‘All children are eejits,’ I say. ‘It’s part of their charm. But you never allowed anyone else in? I mean, I understand that girls wouldn’t be allowed, because we were the enemy, but none of your friends from school or the street?’

Niall shakes his head. ‘No, it was our place. We didn’t want to share. It was like a safe place to go.’ His face clouds with sadness.

‘My da,’ Niall says, ‘he’s doing okay now, you know. But he was fond of the drink back then. Probably would be diagnosed with PTSD these days if he wasn’t too stubborn to go and see the doctor about it. You know, some of the things he went through in the Troubles …’

I knew that Frankie Heaney had a reputation as a hardman. He was someone people didn’t want to get on the wrong side of. Even now. He’d been active during the Troubles, served time for membership of the IRA. He’d done things, seen things that most people could only imagine.

‘He was no angel. He’s no angel now, but at the time, he was under a lot of pressure. Trying to police the community, getting grief from others. Not everyone was happy about the IRA calling their ceasefire, you know. There was a lot of fear and mistrust.

‘When I look back on it, with adult eyes, I can see that my da was probably terrified of what his position would be in a new Northern Ireland. Would he still be relevant? Would he still have any kind of authority? And the things he’d done, the time he’d served, what was that all about? So, he was angry, and sometimes he was violent with it,’ Niall says.

An image of two scared little boys flashes into my mind. The things that go on behind closed doors that we never know about. By the sounds of it, what happened to Kelly wasn’t the only thing that had left the Heaney twins traumatised.

‘He didn’t know about our den. So it was a safe spot, you know. We’d escape here sometimes when things got really bad at home.’

There’s silence then, save for the wind and the rain. Niall has finished talking and I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to say in response to that. I reach out and take his gloved hand in mine.

‘I’m sorry to hear things were tough,’ I say, knowing it’s woefully inadequate.

‘You let it make you or let it break you,’ he says. ‘I chose one path and Declan chose the other. Maybe he’s more like my da than he wants to let on.’

Niall gives my hand a little squeeze before letting go and turning to walk onwards.

I pick my way through the leaves, behind him. We’ve not walked far, when his voice rings out.