With that he ran, past me and away out of the front door. The cold air he let in brought the adults to their senses. Father O’Brien agreed that no more must be said about the matter: the Loughreys – hugely respected family that they were – were obviously not involved; my parents must come to some sort of decision on their own on what was the best way forward. I saw my father shake hands with the doctor; the women kept their fists in their laps.

–  Frank, I don’t know what to say, truly.

–  No harm, no harm.

Daddy was already backing away, wanting to be outside. The priest asked me to stay behind as Mrs Loughrey’s high heels clicked along the black and white tiles in the hall towards the front door and freedom. Dermot Darling and Mammy followed and Mrs Byrne wished them all safe home and God bless as the glee of seeing them all exposed warmed her through. She hated my mother; they had often battled over the flowers for the altar and now she would be able to arrange her sad dahlias without fear of intervention. Sadie Rattigan would be banished from the rota. When my shepherd and me were alone I got my little homily.

–  Mary, if you were complicit in this – and it seems you were, it certainly is your intention to make us think that you were – then you will have to answer to God in this life and in the next. Do you understand what I’m trying to say to you, Mary?

–  Yes, Father, I understand.

He was saying that it would have been more palatable all round if I’d been raped. I’d probably get off scot-free if I said I had been raped by a British Army soldier or, even worse, an RUC man. It would help everybody if I’d simply been blown to bits in a bomb. I was worn down from not ever being the right girl at the right time in the right place. I felt my temper rise, finally, finally it rose! I’d tell him what had happened. I’d make myself right.

–  Would you hear my confession, Father? I want to confess.

–  Of course, my child, kneel here.

He picked out his forgiving ribbon and placed it around his neck as he kissed the crucifix on his rosary beads and adjusted his buttocks so that he wasn’t sitting on his balls. I saw him glance up at the clock. Mrs Byrne was frying him a nice bit of haddock and I was in danger of eating into his teatime.

–  Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a month since my last confession.

–  Go on, my child …

–  I’m worried, Father, worried about what I did.

–  And why is that, Mary?