Tess asked her about work. Yes, she said, she was still in St Fachtna’s. She’d been there for twenty-six years, more than half her life. She put on her brave face and lied about how much she enjoyed it. This wasn’t the time to admit that her career had stagnated.

‘And Julian?’ asked Tess. ‘What’s he doing, these days?’

Tom stared at his phone.

‘Working for his father,’ said Nina.

‘I thought …’

‘That his old man lost everything in the crash? Not quite. The banks took a lot, but the family held onto a few properties, and Julian’s managing those. As you know, the economy’s improving and … well, we’ll see what happens.’ If ever there was a moment to be beamed up, this was it. Nina willed Tess to stop asking questions.

Tess ploughed on. ‘So he’s left the media business for good?’

‘Mmm. It was too precarious. The income was so unreliable. Besides, there was always an expectation that he’d go into the family business eventually.’

Was that true? It hadn’t been Nina’s expectation. Then again, life had taught her not to expect too much. She was aware that to some people this would sound like self-pity. She thought of it as self-preservation.

Thankfully, she was rescued by a tiny woman with a latticework of wrinkles and a shock of white hair. The woman had seen both Tess and Tom on the news and wanted to pass on her good wishes. ‘Those gangsters have Dublin ruined,’ she said. Tom agreed, and Tess gave her most polite smile.

The conversation jumped on. Tom and Tess began talking about the last time they’d met: two months earlier at Breege O’Grady’s funeral.

Nina looked at Tom. ‘You went to Breege O’Grady’s funeral? Since when were you friendly with the O’Gradys?’

‘He’s a politician,’ said Tess. ‘He goes to everybody’s funeral whether he’s wanted or not. Oh, and he drives around with spare wreaths in the boot of the car … for fear he comes across a hearse.’

‘And what’s wrong with that?’ asked Tom. ‘It’s best to be prepared. That’s my motto. You never know when a tasteful wreath will come in handy.’

Nina found herself cringing at Tom’s crassness. Surely he hadn’t become one of those politicians. Then she noticed he was holding back laughter. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Hands up, you got me.’

‘Good and proper,’ said Tom. ‘I promise you, carrying around spare funeral wreaths is not something I do.’

‘Yet,’ said Tess.

‘And, as far as the O’Gradys are concerned, my fight with Seánie was a long time ago. Not going to the funeral would have caused more offence than going. Besides, I’d no quarrel with Breege. The poor woman, what a life.’