‘Well, she didn’t lick it off the stones, did she, love?’

‘No, Ma, she didn’t.’

‘Has she sent you a sign, Gracie?’

‘No, Ma . . .’

‘Oh . . .’

‘But she talks to me.’

Molly bit her lip hard and clenched her jaw so tight her teeth hurt. Talk to me, love, please, talk to your mammy, but dead Rabbit had no time for her ma.

They stared at the wardrobe, found wanting, for another second or two.

‘What about the beautiful silk nightdress that Marjorie brought her from Rome?’ Grace said.

‘You can’t put her in lingerie!’

‘Why not, she’s asleep, isn’t she?’ Grace said. ‘Besides, it’s expensive and it looks like a dress.’

‘Cop on,’ Molly said.

‘No one will know but us. It’s probably the best thing Rabbit ever owned.’ It dawned on Grace that Rabbit hadn’t even had a chance to wear it.

‘Cop on,’ Molly repeated. ‘We might have to buy something.’

Grace welled up. ‘She’d hate that.’

Molly knew her daughter was right; it was all too much and it was still early.

‘We don’t need to make that decision now. Let’s just get her home. I just want her home,’ Molly said, her voice quieter. She patted Grace’s back. Grace wiped her eyes and nose and nodded, OK.

Grace practically ran out of Rabbit’s house; she didn’t stop to take in the rooms that screamed Rabbit’s presence. Molly did, though. She dallied in the hallway and placed her hand on the old photograph of the Hayes family, taken in the eighties when the world forgot taste and the Irish had only a passing acquaintance with hair products. Twelve-year-old Rabbit stared back at her with two long ponytails either side of her head, an eyepatch and thick glasses. Where are you now, Rabbit Hayes?

Grace waited in the car while Molly scheduled the day’s events with Davey. As soon as Molly got in she put her foot down and reversed at the speed of light out of Rabbit’s driveway, nearly killing Kyle, who dived off his bike to escape Molly’s urgent-verging-on-dangerous driving. Grace screamed. Molly slammed on the brakes. Kyle disappeared behind the car.

‘Oh God, what have I done?’

‘Oh God, what have you done?’ Grace shouted, staring in the wing mirror, terrified to move.

‘I just fuckin’ asked that, Grace,’ Molly shouted in panic. Her nerves were now completely gone. Kyle rebounded and waved at the women. Molly rested her head on the steering wheel. ‘Thank Jesus.’

He picked up his bike and walked around to the window. Molly pulled it down.

‘Are you all right, son?’ she enquired, filled with remorse. He held up his other hand. It was bleeding. ‘Oh God,’ she said.

‘Ah don’t worry, Mrs Hayes, I’ve had way worse.’

‘Are you sure, love?’