A reaction, a subtle one, but he saw it, even as she frowned, put her head on one side. ‘Eliza? Yes, Dervla briefly introduced us. Though we didn’t get to talk. Such a long way to come. Australians are such good travellers, aren’t they?’

‘Did Dervla tell you why she was here? What she came here to ask me?’

‘No, she didn’t.’

Emmet knew his mother well. He knew women well, after thirty years with Dervla, after being the father to his two girls, watching them grow from innocent, open toddlers to the darling but sometimes cunning young women they were today. He always knew when they were lying or hiding something. He’d honed that skill over years of bartending too. His mother did know something.

‘She was looking for her father, Ma. I think she had an idea that it might have been me. I had to explain that wouldn’t have been possible. I was thinking of emailing Orla, though, to see if she remembered anyone else from that time.’

His mother nodded, her expression neutral, as if this didn’t matter to her one way or the other. It was out of character. She would normally have been far more curious. She had met Jeannie, after all. He continued, choosing his words carefully.

‘Then I got an idea in my head after Dervla and I were talking. And it’s madness’ – he tried to laugh, make light of this strange conversation, this question he was still framing – ‘but the only other person I really remember being around Jeannie at that time was Dad. It’s ridiculous, but you know those middle of the night thoughts. I kept thinking about Eliza’s height, and how tall Dad is. Dad was.’

He had said it. The words were released.

Across the room, his mother hadn’t moved. She looked at him for a long moment. Then, as he watched, tears began rolling down her cheeks.

He went straight over. ‘Ma?’

‘I can’t talk about it, Emmet.’

He knelt on the floor beside her. ‘Talk about what?’

‘This. All of this.’

‘Jeannie and Dad? You know all of this already?’ As she looked down at her hands, twined on her lap, he said it again. This time it was a statement. ‘You know.’

She didn’t reply.

He had to ask it. ‘Ma, is Dad Eliza’s father?’

A long pause. Then, finally, a nod.

‘Did he tell you?’

Another nod.

‘When?’

There was a long silence and then she spoke. ‘A month before he died.’

‘You’ve known for three years that Dad had a daughter and you didn’t say anything?’

There was a sudden flare of temper. ‘How could I, Emmet? How could I possibly begin to bring that up? Over Sunday lunch?’

So many questions were crowding his mind. ‘How long did it go on between them?’

‘It’s none of your business.’