‘Not as impressive as it sounds,’ Maeve said. ‘I inherited the Lodge from my parents. When we left Ballincarraig, they had to start over. They built the Lodge up from nothing. It was the only thing that kept them going, really. Now they’re both gone, I feel a huge responsibility to keep it going. It wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life. I was part of a drama group. I wanted to be an actor, but my parents put a lot of pressure on me to keep the hotel going. I didn’t feel as if I had a choice. And it’s not so bad, really. I’ve been doing it for too long to do something different now. So far, things have gone really well. Which is why I’m now in a position to expand.’

Emer remembered the photos of the hotel on Maeve’s Twitter feed. A beautiful, waterfront hotel on the banks of the Dunkellin River near Clarinbridge, a small town outside Galway city. It was the sort of timeless, classic place she could see herself and Nikki going for a luxurious mini-break. If they were still together and if Emer had a lot of money which, at the moment, she didn’t.

‘Well I hope it continues to go well for you,’ she said, meaning it. ‘I’ve thought about you so much over the years, you know.’

‘I’ve thought about you too,’ Maeve said. ‘There were so many times I thought about trying to find you, but I always chickened out.’

‘Why?’

‘Mam and Dad wouldn’t have forgiven me. I don’t know how much you remember from the weeks after Lucy disappeared, but they always felt Kitty wasn’t telling the truth about what had happened that night. They never forgave her. Or your parents.’

‘My parents?’

‘My dad thought your mother was protecting Kitty,’ Maeve said.

The idea of Emer’s mother protecting anyone apart from herself was ridiculous. But even as she thought this, a memory came to her. One of many arguments between her parents during that time. Arguments that got worse in the weeks following Kitty’s death. Mostly, those arguments merged together in her memories. Except for one.

Emer had been in bed, her eyes squeezed shut and her hands pressed over her ears, praying to a God she’d already stopped believing in. Begging the uncaring bastard to bring her sister back to life and stop her parents from screaming at each other.

‘This is all your fault.’

Her father’s voice, cold and angry. And her mother shouting back: ‘We didn’t have a choice, remember? The girls were there that night.’

The girls.

Sitting here now, in the pub with Maeve, it occurred to Emer that if her mother had been protecting anyone, it was herself, not her daughter.

‘Sorry,’ Maeve said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you by saying that.’