Kerry lay beside her mother, her little face screwed up in consternation as she tried to think of an appropriate song.

Her haunting little voice came slowly at first but Molly relaxed against the dirty pillows and sighed. Kerry’s voice was like a draught of fresh air.

‘In Dublin’s fair city,
Where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes
On sweet Molly Malone ...’

The mood in the room was once more homely. Briony smiled at Bernadette over Rosalee’s short cropped hair, their earlier fight forgotten. Molly watched her children and thanked God for the peace that had descended. It wouldn’t last long, she was aware of that, but while it lasted she would enjoy it.

Eileen’s bare feet were frozen. The cobbles had a thin sheet of ice on them and as she walked with the bucket of coal it banged against her shins, breaking the skin. She put the bucket down and rubbed them with one hand. She could hear the singing and almost feel the foetid warmth of The Bull as she stood outside. The street lamps had been lit and they cast a pink glow around her. She straightened and pushed her thick curly hair back off her face. As she bent down to pick up the bucket once more, a man stood in front of her. Eileen looked up into a large red face.

‘What’s your name, little girl?’ Eileen knew from his voice that he was class.

‘Eileen Cavanagh, sir.’

The man was looking her over from head to foot and she squirmed beneath his gaze. He pushed her hair back from her face, and studied her in the light of the street lamp.

‘You’re quite a pretty little thing, Eileen Cavanagh.’

She wasn’t sure how to answer the man who seemed to be dressed all in black, from his highly polished boots to his heavy cape and big black hat. He was well armoured against the weather and she wondered if it had occurred to him that she was freezing.

‘Thank you kindly, sir. I ... I have to be getting along, me ma’s waiting on the coal.’

The man put heavy gloved hands on her shoulders and kneaded them, as if seeing how much meat she had on her. Then the doors of The Bull opened and a man stumbled out into the street.

Eileen recognised her da at once and called to him. ‘Da ... Da! It’s me, Eileen.’

Paddy Cavanagh was drunk. Very drunk. And to add to his misery he had lost every penny of his wages on a bet. His fuddled brain tried to take in what was happening as he lumbered over to his daughter.

‘Is that you, our Eileen?’

The big man smiled at her father and Eileen, for some reason she could not fathom, began to feel more frightened.

‘You have a beautiful daughter, Mr Cavanagh. I believe you work for me, don’t you?’