‘Mikey, this is your granddad,’ she said, her hand on her son’s back, urging him towards the stranger.

For a moment, tall man and small boy, both with remarkably similar Irish blue eyes and dark hair, regarded each other. Michael’s head was tilted slightly back. Then Michael O’Neill senior squatted down and held out his hand. Katie smiled, tears pricking her eyes as her son shook that familiar hand and she heard her father say, ‘Well, young man, it’s a great pleasure to meet you.’

‘To meet you too,’ Michael repeated, unsure. ‘Are you my granddad?’

‘I am that,’ Michael O’Neill said.

And little Michael gave a wide-eyed, trusting nod.

‘Come on then, young fella.’ The newly found grandfather stood up. ‘We’ve a few things to do.’

It wasn’t a morning for a lot of talking. Instead they took Michael to see Father Christmas, and Michael O’Neill treated them to a cup of tea and a cake afterwards. Katie was still shy with him, a bit unsure how to behave. But the fact that he had come to meet her again, had kept his promise, meant the world to her.

‘How are your family?’ she asked.

‘Oh, they’re well, thank you,’ he said. Have you told them about me? she wanted to ask. But not with Michael present. And in fairness, even she could see that it was early days. That could wait. He was here. He was her father and Michael’s grandfather. She enjoyed him watching Michael tuck into his cake, eyes alight with amusement at the boy’s blissful enjoyment, cream oozing around his lips.

‘He’s a fine little fella,’ he told her, and Katie blushed with pride. She could see that he genuinely liked children and was taken with Michael.

As they left that day, they were just approaching the stairs when a figure crossed in front of them, seeming in a hurry, and passed down the stairs. A middle-aged woman, slender, elegant. Katie gasped: the faded hair, the smart look. Was it . . . ? But then she saw the woman’s walk, something about the angle of her head – it was wrong. It was not Vera O’Neill.

‘What’s the matter?’ Michael O’Neill asked. Katie had stalled giddily at the top of the stairs.

‘That woman – I thought for a moment it was her!’

He looked down after the disappearing figure. ‘Ah, no,’ he said easily. ‘Not her, too small.’ He seemed so certain after all this time. ‘If it was her, I’d have known.’

Katie felt shaken, though.

‘What about your mother?’ he asked quietly as they went on down. ‘Will you go and see her?’

‘Why?’ She was furious suddenly. ‘Will you?’

‘Me – no! What would that do? Only harm.’

Katie was quiet as they went out of the store and into Corporation Street. Then she turned to him.

‘She’s my mother,’ she said. ‘I feel I ought to see her. As if I owe her, out of duty. But she ditched me. She hasn’t once come and found me. And as for harm – well, I feel as she’s the one who’d do harm to me!’