Serena, long dark hair shining, was leaning against my daddy; they sat back to back to hold each other up and I ached to feel or to be close to him. She was sixteen. She had my face, my body, but not my sin. She had my father’s love in spades.

I bit back tears and stared hard at the high white clouds hung in the blue sky over the valley. There was hardly a sound aside from the chirrups in the blackthorns; the swallows swooped and soared, picking off the exposed insects. No one wanted to talk about anything other than making hay.

Shane took his turn on the tractor and we made good progress, getting through two more fields before Arthur called it a day and insisted we came in for a beer; the waynes could have lager shandies and he’d even bought in a few auld packets of crisps for them. I’m game, says Eileen, very, very game! Every cell in our bodies was tired; the sweet smell of cut grass clung to us, its juice staining our legs and hands green.

The boys ran on ahead, making for Arthur’s water. John walked with his arm around Serena’s shoulder and I risked another inch of my heart to link mine lightly through Daddy’s. When he pulled me close to him, I thought I would burst. I could feel his lean old body through his shirt as he fumbled with his pipe and baccy before he lit up and bathed us both in sacred smoke. We strolled on, the evening gently folding in on itself as it swam in my eyes.

–  Mammy! Daddy! Something’s wrong!

All the boys were shouting at once. We all started to run towards the street and the house where Bernie was standing. Her arms described big circles, her face all pulled out of shape; she pointed at the door and drew more circles. We knew that sign: it meant Boom Bang Boom. Bridie was dry-eyed in front of the telly. The six o’clock news was showing a town ripped up by a bomb; nothing but dust, grey dust, registered at first.

–  It’s Omagh, says Bridie, stunned.

We all looked and saw the familiar high street, the spire of St Columba’s Church of Ireland still standing in the background, but to all sides there was destruction. People were lying on the street wounded; some of them were not moving. How had the television people got there so fast? The fire brigade showed up in their yellow jackets; ambulance crews picked up one, two, three from the tarmac. Everyone was running with horror on their faces and bits of cloth in their hands as if they might be able to clean up.

–  Whose side did it, Bridie? asks Arthur.

–  Nobody’s saying, says Bridie.