She was perhaps a year older than when he had last seen Bernadette. He wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but she could have been Bernadette walking towards him. She looked every inch a typical Irish beauty. She had long black hair that framed a delicate pale face. But rather than the customary blue eyes, she had large hazel ovals that dominated her face.

His mind raced back to the early days of his courtship with Bernadette, when late at night, alone in his room, he would listen to Radio Luxembourg, on an old cassette radio held together with a rubber band, since he had broken the mechanism in an attempt to throw it under the bed when he heard his father’s footsteps on the creaky floorboards outside his door one evening. It was on that old cassette he taped Van Morrison for Bernadette.

For a year, he was convinced old Van must have written ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ just for her. He thought he was playing her an undiscovered masterpiece. He would later laugh at the thought of the thousands of brown-eyed girls all over the world, both before and since, who’d had that song played for them. He would often long for the innocence of his early conviction.

‘dad.’

‘dad!’

‘What?’

‘Move round the table so I can sit down. And for God’s sake, stop staring at Claire. You are making her feel uncomfortable and you are embarrassing me!’

‘I’m sorry, it’s just … oh, it doesn’t matter. What would you like to drink, love?’

Annie and Claire squeezed into the small booth beside them. As soon as they had sat down, the Polish waitress was back.

‘Would you like a few moments?’

Annie spoke.

‘No, thanks, I’ll order now. Could I please have a glass of sparkling water and a plain chicken salad?’

‘And you, Madame?’

‘The same, thanks.’

It made Cormac smile.

As Claire spoke, Cormac, despite his daughter’s chastisement, took the opportunity to study her face in detail, and there was no doubt that his mind was not playing tricks: she really did bear an uncanny resemblance to Bernadette. He felt a surge of regret for what might have been.

‘You haven’t spoken to Mammy in three days.’

Claire was peering into her father’s face as he rolled a beer mat with great dexterity between his fingers. Cormac suspected Harry had spent many hours, in countless bars, perfecting his technique.

‘I’ve just spoken to her and she didn’t even ask how you were. Is everything OK between you two?’

The Polish waitress returning with the water enabled Harry to avoid the answer. The rest of the meal was over in a flurry of text messages between Claire and a group of friends who were also in Dublin for the concert tomorrow night. It was settled that the girls were off to Temple Bar to meet them and all that remained was for Cormac to give Annie 200 Euros.

‘Ah, Euros!’

Before he had time to explain, Harry had passed over 300 from a huge wad he had drawn from his wallet. Annie kissed Cormac’s head and headed off into the Dublin night. As his eyes escorted them to the door, Cormac envied their youth and the promise it held.