She’s worked every Saturday at the chemist’s but there’s a danger she will develop airs and graces behind the counter so she is going to scary Derry to be a nurse. She looked after me when I was sick so she will be a good nurse but people die in Derry all the time. I’ve seen it on the TV. She’s going to wait until I’ve made my First Holy Communion, she promised.

Auntie Eileen says I am not to worry my bee-ya-ootiful wee head about her going to Derry. I am her Mary-Moo. I worry anyway because Kathleen is the only one who can shush my bad dreams away.

God is Jesus and the Holy Ghost all rolled into one and very soon I’ll get to eat Him for my Holy Communion. He’s a wafer about the size of a ten-pence piece and made out of flour and water not flesh. I’ve checked and He’s entirely different from the wafers in ice-cream sandwiches. Auntie Eileen says that’s the best way to think about Him, like a very holy biscuit, and Kathleen sniggers and tells her to try and behave even if it’s only this one time. I’ve already heard far too much for a seven-year-old.

I just have to make it through my First Confession and get all the black marks wiped off my soul before I am allowed to take Communion. One of the black marks is as black as coal. Mammy put the coal under my nose so I could picture the blackness. Afterwards there will be a Sandwich Tea in the parish hall. The tea will not be strong enough for Mammy or hot enough or sweet enough but she’ll suffer it in silence because she’s a better class than some people around here. Some people around here shouldn’t be allowed out in broad daylight. I’ll have to ask Mrs Johns down the back lane how much badness it would take to have somebody shut in. I can ask her anything and she will never tell on me, she promised.