‘I certainly knew how to pick a loser. I don’t know … maybe I convinced myself I didn’t deserve any better. Or maybe that’s too simplistic. I definitely got to the stage where I felt life was going to be difficult – difficult and unfair – no matter what I did.’

‘You picked the right guy this time.’

‘I think so too.’

By now it was dark outside, the rain tapping the window, the children gone home.

Tess considered what had been done to her mam. And how she’d reacted. She could have been swallowed by bitterness and self-pity. Instead she’d marched on, braver than a thousand soldiers. ‘Thanks,’ she said eventually. ‘Thanks for telling me.’

She hoped that what she glimpsed in her mother’s eyes was relief. They’d never been given to showy sentiment. Their relationship was long on banter, short on declarations of affection. Until tonight, the one exception had been when her mother had begged her not to go to London. Now Tess saw that plea in a different light. Her mam had been scared of losing the child she’d fought to keep.

She gave her mother another kiss. ‘I’ll let you get some sleep. I love you, Mam.’

‘And I love you, Tessy.’

Walking down the hall, Tess realised how tired she was. Not that she expected to sleep. She’d spent the morning longing for her London bed. She would spend the night in Paula Varley’s old room, allowing what she’d learned to percolate through her brain. Tomorrow she would have to return to London and grovel like she’d never grovelled before.

As she wriggled out of her clothes and climbed into bed, she recalled the mantras of her teenage years, how anxious people had been to see Father’s Galvin’s death as a one-off, an aberration. The phrases were lodged in her brain, as familiar as responses at Mass. What was Kilmitten? It was a close-knit community where neighbour looked out for neighbour and every door was open. What wasn’t tolerated? Thuggery, thieving and bad behaviour. But if something bad did happen, who was to blame? Outsiders. Definitely outsiders. Meanwhile, there was her mother: a woman who’d spent more than twenty years afraid to talk about the crime that had scarred her life.

Tess wondered what else remained hidden.

Chapter 19

In early September, Fergal called to the shop and said he needed to talk. Tom, who’d been running the place singlehandedly since the death of Val’s brother, asked if it could wait. Fergal’s preoccupied face and the way he kept running a hand through his already rumpled hair suggested that it couldn’t. They went into the stuffy back room, Tom staying beside the door so he could watch for customers.

‘I’m not sure how to tell you this,’ said Fergal, his knees jiggling.