‘We were on holiday with Moira and a man died on the beach right in front of us.’

Lorna knew by her mother’s expression that she had no idea what Lorna was talking about.

‘You don’t remember? How could you not remember someone dying?’ Lorna said.

‘I remember . . . someone having an issue, an allergic reaction? I thought maybe it was a woman, though. And it wasn’t in Nice.’

‘But you remember going on holiday in Nice with Auntie Moira? I was Luke’s age.’

‘I do.’

‘Well, there you go,’ Lorna said. ‘We – well, I saw a man drop dead on the beach there.’

Through the window Lorna could see Barry and Luke coming back up the garden. Barry slid open the patio door and the two stepped inside and began stamping their feet on the mat, the cold that came in with them spreading like a clear thought in the warm room.

‘I think we better be going if we want to make this lunch,’ Ciara said.

‘Isn’t it an awful thing,’ Emma said. ‘Someone dies on you and you have to make sure everyone gets fed.’

‘Did you even talk to this one when she was alive?’ Barry asked Lorna.

‘I talked to her. I talked to her on several occasions,’ Lorna said, though this was barely true; fleeting exchanges in the school hallways at ­parent–­teacher nights, a ­two-­minute chat at a christening or backyard ­get-­together.

‘Can’t say I was left with much of an impression of her,’ Barry said.

‘Where’s that tree gone?’ Lorna asked him.

‘You know where it’s gone.’

The ­north-­west corner of the estate boundaried a flank of Belleek Woods, and the alley behind the house led right into the screened clearing just beyond the treeline. Vagrants sometimes slept there, teenagers drank there, and some of the more indifferent ­households –­ and Barry’s actions meant Lorna’s household now numbered among ­them – occasionally used it as a dumping site.

‘You shouldn’t be throwing stuff back there.’

‘That tree is nature,’ Barry said. He scratched his cheek and smiled complacently at his wife. He looked at his shoe and with a delicate sliding motion eased a final tuft of snow from the edge of his boot on to the mat.

‘Is there any coffee left?’ he asked.

‘There’s a drop there,’ Lorna said. ‘I’d make more but we’re off to the meal in the Silver Coast.’

‘Shite! Grub. Maybe I’ll come so!’ said Barry. ‘I’m starved.’

Luke had taken off his coat. As he was trying to hang it up, Anne intercepted him and began batting the ­snow-­flecked sleeve.

‘Where’s your hat gone?’ Anne asked him. Then, to Lorna, ‘Did this man not have a hat at the funeral?’

‘I think I . . . left it in Mam’s car,’ Luke said uncertainly.

‘If you’ve lost that hat, Luke,’ Lorna said.