‘Of course you look well; as a matter of fact, you’ve never looked better.’ But the thing was, now that she knew about his recent heart scare, she was beginning to notice things. There was nothing big, but it was little things that she hadn’t spotted before. He’d shrunk, his eyes had lightened and there was no denying the fact that when he walked, it was more slowly than before.

‘Well, that’s good so.’ He sounded relieved. No harm in that. Liv knew believing you were well was half the secret to being healthy. ‘Sure, who has time to be anything but healthy with lambs on the way and the cottage to ready for another writer?’

‘Oh?’ Liv knew he was talking about the little house that her parents had inherited from her mother’s aunt. It was perched high above the sea on the way into Ballycove and her father rented it out each year to tourists. ‘Another writer?’

‘Aye, well you know the last one, Dan, he only hit the bestsellers list and now it seems we’re inundated with would-be authors knocking down the door to spend a week or two writing their masterpieces with a curlew’s view of the Atlantic.’ Dan had arrived in the worst of weather, written a hugely successful book and last Liv heard he was getting married to Lucy, the local GP.

‘But you haven’t let the cottage out for Christmas, have you?’

‘Of course, the fella as good as begged me for it.’ Her father shook his head.

‘Well, that seems like a lot to take on, especially in the middle of lambing season. When does he arrive?’

‘First thing tomorrow, but he’ll be no bother. Everything is already organised. Your mother has the place spick and span with a few provisions in the fridge and I dropped down enough turf and firelighters to keep him warm for a month if he fancies staying any longer.’

‘Well, in that case, I’ll go down and meet him; let him in and show him about the cottage.’ Not that she was sure there was a lot of showing about, but the water was finicky at the best of times and it was the least she could do to help out. ‘Will you come along to the match, later?’ she asked. It was an annual event, current players on the Ballycove Gaelic team took on anyone from previous teams who was brave enough and hopefully fit enough to tog out and turn up for the game. It was always fun and takings on the gate went to a local good cause each year.

‘Ah, I think I’ll give it a miss this year. It won’t be the same indoors.’ He looked out through the small pane of glass that served as the only window in the shed. The snow was falling thick and fast outside now.

*