Finally, the official spoke about Conor. He’d been hit twice, once in the left arm and once in the shoulder. The bullets could easily have struck his head or neck. If the gunmen had shot from a slightly different angle, they could have entered his heart. He was lucky to be alive.

Tom cleared his throat. ‘He will be all right, won’t he?’

It was the first time he’d spoken, and he was conscious of heads swivelling to take a closer look at him. He explained how he and Conor were from the same few acres of land and had been friends all their lives.

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ said one man. ‘Wasn’t it Inspector Varley’s father who led the investigation into the death of Father Leo Galvin?’

‘It was, and as you probably know, it all happened at a party in my parents’ house. Well, it’s no longer their house. The place was knocked down years ago.’ He realised he was rambling. ‘Sorry, I reckon I’m in shock.’

‘And the crime was never solved,’ said the caretaker taoiseach.

‘Not officially, at any rate,’ replied a colleague.

Knowing smiles passed around the table.

‘As I understand it, Inspector Varley’s injuries aren’t life-threatening,’ said the civil servant.

At that point, the briefing had broken up. Statements had to be issued and reassuring words found. ‘You can bet that the papers will say it’s all our fecking fault,’ said the future justice minister.

Now, as he dodged the trolleys in the hospital corridor, Tom tried to think of the right words for Sharon and the rest of the family. Dealing with real people was altogether more challenging than dealing with journalists. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed to see Conor. What he did know was that he felt guilty. In recent months, he hadn’t spent as much time with Conor and Sharon as he would have liked. But, Lord, he’d been busy. There’d been the election, and then there was Vanessa and the boys and his parents and … There was just too much.

The first person he saw was Ginny. He hadn’t met her in a few weeks, and she looked unexpectedly fragile. She was what? Sixty-six? Hardly ancient, but he figured that the older you got, the sharper the impact of bad news. Behind her came Flan. Although his corrugated hair had long ago turned white, he remained essentially the same. There was still a bounce to his walk and a gleam in his eye that suggested a clip around the ear would be yours if you gave any cheek. With them was Lauren, who shared Tess’s other-worldly beauty – and almost nothing else. Lauren was as earnest as her elder sister had been giddy, as humourless as Tess was entertaining.