He saw his mother in his mind’s eye, her arms red to the elbows from doing other people’s washing and ironing, her knees permanently swollen from scrubbing floors. But he also saw the tiny smile she had, that serene look when she came home from six o’clock Mass every morning. Her pressing a shilling in his hand every birthday, no matter how hard up they were. Oranges at Christmas and a small toy. Oh, he had fond memories all right.

Kate watched her mother and Patrick as if in a trance. She could see that if the circumstances of their meeting had been happier they would have had a good drink of her mother’s secret stash of Bushmill’s and reminisced all night. She was glad Patrick was here. He was like a big dependable rock, taking both their troubled minds off Lizzy. But her daughter had to be helped and that was what scared Kate.

Getting up she went to the cabinet to replenish their glasses and found that the Bell’s bottle was nearly empty. Seeing this Evelyn got up from her seat and said, ‘I’ll go and get me Bushmill’s.’

She went from the room and Patrick smiled at Kate. ‘Try and relax. Lizzy’s in the best place for her at the moment. Tomorrow’s time enough to worry.’

‘I feel so bloody useless. How could all that have gone on under my nose?’

Patrick grasped her hand and pulled her to him.

She stared into his eyes.

‘Look, Kate, you’re not the only person this has happened to. Every parent says this at some time. I remember when I found out Mandy was sleeping with that geek Kevin, I felt like throttling the pair of them. But it’s something that’s happened and you can’t make it unhappen. No matter how much you might want to. I told you, build some bridges now. Let some good come out of this.’

Oh, he sounded so right, but deep inside Kate she felt she had failed Lizzy somehow.

Evelyn bustled back into the room with her Irish whiskey. ‘I call this my Holy Water, it’s as good as a tonic. My cousin from Coleraine sends it to me, may God bless her and keep her. It’s the mountain water that gives it the taste. You know her name’s actually Katie Daly. It’s true.’

Patrick laughed.

‘Katie Daly’ had been one of his mother’s favourite songs. It was about a girl who made poteen, an illegal Irish whiskey, and the troops who came to arrest her.

Evelyn poured everyone out a generous measure. Kate sipped the liquid and felt the burn as it hit her throat. ‘Tomorrow, when she sees the head man, I’ll go with you, Kate, and we’ll try and sort this business out. We’ll make it all right, you’ll see.’