‘And I love you, Keelin. Very much,’ her father smiled, giving her another hug before he got in the car. She waved him off until he disappeared from view, wishing with all her heart that Imelda would change her mind, so that Keelin and her baby could go and visit them in Glencarraig and save her father the long round trip.

*

‘Imelda, you should get down here. Larry’s taken a turn.’ The secretary sounded panicked and her tone frightened Imelda.

‘What sort of a turn, Betty?’ Imelda felt suddenly shaky. Larry had been looking weary lately, a grey-hued pallor shading his face. She’d put it down to winter and driving backwards and forwards to see Keelin and the baby.

‘I think he’s having a heart attack. We’ve phoned for an ambulance—’

‘I’m on my way.’ Imelda slammed down the phone, turned off the hob where she’d been cooking bacon and cabbage, grabbed her coat and keys from the hall stand and ran out the front door.

‘Oh God, let Larry be all right,’ she prayed fervently. ‘Don’t let anything happen to him. He’s a good man. I’ll be a better wife,’ she promised in a lather of impatient anxiety when she got stuck behind an elderly lady who was tootling along at snail’s pace.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Get out of my way,’ she groaned, sick with apprehension. Larry’s secretary was not one to panic easily.

Larry was sitting in his worn leather office chair, his face the colour of chalk, grimacing in pain. ‘What are you doing here, Imelda? It’s only indigestion.’ He tried to smile at her when she knelt beside him and took his hand.

‘You’re going on a diet, mister! No more biscuits and cakes,’ she said in a calm voice that surprised her.

‘Ah now, Imelda, no need for that.’ He squeezed her hand and gasped when another spasm of pain hit.

‘Don’t talk, Larry. Save your energy,’ Imelda urged, frightened at his colour. His hand grew limp in hers and tentacles of terror squeezed her insides. In the distance she could hear the howling wail of a siren. Thank God: the ambulance.

‘They’ll sort you in hospital soon, Larry. The ambulance is nearly here.’

‘Imelda,’ he murmured, his eyes dimming, ‘I’m so sorry about Fran. I should have told—’

‘Shush, forget about that now,’ she urged. ‘That’s all in the past.’

‘Imelda,’ he whispered his voice low so that she had to lean in to hear him.

‘I’m here, Larry,’ she said tenderly. ‘You’ll be fine. The ambulance is here.’ The blue flashing lights outside lit up the office in the gloom of the late afternoon.

‘Imelda, promise me you’ll let Keelin come home?’ His voice was firm but very weak, as though he was speaking from somewhere far away.