‘The whole town can hear you, Imelda,’ Larry snapped. ‘I’m going up to Dublin to collect Keelin from the airport tomorrow whether you like it or not.’

‘Do what you like. Do what you bloody well like, Larry,’ Imelda shouted as she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

‘God Almighty,’ muttered her husband, at his wits’ end. There were times when he longed to walk away from his life in Glencarraig and never look back. He and Imelda had come to an uneasy truce years ago, and in fairness to his wife, she’d put the children first. But whenever she found life difficult, she would fling the past in his face. It would never end, Larry thought wearily, thumbing through the address book on the hallstand to find Brigid’s number.

*

‘I need to talk to you, Monsignor,’ Armand said agitatedly.

‘Is that so? “I need to talk” nearly always indicates something serious is up. Pour us both a drop of the hard stuff, if that’s the case.’ The Monsignor pulled himself up in his chair while Armand got two glasses and poured a measure of whiskey into each of them, a larger measure for the Monsignor than for himself.

‘I’ve made a girl pregnant.’

‘Ah, Armand!’ Did you not use a johnnie when you were dippin’ your wick? Have you young lads no sense?’ The Monsignor shook his head in exasperation. ‘I hope she’s over age?’ he added sharply.

‘She is, and I did use a condom. The damn thing burst.’ Armand sat down on the chair opposite his parish priest.

‘Well, we have to get the girl properly looked after. That’s the important thing. We can put her living with a family away from here. We’ll pay them to take care—’

‘It’s one of the nuns, Monsignor.’ Armand explained wretchedly.

‘Ah Chrisht above.’ Monsignor Kelly’s Irish accent got more pronounced. ‘Do ye meant to tell me I’m going to have that she-devil Germaine breathing down me neck? Oh Almighty God, what did I do to deserve this torment?’ the Monsignor groused. ‘Does she know yet?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Armand muttered. ‘Keelin, I mean Sister Michael, only told me on Christmas Eve and I never got a chance to speak to her because of going up country.’

‘Ah, the little Irish lass. God love her.’ The Monsignor shook his head. ‘What were the pair of you thinking?’

‘We love each other. We both want to leave Holy Orders. It’s not the life for us. I was troubled before I met her. She knew she wasn’t going to take her final vows; I suppose this will make up both of our minds for us.’