced sideways at Jed. "How long is it since you actually had to wait to be served?" she whispered.

Jed returned her glance with a grin. "How long is it since I actually went into a shop that hadn't been closed to the public first?"

"It's a whole new world out here, babe!"

Jed stepped aside to let the old man pass them and then turned back to the woman behind the counter. "Hi, we're wondering if you can help us – we're interested in Michael Egan who was the postmaster here after the First World War until the 1950's."

The woman looked blank. "Sorry, I don't know the name at all, I've on'y been here for about seven years – so I don't think I can help ye there," she said apologetically.

"Yeah, I understand," Jed replied. "But maybe there are records somewhere?"

The woman shook her head. "If there are, they'll probably be in Dublin."

"Okay – so there's nothing locally?"

"Not that I know of. Dan!" she called suddenly.

Jed turned as a middle-aged man came through the curtains at the back of the shop.

"Dan," said the woman, "these folk are askin' 'bout someone who used to be postmaster here after the First World War – Michael Egan, was it?"

Dan seemed to sum up the situation immediately. "He an ancestor of yours?" he asked.

"Yes, Michael Egan was my grandfather – and my mother grew up here in the thirties."

"Aye, well then, ye're very welcome to have a look around."

With a smile, Dan held open the curtain and beckoned them through. After a quick glance at Abbey, Jed followed him, into what looked like a store room.

"The shop's been enlarged over the years," Dan told them. "The back part of the shop was prob'ly the original family room, and this would've been the kitchen. As ye can see, the old sink's still over there, near the back door."

Jed glanced around the room, trying to visualise it as it might have been. He looked across at the old square sink. "I wonder how many times my mom stood there, doing the dishes or maybe washing clothes?"

"Aye, ye're right there – no washing machines or dish washers in t'em days." Dan then led them up a narrow and steep flight of stairs. "Up here has all been altered too – it's been extended at the back – our bedroom and the bathroom are in the extension, and one of the original bedrooms is now our kitchen. But this would've been the main bedroom, I t'ink." He opened the door into a modern sitting room whose single window overlooked the main street.

"Ye'll have to use yer imagination," he chuckled. "Old iron frame bed against that wall, mebbe, a big old wardrobe and dresser – and a fire burning in the hearth for winter nights. Now we got central heating, o'course."

"You've made it into a lovely room," Abbey said warmly. Jed simply gazed round the room, trying, though without much success, to superimpose the image of a 1930's bedroom on to the modern furnishings and decoration of the sitting room. This wasn't what he had imagined at all.

"Thank 'e, that's the wife's doin', not mine!" Dan was saying, then he opened the door of the room next to the sitting room. "This is prob'ly the on'y room that's anythin' like the original. We use it as a spare bedroom, which means everythin' gets dumped in here!"

It was a much smaller room than the sitting room, with just enough space for a single bed, on which was piled an assortment of cardboard boxes, and a small dresser.

Abbey looked round at Jed. "Maybe this was your Mom's bedroom?"

"Yeah," he said, "could've been, I guess. May I?" he asked Dan, taking a step into the room.

"Ye're welcome."

Jed walked past the bed to the small window and stood for a moment looking out on to the main street. Was this the view his mother saw every morning when she opened her bedroom curtains? A few houses along a busy road, and no view at all of the green Irish countryside that lay just beyond the small town. How different she must have found the large rambling house in New Hampshire where she had lived with his father.

"Ye'll stay for a cuppa tea?" Dan was asking Abbey.

Jed turned from the window before Abbey could reply. "Thank you, but we really mustn't take up any more of your time. You've been very kind."

The truth was that he couldn't wait to get away from the house. They repeated their thanks when they went downstairs and then went out into the street.

"You're disappointed," Abbey said, taking Jed's hand.

"Yes, I am. I don't know what I expected – but I really didn't feel anything. Maybe that's because it's all been altered so much."

"Sixty years is a long time, it would've been more surprising if it had stayed the same."

"That's true. I suppose in my mind I was imagining some quaint old place with wooden beams and uneven walls, and instead it was all modern wallpaper and white painted woodwork."

"I'm sorry, honey," Abbey said, squeezing his hand.

He looked round at her with a rueful half smile then said, "Let's go see if we can find the church, maybe that will have more atmosphere."

"It's there, isn't it?" Abbey pointed at the church tower near the end of the street.

"No, that's more likely to be the Church of Ireland – Anglican," he added. "Don't forget that Ireland belonged to Britain until 1922 – and the Brits imposed their own religion here for centuries. But there must be a Catholic church somewhere."

"Let's ask at the pub then – that one over there," suggested Abbey.

"Good idea. Are you ready for some lunch?"

"Even better idea," was Abbey's reply.

The pub was fairly quiet and they sat down at the table near the window overlooking the main street. They decided to try 'boxty' when they discovered it was an Irish potato pancake stuffed with smoked cheese, and washed down in Jed's case with a glass of Guinness and in Abbey's with white wine.

"That was good," Jed said, wiping his mouth with the paper napkin.

"What – the food or the Guinness?"

"Both! Maybe we ought to buy a book of Irish recipes while we're here?"

"Don't forget we were gonna ask about the church," Abbey reminded him.

She followed him to the bar and they waited while the barman served another couple.

"I heard ye askin' about the Egans."

They both turned to see the speaker, an old man who was sitting at the far end of the bar, sipping a pint glass of Guinness. He had a craggy weather-beaten face and a shock of white hair and Jed recognised him as the man who was served before them in the post office.

"Yeah, that's right," he said, moving along the bar towards the man.

"None left round here now."

"You knew some of them?"

"Aye, I did too. Old man Egan – he was the postmaster in the town."

Jed nodded. "Yes, he was – for over thirty years."

The old man frowned slightly. "Ye're not from these parts, are you? But ye do look a mite familiar."

Abbey dug Jed in his back. "Wait for it," she whispered.

Jed smiled at the old man. "We're from America."

"America, is it then? Aye, well now, Egan's lass went off t'America – about a year after the war it was. Can't remember her name now."

"Annie?" Jed prompted.

"T'at's right – Annie Egan. Nice looking girl, she was. Bright blue eyes – come to t'ink of it, a bit like yours, son. Quite fancied her meself at one time."

Jed and Abbey exchanged amused glances. The old man sipped his dark beer, then wiped the froth from his moustache. "Rumour had it that she was up the duff with one of them Yankee sailors from that submarine that had to put into Galway Bay for repairs."

Something stilled inside Jed. He shot a quick glance at Abbey – a glance that was no longer amused, then looked back at the old man. "Up the duff?" He knew what it meant, but needed the confirmation.

"Aye, you know, in't fam'ly way." The old man patted his stomach. "She went off t'America to marry 'im – a lot o' girls did that after the war"

Feeling that Abbey was about to say something, Jed quickly put his hand sideways to stop her. "Do you remember what year that was?" he asked the old man.

"Must've been 46 – aye, year after the war ended, they was all off."

"And the submarine in the bay, when was that?"

"'T'at was March. I remember t'at cos all the girls flocked to Galway City on St Paddy's Day to meet them damn Yankees – 'cept for my Molly, o' course, and a few others t'at were already – ye all right, son?"

Jed had had to put his hand out to the edge of the bar to support himself. He had felt the blood draining from his face, knew that a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead, and now he thought that his knees were going to buckle under him.

"Sorry, I – I need some air…"

Unsteadily he made his way to the door of the pub, and once outside leaned back against the stone wall, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to fight back the nausea that threatened to rise to his throat.

Abbey had followed him quickly. "Jed–?" she said anxiously.

Jed clenched both his fists. "I'm okay – but – but don't say anything, Abbey – just don't say anything!" Taking another deep breath, he opened his eyes again. "C'mon," he said abruptly.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

He strode off down the main street, his hands thrust into the pockets of his fleece jacket. Abbey had to quicken her step to keep pace with him. As she reached to link her arm through his, she could feel the tension in his body. She glanced up at him, but he was staring ahead, his face set like granite. She knew that his mind was wrestling with something, but she didn't fully understand what it was. She only knew that he would tell her when he was ready.

Near the end of the main street, they turned on to a path that led them through a small parkland area by a narrow river, and then up on to a low rise of land that overlooked part of the town. Jed stopped by a wooden bench, unlinked his arm from hers and walked a few steps to look down at the cluster of houses below.

"So this is where my life really started," he said very quietly, almost to himself. "Here in Ireland – not New Hampshire at all–"

Abbey watched him anxiously. "Jed–?"

He turned to her, and she could see that the tension had seeped away, leaving him looking somehow lost and very vulnerable. "Work it out, Abbey. When's my birthday?"

Abbey was taken aback. "Sixth of December – but why–?"

"And the year?"

"1946."

"And when was submarine in the bay? The time the Yankee sailors were in town?"

"March."

"Yes – March 1946. And that was when my mother got – up the duff," he gave a rueful half-laugh, then shrugged slightly. "Obviously with me."

"I didn't know your father was in the Navy?"

"John Bartlet was in the Army, until he was invalided out in 1944, after D-Day."

Abbey frowned. "Jed – I just don't understand–"

Jed sank down slowly on the bench, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and looking straight ahead of him. "There was an older brother – Edward Bartlet – Eddy, they called him. My grandparents had a photo of him on the dresser in the kitchen at the farm. I remember asking my grandfather about him once when I was a kid." He paused, took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "Eddy was a career officer in the Navy – he was a Lieutenant Commander by the end of the war. But he died when his submarine was lost in a tropical storm in the South China Sea. In July 1946."

"Oh!" was all Abbey could say, as her brain tried to absorb the enormity of what Jed was trying to tell her. And then "Oh my God–" she breathed. "But that means–"

Jed looked round at her and nodded slowly. "Yes indeed." He took another deep breath. "I guess it means that Eddy Bartlet was my father."

TBC