Francie parked outside Johnny Faye’s house. They sat in the car for a few minutes before knocking on the door, taking in the street, the little terrace of houses built in brown brick with white window ledges, although one was painted a horrid yellow. Two houses either side of it had white plaster statuettes of the Lady on the Rock in each of the four picture windows.

‘It’s still the same,’ Davey marvelled, ‘even the ladies on the rocks! Remember Johnny used to say that they were a sign of something?’

‘Yeah, a brothel or a drugs den.’

‘Ethel in number 24 has been blind since birth and teaches piano. So, thinking back, it’s unlikely,’ Davey said.

‘Brendan’s an ex-priest and was a milkman for forty years,’ Francie said.

‘Maybe he sold drugs on his milk round,’ Davey said.

‘He’s also a pioneer and served communion at mass, so he’s definitely a dealer – never trust a communion-serving non-drinker. Now that I think of it, he probably works for Ethel.’

Davey chuckled a little. Francie took off his seat belt and got out of the car. ‘You coming?’ he said. Davey followed.

He rang the bell and Mrs Faye came to the door. She smiled and then cried when she saw them.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ she said.

‘Thanks, Mrs Faye,’ he said.

‘Ah, will you stop calling me Mrs Faye,’ she said, hugging them both. She insisted they came in and offered them tea.

‘Can’t – it feels too weird to call you Karen,’ Davey said.

‘How’s your mammy?’ she asked.

‘She’s OK.’

‘Of course she’s not, she’s devastated. I hope it doesn’t kill her,’ she said with a straight face.

Davey wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘Thanks,’ he said eventually. They refused tea.

‘OK if we hike up to Johnny’s room, Mrs F?’ Francie said.

She nodded. ‘Of course it is, Francie love,’ she said, ‘makes sense.’ She handed him the key to Johnny’s door and he walked up the stairs, two at a time, with Davey following.

‘And no interfering with each other up there,’ she shouted up the stairs. ‘Still straight, Mrs F, but if I ever get curious it won’t be with this ugly fucker,’ Francie said, and she laughed.

‘True for you. Sorry, Davey, for laughing, but sure if you haven’t a sense of humour you’ve got nothing,’ she said, and she disappeared back into her kitchen.