‘It’s not Papa you should worry about, it’s my mother. She’ll be chasing you off the premises with a swordstick! But seeing as you’re here, stay for today. And tonight, if you don’t have to leave until Tuesday.’

‘I’ll need to pick up some stuff from Larkins, but I’m not working today, so I’ll come back and stay on one condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘That you hide Shunty-Mae’s swordstick!’

They dozed for a while, contentedly entwined, but Imelda was unable to banish thoughts of Vivienne. She couldn’t help but feel that she was still somehow a threat to their happiness. That she had one final and ultimately damning card up her sleeve that she had yet to play.

‘You will be careful how you deal with Vivienne?’

Cillian squeezed her hand. ‘Not anymore. I’m done pussyfooting around with her, and if she runs to Marty, then let her. He’s got more than enough on his plate at the moment trying to explain to the big bosses what happened at the disco and where the money’s going to come from to pay for the damage. Now, go to sleep before the birds wake us up again.’

Several hours later, it was a knock at the vardo door that woke them. Outside on the steps Imelda found a tray set with breakfast for two.

‘Thank you, Papa,’ she called. He raised his hand and waved as he walked back to the house without turning around. But Imelda knew that he would be smiling.

Chapter 48

Chapter 48

1973

The skull ring was heavy and slightly loose on her middle finger as Imelda handed the cards to her client. Cillian had insisted that she wear it until he got back from Ireland. ‘Then you’ll remember me every time you look at it,’ he said, as he had kissed her goodbye. She was hardly likely to forget him, but she was glad to have it; something that was so recognisably his. Something that signified their togetherness while they were apart. The woman sitting across from Imelda was in her late seventies perhaps, with enviable bone structure and pure white hair swept into an immaculate French pleat. She had, no doubt, once been a great beauty, and would still be attractive were it not for the rigid expression on her face that had been calcified by bitterness and regret. The emotions around this woman were so strong that they were palpable. Imelda felt her chill, her resolute despair.

The woman shuffled the cards. ‘I want to know about my granddaughter.’

Imelda lay a Celtic Cross. The Page of Wands, Death, the Ten of Cups and the Five of Swords told Imelda that a little girl with blonde hair had drowned, but that she was now safe and happy with the Emperor, her granddad. The woman nodded.