Their sorting was interrupted soon after by the constant ringing of Celine’s mobile phone. She didn’t pick it up.

‘Do you need to get that?’ Eliza asked after the third unanswered call.

Celine replied without taking her eyes off the TV screen. ‘No. It’s only my husband. He rings all the time. He wants me back. Let him wait. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.’ She cackled alarmingly.

An hour later, Eliza excused herself to go and visit Maxie and Olivia. She made Celine promise not to swear at Sullivan. She checked that he was all right to be left sorting Celine’s photos on his own for ten minutes. He told her he couldn’t be happier.

Her godmothers didn’t have any news for her. Maxie had been googling more Irish pubs, more Irish castles. It was becoming worse than finding a needle in a haystack.

‘Eliza, did Jeannie ever say anything else to you about her time in Ireland?’ Olivia asked. ‘A place she visited a lot, the name of a river, anything that might help us narrow it down?’

‘Not that I remember. I know she learned some folk songs there. She liked singing them. She also told me she was an expert at pouring Guinness. But that’s no help. An Irish pub serving Guinness?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Maxie said, turning back to her laptop. ‘If he’s out there, we’ll find him.’

*

When Eliza returned to Celine’s room, Sullivan wasn’t sorting photos. Celine wasn’t shouting at him. They were sitting in front of the television, in an armchair each, a bowl of popcorn between them.

‘Sullivan? Are you oka—’

‘Shut up,’ Celine said. ‘They’re getting to the juicy stuff.’

They were watching a programme on a cable channel. Eliza stood behind them and watched for a few minutes. It was a Top 10 countdown of celebrity downfalls, with regular recaps. Images of Hugh Grant, Robert Downey Jr, Lindsay Lohan and Charlie Sheen flashed by. The American narrator bellowed highlights of their careers, as snippets of red carpet strolls, award ceremonies and scenes from their best-known films were interwoven with police line-up photos, paparazzi shots and slinking court appearances.

‘Sullivan, I’m not sure it’s good for you to watch this,’ Eliza said.

‘It’s warning me about all the pitfalls that might lie ahead.’

‘Would your father let you watch it?’

‘Over his dead body.’

‘I think it’s time I took you home.’

‘I haven’t finished Celine’s photos yet. We’re only up to the 1960s.’

‘Shut up, you two,’ Celine snapped. ‘I’m trying to listen.’

Beside her, her mobile phone rang. She ignored it. Her husband again, Eliza guessed.

An ad break came on, but not before the breathless presenter told them who was next. Mel Gibson.