She leans in, and with sugar on her tongue from a confiscated bag of barley twists, tells me how vital it is to be good because even when she’s not in the room, Good Holy God is always watching. He can see through doors and around corners and into the very soul itself where all the black marks live. I must always save my sins for the ears of the priest and the priest alone, never breathing a word to another person in case they figure out what a bad girl I am.

Did I remember what happened the last time? The time when I committed the sin of pride? She smiles when I nod. I’d done well, learned another lesson. I just had one more thing to remember. Auntie Eileen must never know exactly what went on today, no matter who asked. Even if the priest asked, it was alright to tell a white lie this time. It was better for everyone to keep this S.E.C.R.E.T. After all, Bernie could have been badly hurt, much more badly hurt.

–  You don’t want that on your black little conscience as well, do you, Mary Rattigan?

6

My sister is leaving right after Father O’Brien has been. She’s going to miss my Holy Communion. She won’t get to see me in my dress. She has to go because Auntie Eileen had dared to go to the priest. Mammy was in for a good scolding and Kathleen had been told to get her ungrateful carcass out of The Hill and to never come back for her part in it. She is not to darken the door until she remembers her catechism: honour thy father and thy mother. Daddy didn’t say anything.

My brothers scattered and Kathleen took up her chair in the Good Room when the sound of the priest’s engine stopped on the street. Her face is very white and her eyes look like mine after I came out of the fever, like they were pure dry and pure wet at the same time. I watch her smooth her skirt down and then she smiles at me. Goodbye, says the smile. We’d already done all the crying and we couldn’t risk speaking to each other. I was being sent down the back lane with the excuse of a bag of spuds to our neighbour, Mrs Johns at Johns Farm. Mammy didn’t want me to be called on. She couldn’t rely on me to lie and tell Father O’Brien that Bernie had really needed a walloping.

–  Keep that mouth shut, Mary Rattigan.

–  I will, Mammy.

–  Run!