‘Mr Cleary, you say? Aye, well, sure enough, I know what that feels like all right. He’s been teaching the kids around here for as long as I can remember; the Christian Brothers brought him with them when they came from Dublin. They thought we were all peasants and they would need protecting.’ Liam laughed at the memory. ‘Anyways, it will only have been for Harry’s own good. It did me no harm when he took the stick to me.’

Maura turned to look at Liam. She wanted to ask him, was he mad? Like Tommy, he couldn’t even read but she said only, ‘That’s no way to teach a child, inflicting pain like that. I never saw the sisters so much as lay a finger on one of our boys ever, and the kids at the school in Liverpool? Well, they can’t do enough for the nuns and every one of them is clever, especially Harry, and do you know, Liam, when our Harry told Mr Cleary where he was up to with his maths and English, Cleary didn’t believe him and told him he would have to do it all again. No wonder he has no interest and is as miserable as sin.’

Maura chose not to mention the priest who was murdered, no one ever did, especially not Maura and Tommy. To mention his name was to give recognition to a man who had been an imposter in their faith.

‘Aye, well, Harry will do fine. We all did.’

Maura swallowed down her exasperation. ‘Liam, your mammy told me you spent most of your time in the fields on the farm at home and you were out every night with your own daddy, poaching the salmon. Which is all well and good, but don’t be giving out to me that you know what Cleary is like – you don’t know what our Harry’s hands look like.’

On the opposite side of the road an elderly man with white hair and beard, on a bike, raised his hand to wave and, as he did so, his bike wobbled precariously.

‘In the name of God!’ said Maura as her hand flew to her mouth and, just in time, the bike steadied as they passed.

‘He’s never fallen yet,’ said Liam, who chose the diversion to end the conversation about Mr Cleary, aware he couldn’t win.

Ten minutes later, Maura stood at the door to the bar, waving Liam on his way. As she watched the tail-lights of the van become consumed by the dark night, she felt deflated. ‘You can’t even read, Liam, what would you know,’ she muttered.