‘I’m going to his funeral, Auntie Brigid. I don’t care what Mam thinks, or how mortified she is by my presence. I’m going and she can’t stop me,’ Keelin said heatedly, cursing God for taking the parent she loved and who loved her, and leaving her with a mother she hated.

*

‘Keelin, I beg you. Don’t make a scene with Imelda. Don’t fight with her and say things that can’t be unsaid. Your father would hate for that to happen. You know that,’ Brigid said quietly, taking her niece’s hand. They were sitting in Brigid’s car outside the family home in Glencarraig, watching people entering the house to pay their respects.

‘Perhaps it would be better to say that you’re staying at the convent house in Butlersbridge, and not mention anything about leaving, or having a baby. This isn’t the time for it,’ Brigid advised, diplomatically but firmly. ‘Imelda has enough to be dealing with, without noisy ould wans poking their noses in your business.’

‘OK,’ Keelin agreed dully. She was sick to her stomach with nerves and shock. A row was the last thing she wanted.

‘Come on then. Let’s go inside and pray for your dad,’ Brigid said gently.

The front door was ajar when they reached it, and Brigid could see a throng of people in the kitchen, the low buzz of chat and the odd laugh reaching her ears. It seemed almost surreal. Wakes were such convivial occasions, she thought wildly, remembering the many she’d attended growing up.

‘Keelin!’ her brother’s cry of surprise caused her to start and she saw him walk down the hall with his arms held out to her.

‘Oh, Cormac,’ she said brokenly when he hugged her. ‘Where is he? Where’s Daddy?’

‘Come on, he’s in the front lounge – I’ll bring you in. Hello, Auntie Brigid.’ He kissed his aunt, then led them into the front room.

The blinds were half shut, and the room was dim in the winter gloom. Candles flickered at the top and bottom of the gleaming mahogany coffin. Two neighbours, sitting on the sofa quietly, murmured a rosary. Imelda sat, head bowed in misery, in the chair opposite the one her husband always sat in.

‘Mam,’ Keelin said hesitantly, edging further into the room. She could see her father, dressed in his best suit, nestled in the white satin frill that lined his coffin, looking peaceful and serene, almost as though he was asleep. Rosary beads were entwined in his fingers.

‘Keelin!’ Imelda exclaimed, taken aback at the sight of her daughter and sister. She looked pale and very drawn, with big dark circles under her dull eyes. ‘I thought you wouldn’t be here until this afternoon.’