‘No. She was terrified. And a foreigner with no family network. It’s not as easy as you might think to go to the authorities.’

I nod. This too is something I know well. I wonder then if Ruth ever contacted the police, but there’s no way to ask without sounding accusatory.

‘I went to the gardaí once,’ Ruth says, reading my mind. ‘They sent a car around. I remember now, Tom Stedman saw it and thought it was parked outside the Burkes’. Poor Della’s ears were burning.’

‘But what happened? Did the police do anything?’

‘Robbie charmed the pants off them, Mary said it must be someone trying to stir trouble, and it never came to anything. He carried on as always, his mood changing as quick as the garden breeze. And I carried on listening.’

‘And they had no idea you were there, witnessing all of this?’

‘No idea. When Mary finally told me the full story, she said she’d no clue. Though Fran did get a fright when she was babysitting one afternoon and heard rustling. Mary told me later she was worried there was someone creeping around. Much later, I mean. After.’

‘After?’

‘After the day Lily went missing …’

I sit up straighter. Finally, I’m going to get some answers.

57

June 1985

MARY WAS CURLED IN a ball on the dining room floor when she heard the steps on the stairs. Winded, clutching her stomach, she tried to tell him.

‘Lily’s coming.’ It came out in a gasp.

Above her, Robbie nursed his bruised fist, rage still pulsing in his temples, the shard of glass still in his hand. The framed photo of Santa Cruz Wharf, lying on the floor.

‘Look what you made me do, you stupid bitch!’ He hadn’t heard what she’d said.

‘Lily,’ Mary tried again. She could see her now, tiny in her long nightdress, standing at the dining room door.

‘Robbie, Lily’s—’ The kick, aimed squarely at her stomach, made contact before the next word could leave her mouth. She tried desperately to claw through the pain, to keep her eyes open, to will Lily back up the stairs. But it was too late. She’d seen. She was coming over.

Mary opened her eyes to see Lily pull on Robbie’s shirt.

‘Daddy, Daddy, I thirsty, can you bring me water?’ Pulling him away, perhaps, or maybe she really wanted water.

On some level, Mary was conscious of banging on the front door now, and shouting outside, and that Eddie Hogan was back, but in that moment, the only thing that mattered was Lily, who was still tugging at Robbie’s shirt.

‘Stop!’ Robbie roared, and shoved Lily off him. Her tiny, light body flew across the floor. At first, there was no sound, then a scream of shock or pain or both cut through the air. Mary scrambled to all fours and crawled to her daughter. Lily screamed again and Mary took her into her arms, comforting and shushing.

Robbie stood over them. Glass still in hand.