Alfie was standing by the lychgate, watching them leave, but not yet ready to go. He had come a long way and was wearied by it.

The loss of his twin sister had been a terrible blow. It was almost impossible for him to come to terms with what had happened: it was too great a shock. There were other things plaguing him, too. Things that had to be resolved one way or the other. And very soon, or he would go out of his mind.

Walking with Rosie and her father to their doorstep, Molly was concerned about Michael; the old fella was pale and wobbly on his feet. It seemed the tragic loss of Sandra, and the way it had happened, had aged him and taken its toll.

After she and Rosie had helped Michael inside, Rosie came back to the door with her. ‘Will ye mind if I pop down later on?’ she asked. ‘There’s something I want to tell ye.’

‘Come down whenever you’re ready,’ Molly replied, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘I’ll be there.’

The noise greeted Molly the minute she opened the door. When Bertha spotted her, and ran screeching all the way down the passage, the others were not far behind.

‘Thank God you’re back!’ Not wanting to face the ordeal of church, especially with the eyes of Father Maguire on him, Frank had reluctantly agreed to watch the children until Molly returned. Now he was cursing himself for having been so reckless. ‘It’s been a bloody nightmare!’ he exclaimed, grabbing his coat and making for the door. ‘The little devils won’t behave. They fight and carry on like lunatics, an’ they mek so much noise a man can’t hear himself think straight.’ He didn’t ask her about the funeral; didn’t spare a thought for her feelings. Selfish through and through, was Frank Tattersall.

Before Molly could answer, he was out the door and away to the nearest pub, where he tried to gather his sanity and reflect on what had happened in his own life and in the life of the Craig family. He had been badly shaken by the end of that poor young lass. A bonny thing she was, he recalled. Many was the time she would come in and out of the house, leaving Molly either laughing or pulling her hair out.

Life was a puzzling old thing, and lately he was beginning to realise it couldn’t be sorted out from the bottom end of a pint glass.

Molly had never seen her father move so swiftly. ‘What have you been doing to your dad?’ Leading the four youngsters into the parlour, she wagged a finger. ‘I hope you haven’t been playing him up?’

‘We didn’t do nothing!’ Milly was quite indignant. ‘We only played hide and seek like always, and Eddie cried because he was hungry, and Daddy couldn’t find his bottle.’

‘I told him where it was.’ Molly had gone to great pains to make sure everything had been left as it should be. ‘It was soaking in the saucepan of water. I told your dad I’d already scalded it, and all it needed was a good rinse.’