‘But why do the police want to talk to me and Viv?’ I asked.

‘You can guarantee you weren’t the first young lady he did such a terrible thing to – once a nonce always a nonce. If I were you, I’d lie to the police and say he was worried about a few enemies in the village, but never mentioned any names to you. It’s the O’Leary family rule, Queenie: always lie to the coppers, always stay true to your family. Never done us no harm. We look after our family and friends alike, Queenie.’

‘OK. That’s what I’ll say then. Thanks, Mary. You’re just like a mum to me.’

Mary smiled. ‘And you are the daughter I never had. Time for you to shine now, my darling. Forget about the past and move on to the future. You can’t let what happened to you ruin the rest of your life.’

My eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m not sure I can move on.’

Mary gave my shoulders a shake. ‘Oh yes you will. Have you ever wondered why I felt your pain so much?’

‘Because you’re so kind,’ I replied.

She shook her head and hugged me to her chest. ‘What happened to you, my dear child, also happened to me back in Cork. I was younger than you. Twelve at the time.’

I started to cry, feeling her pain as sharply as if it was my own. ‘Mary, I’m so sorry.’

Mary gave my shoulders another shake. ‘Being sorry or feeling sorry gets you nowhere, angel. My brothers dealt with the bastard that abused me. And now Ivan has got his comeuppance. You have to move on. I did, and I ended up with three strapping sons. God rest his soul, my Seamus died, but I still have my Patrick and Daniel. They are my world. You must never tell anyone what I have told you today though. Even my boys don’t know the full story. There are some things sons shouldn’t know about their mother.’

I looked at Mary in awe. She was the strongest woman I’d ever known. ‘I will never say a word, I promise. And you are so right. Now Ivan is dead, I want handsome strapping sons just like yours.’

Mary smiled at me and squeezed my hand. ‘That’s my girl.’

Nine Months Later

Spring 1942

Queenie squeezed Viv’s hand as they listened to the latest dismal news bulletin. The Germans were bombing England again; not London this time, but there’d been attacks on Exeter, York, Bath, Norwich and Canterbury.

‘D’ya think they’ll bomb us again?’ Viv asked fearfully.

Queenie shrugged. ‘Not much left to bomb round ’ere, is there?’ she replied truthfully. The horror of the Blitz was still everywhere you looked. Houses, buildings and businesses had been reduced to piles of rubble and many men, women and children were hobbling around due to injuries they’d suffered. It had been reported that tens of thousands had lost their lives; Queenie could well believe it. Many people she’d known all her life had been killed in the bombings or while fighting overseas. St Mary Matfelon was no longer a church. That had been bombed beyond repair. As had Freddie the fishmonger’s. Poor Freddie had died, was burned alive while chopping up eels. Flo, his wife, had dropped dead at his funeral. A broken heart caused her death, the vicar reckoned. Even our coalman’s poor horse had been blown up. A bomb had dropped on his stable. Our coalman was devastated, as we all were. Trigger had been a wonderful horse, a big part of mine and Viv’s childhood.