‘Can you not go back?’ she asked.

It was Marek who answered. ‘No, we can’t.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ he said abruptly. ‘Sure.’

A silence followed and then, changing the tone completely, Piotr bent towards Michael. ‘Come here, young man – take my hand. Marek . . .’ He added something in Polish.

Michael found himself between the two men, being swung high by each hand, and he was soon excited and shrieking with laughter. But soon Marek said, ‘Now, it is enough’ and handed him back to Katie. She smiled gratefully at them. It was lovely, and sad at the same time, to see Michael with them. He had never had a father to play with him.

‘In England there are not many Catholics?’ Marek asked her.

‘Some. A lot of us are Irish – my father was Irish, you see.’

‘He is dead?’

‘Yes. When I was very young. His brother took me to Mass.’

‘Not your mother?’ They seemed curious.

‘No – she’s English, and not Catholic.’

‘She is here: you live close to her?’

Katie hesitated. How could she explain to these men, who seemed to have lost so much of their family?

‘No, she lives a long way away,’ she said. ‘Look – here we are.’

The high brick church loomed over them and they quietened. Walking inside, it took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the shadows. She saw Piotr and Marek genuflect deeply and make the sign of the cross, and she did the same as they all found a seat. Michael knew that this was a place where he had to be very quiet and behave. Katie had already started taking him to Mass more often. She felt that the faith that her uncle had passed on to her should be his as well. She had begun to take Michael swimming sometimes too – another good memory of Patrick. When she was standing listening to the altar boys and the priest, taking in the familiar words and the scent of incense, she often thought of her uncle.

Though the Poles struggled with their English, the words of the Latin Mass were common to all of them. Looking along the Victorian church, Katie wondered whether the churches in Poland were the same. Standing beside the two men, she was very aware of all that she didn’t know about them and what had happened to them. She found herself praying for them.

As the priest gave out communion and the Mass came to an end, both men stood with their heads bowed. She saw Marek quickly flick each of his eyes with his finger, as if there were tears forming. Piotr’s eyes were closed. She felt very moved, sensing the strong emotions flowing through them, brought out by the familiar rituals.

Afterwards they had a word with the priest, who welcomed them.

‘Where are you living?’ he asked. They explained: in the house of Miss Routh, the same house as Mrs O’Neill. Katie already knew that the priest had some idea who Sybil was. Everyone seemed to know her.