Her own father, Michael Noonan, sat by the cheery fire smoking his pipe, his weathered face crinkling with a cheeky grin. ‘Aw, come on now, Rosie,’ he gently chided. ‘Leave the young ’uns alone, why don’t ye?’

A lovable, mischievous man, Michael had come over from Ireland many years before. He had seen life in the raw and worked until his back was near broken, but he had loved and laughed, and been satisfied with his lot until six years ago, when his beloved wife had died before him, and he was left all alone.

When his only child, Rosie, persuaded him to come and live with her, he was plagued with doubts. ‘Are ye sure I won’t be in the way?’ he asked. ‘Will it be all right with the twins? Alfie and Sandra are eighteen now. They’ll want to be bringing home their sweethearts.’

Old though he was, Michael had not forgotten what it was like to be young and in love. ‘They’ll not want an old codger like me in the way,’ he protested.

As it turned out, Alfie and Sandra were of the same mind as their mam. ‘It will be good to have you here with us, Grandad,’ they said. And Michael was persuaded.

Now, after four years of contentment, he was rooted to this little house and as close to his grandson as any man could be. ‘Away with ye, Rosie. Leave ’em to kiss and cuddle,’ he urged her now. ‘Thank yer lucky stars the lad’s found a lovely lass like young Molly.’

Rosie gave him a hug. ‘You’re an old romantic, that’s what ye are.’

In the glow of the fire, with his eye on the young sweethearts, the old man grew dreamy. ‘Ah, sure, I can recall me and yer mam being in love the very same way.’ Taking Rosie’s hand, he gave it a fond squeeze. ‘You and Bill an’ all,’ he said. ‘You had a good fella there, so ye did.’

‘Ah, don’t I know it?’ she sighed. ‘There’s not a minute of the day when I don’t miss him.’

There was a moment of quiet contemplation before, in his inimitable way, the old fella plucked a battered mouth organ out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘This was yer mam’s favourite,’ he told Rosie, and began to blow a merry tune, his feet tapping and fingers drumming on the instrument.

Rosie cried with delight. ‘Yes, Da – I remember that as if it were yesterday!’ Leaping off the arm of his chair, she kicked out her feet and danced round to Molly, who was promptly plucked from Alfie’s arms and made to dance alongside her. ‘It’s an old folk song,’ Rosie shouted above the music, ‘and me mammy loved it! As soon as the tune got started, she’d be off like the pixies… dancing the night away.’

She hummed and whirled round the room. ‘Come on, Alfie, me boy,’ she commanded. ‘Get yer arse outta that chair and dance with your fiancée, why don’t ye?’