They were in the kitchen now. Tess’s eyes swept over the man who would soon be her stepfather. He looked as drained as she felt. ‘I didn’t want to bother you. And, given the … eh, situation, I thought it might be better if I just arrived like this.’ She handed him a Duty Free bag containing a bottle of whiskey.

‘There was no need for that,’ he said, placing the bag on the counter.

‘Mam always told me it was bad form to arrive with one arm as long as the other.’

‘Conor rang you,’ he said, a statement rather than a question. ‘He was here until a short while ago. He’s had to go back to work.’

‘He didn’t know I was coming. I came straight from a job.’

‘So that explains why you’ve no bag. And the …’

‘… make-up. I tried to remove some of it in the aeroplane toilet, but I reckon I only made it worse.’ Tess knew she looked like she’d escaped from the circus. Either that or a high-security hospital. She peered around.

‘Your mother’s having a rest.’

‘I won’t disturb her. I want to have a word, that’s all.’

Flan pulled his left earlobe. ‘You’re not to give her any hassle. If you do, there’ll be trouble.’

Tess wasn’t stung by his warning; she’d expected worse. ‘I swear to you there’ll be no hassle.’

‘Fine. Let her say what she has to say, and if that’s not much this evening, so be it.’

Tess tried to imagine how the man in front of her really felt. His life had known no shortage of sadness, but otherwise it had been steady, undramatic. According to Conor, his family rarely fell out. Even a raised voice was unusual. What he did have was long experience of the dramas of others: the rows that became violent, the men who hit their wives, the children who went off the rails. The dead priest at the party.

‘Come on, so,’ he said. ‘I’ll say one thing, Tess. Nobody could ever accuse you of being predictable.’

‘Like mother, like daughter,’ she replied.

‘Tessy! What are you doing here?’ said her mam, who must have been feigning surprise for she’d surely heard her daughter’s voice at the door. She was sitting up in bed, wearing what looked like a new nightdress. Tess suspected the room had also been given some fresh touches. The moss-green carpet looked to have come straight from the warehouse, while the bedside lockers had the gleam of showroom furniture. She recalled Conor complaining that the bungalow was like a time capsule. ‘Homage to the 1970s,’ he’d said. ‘All that’s missing is a hostess trolley and a lava lamp.’ She guessed that was changing.