He’d announced he didn’t think she was coming, to which Barr had replied that she still had twenty minutes to embark. Duggan seemed to have stopped listening to the youth too.

Finally, as if aware that the older men had lost interest in him, Barr lowered his voice a little and gathered his hands in front of him, as if to signify something important was to be discussed.

‘The party appreciates what you’re doing, gents.’

Duggan glanced at him askance. ‘Sean Mullan tell you that? That he appreciates?’

Barr smiled, patiently. ‘We know some of you are a little resistant–’

Duggan laughed derisively. ‘Time was, you put some fucker in the ground, you left him there. Not anymore.’

‘People like Martin are a source of embarrassment now. Our own that we stopped having a proper burial.’

‘A source of embarrassment?’ Duggan repeated. ‘Is that what we are?’

Barr hesitated a moment, as if trying to find an appropriate angle from which to rephrase his comment.

‘That’s not what I meant, Mr Duggan,’ he said. ‘But someone like Martin, dead thirty years and his family never getting a chance to bury him; it doesn’t work well for the party.’

‘Doesn’t work well for the party?’ Duggan echoed, incredulous.

‘The optics aren’t good for us,’ Barr started, already flustered.

‘The only fucking optics you should be worried about are those ones behind that bar,’ Duggan snapped. ‘Get in a few whiskeys,’ he added, ‘and spare us all your bullshit about the party.’

Barr nodded, took a moment to spare his own dignity, then got up and headed across to the service area, Duggan chuckling at his willingness to do as he was told.

‘So it isn’t you I have to thank for making me sit here listening to this crap?’ he asked.

Tony shook his head. ‘Like I said, I thought it was you,’ he said.

Duggan raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘Why would I want that?’

‘Maybe it was Karen?’

Duggan shrugged. ‘Who contacted you?’

Tony nodded to where Barr stood, placing his order. ‘The young fella. You?’

‘Sean Mullan,’ Duggan said.

Tony nodded. He’d not spoken to any of them in thirty years; had seen Mullan only once since Martin Kelly’s death and that had been a coincidence; Mullan had been canvassing during one of the elections and had called at his door, looking for his vote. It had been Ann who’d answered. She’d given him fairly short shift. Tony had heard the disagreement and had come to the door, tea towel over his shoulder from the dishes he’d been drying.

Mullan had glanced at him, then looked a second time, more closely. Tony could see he was trying to work out how he recognised him, where he had last seen him. Then the expression softened, as he must have placed the younger man. He’d nodded lightly at Tony, thanked Ann for her time and headed back down the drive and on to the next house.

‘Do you know him?’ Ann had asked.