‘And she’s happy too, and you need to leave her in peace.’

‘You know where she is? You’re in contact with her?’

A hesitation, then a nod.

‘Wait, even now? Even with her mother gone? Does she know who she is?’

‘No, she doesn’t know anything about her early childhood.’

‘Who does she think you are?’

Ruth looks up. ‘I’m Aunt Ruth, of course. I’ve been Aunt Ruth since she was three years old.’ Her voice cracks, just a little, and there’s a glimmer of emotion. But just as quickly, the chink closes. ‘And that’s all you need to know.’

‘Does she live here in Dublin?’

No reply.

‘Wait, do you still see her – does she visit you here in the nursing home?’

Still no reply. Ruth is back to turning pages in her book.

‘Oh my God, she does, doesn’t she?’

‘You should go now, I’m tired.’

‘Don’t you have a duty to tell?’

Ruth looks up from the book. ‘Duty to who?’

This leaves me momentarily stuck for words. I look around the neat room, at the slants of afternoon sunlight coming through the venetian blind. At the print on the wall, Jesus and the Apostles at the Last Supper – had Ruth brought it with her? At the neat bedspread and the turned-down top sheet. At the spare slippers, under the bed. At the nightstand with its glass of water and dish of jewellery. The rings, the Miraculous Medal, the string of beads. Rosary beads. The earring in the shape of a cross. The memorial card.

‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you seem like a religious person?’

Ruth nods. ‘I don’t mind at all.’

‘So don’t you have a duty to truth? I see why you did it, and I’d like to think I’d be brave enough to help a friend like you did. But isn’t it time to tell the truth? Now that Robbie’s gone and Mary’s gone and Lily’s safe?’

‘Who would it serve? How would it help her? And – this will sound selfish – I’ve got this far, I don’t think I’d like to spend my final years in jail. This room may not look like much, but it’s better than a prison cell.’ Her eyes twinkle and I can’t help smiling.

‘Come on. They’re not going to put a ninety-three-year-old in jail.’

‘Maybe not. But it doesn’t serve me or’ – she stops – ‘or Lily to have the truth come out now.’

‘You were going to say her other name, weren’t you.’

‘It’s time to move on, Joanna. Know that Lily was saved by the bravest woman I ever met. That your house is free of black clouds and curses and evil eyes. That Mary only ever had love for Lily, that she did everything she could to protect her. That Lily is safe.’

I stand up and move towards the door. I take one last look around the room – a room that is indeed much nicer than any hypothetical prison cell – and nod at Ruth.