‘It was used in a film, you know,’ Sheila said. Her tone was strangely casual.

‘Yes, I know. Braveheart. I’ve seen it.’

‘I was an extra. My husband Hugh and I both were. Alongside hundreds of Irish Army Reserve volunteers. That’s how they got it made here. Promised the filmmakers all the extras they’d need. One day the volunteers were dressed as English soldiers. The next they were in different costumes, dressed as Scottish ones. I read an interview with Mel Gibson. He said it was quite an editing feat, but he had a suspicion there was a scene in which the same extra killed himself. Such a funny story.’

Neither of them laughed. Eliza still had no idea why Sheila was there.

‘I will sit down, Eliza, if you don’t mind. And I’ll have that cup of tea, if you’re still offering.’

As Sheila took a seat in the armchair by the window, Eliza put on the kettle and prepared two cups.

Sheila continued to talk as if Eliza had asked a question. ‘They were great friends, my husband and son, until Emmet became a teenager. Looking back, of course, they were normal father–son arguments. A clashing of wills. Hugh wanted him to study PE. Emmet wanted to travel first, then study. A waste of money, Hugh thought. Get a career on track first. It built up over months, until one terrible big row. Emmet was gone the next day. It didn’t help that Dervla had called that break the same week. Nothing to keep him here.

‘He got the ferry to London. We didn’t know where he was for days. Then he rang. I’d never been so glad to hear his voice. He was in a squat, with a load of other young ones. In Kilburn. Little Ireland. That’s where he met your mother, as far as I know. He loved it. Loved London, the freedom. This is a small town. He couldn’t even sleep in of a morning here without someone passing a remark about it.

‘I begged him to ring me once a week. Begged him to come home even for a month in the summer. He could work hard, all the shifts he wanted. Earn enough money to go travelling again. That’s what sold it, of course. They arrived together. Emmet and Jeannie. I remember it so clearly.’

It was Eliza’s turn to listen intently. Was this why Sheila was here? To share her own memories of Jeannie?

‘It’s a cliché, but she was a breath of fresh air. So full of life. Cheeky. We gave her a trial shift, and she was so hardworking, we took her on behind the bar as well. She’d been backpacking around Europe, staying in hostels. I never knew if I should believe her stories, but they were always entertaining.