‘How do you do?’

Patrick smiled at her, and she found herself smiling back.

‘The child?’ She stared into her daughter’s drawn face.

‘She’s fine, Mum, or at least as fine as she could be in the circumstances. The cuts weren’t deep enough to really harm her. I found her just in time. She’s to see a psychiatrist in the morning.’

Patrick sat on a chair by the fire and Kate turned to him. ‘Can I get you a drink? I’ve got some Scotch somewhere. ’ She went to the drinks cabinet and opened the door. She poured out three large whiskies.

When everyone had their drink Kate sat beside her mother. Patrick looked at them. They were like two peas in a pod, both with the same high cheekbones and widow’s peak. Both had a slightly Roman nose. Individually, all their features were beautiful, but altogether they just missed being wholly lovely. Instead they had what was termed attractive faces. Women who looked better as they got older. Kate certainly looked all right to him.

Evelyn broke the silence.

‘So she’s to see a head man, is she? Well, I think it’s for the best, Kate. There’s something drastically wrong with the child.’

She nodded, her eyes on the floor. Patrick’s heart went out to her.

‘You’re the man who lost your daughter, aren’t you?’ Evelyn asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Tragic to lose a child like that.’

He looked into the old woman’s face, saw the sympathy there and the understanding.

‘My son went to Australia, you know. I’ve not seen him for twenty years. It’s like he died. I hear from him regularly but it’s not the same as holding them to you. Watching them grow and turn into whatever they become. He’s a big grown man now and all I have are photographs to chart his years. It’s not like seeing for yourself.’

Her little speech touched Patrick to the core. He felt the empathy between them. Knew that she had warmed to him, that she wanted to ease his grief, and for a dangerous few seconds he thought he would cry. He swallowed the lump that had come to his throat and downed his whisky.

‘Are you family Irish, Mr Kelly?’ Evelyn had to keep talking, had to stop thinking about Lizzy.

‘Yes, My father was a Dublin man and my mother was from Cork. I was born in Glasnevin. I came over here when I was two.’

‘Jesus save us, I know Glasnevin well! Is your mother still alive?’

Patrick shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. She was a wonderful woman.’

‘I bet you have some great memories of her?’

He smiled again.

‘Yes, I do.’