Help me, Dad. Help us both, Keelin prayed as the plane levelled out, heading over the Bay of Biscay.

*

‘Oh not now,’ Marie-Claire heard her phone ringing from the depths of her overflowing tote bag as she rampaged around her bedroom looking for her house keys. She’d put them down somewhere when she’d got in from work, and couldn’t find them.

She scrabbled to the bottom of the bag, wondering if it was Keelin ringing to say her flight had been delayed, although when she’d last checked flight radar it was scheduled to leave France on time.

Frankie Walsh’s name flashed on the screen and she wondered why her old college mate was ringing her. She’d kept meaning to meet up with him and Dee, his wife, but between moving back into her house and being extra busy at work, she hadn’t got around to it.

‘Frankie, how’s it going? Look, can I ring you back? I’ve to go to the airport to collect Maman and I can’t find my bloody house keys. I’ll call you from the car,’ she said hastily.

‘No bother. Stay calm and say a prayer to St Anthony,’ Frankie laughed and hung up.

‘Oh St Anthony, please help me to find my house keys,’ she entreated Ireland’s favourite saint.

The doorbell rang and she groaned in exasperation, running downstairs to answer it. ‘Howya! It’s your local friendly policeman just saying the front door isn’t the safest place to leave your keys.’ A tall, well-built man in jeans and a maroon jersey stood on the doorstep dangling her keys. She recognized him as the next-door neighbour on her left-hand side.

‘Oh! Oh, hi! Is that where they were? I’ve been looking all over the place for them,’ Marie-Claire exclaimed, relieved but exasperated at her stupidity.

‘Easily done – I’ve looked for my phone, and I’ve been talking on it,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘I’d ask you in, but I’m legging it to the airport and I’m late. I keep meaning to knock and introduce myself. I’m Marie-Claire Durand.’ She held out her hand. It was taken in a firm clasp. He had long fingers and neatly cut nails, she noted. And he had nice eyes.

‘Senan O’Connell. Don’t let me keep ya. Knock on my door if you’re ever stuck.’ He handed her the keys and raised his hand in a wave before loping off to go up his own path.