Given Vanessa’s enthusiasm for political life, he’d once asked why she hadn’t run for election. ‘I wouldn’t have the patience,’ she’d replied. ‘Every single person you meet has their hand out.’ Even though this was true, Tom got a buzz from constituency work. Sometimes one phone call was all it took for him to secure what a person was seeking. He knew the system was wrong, but, while it was there, he was content to work within it. ‘Give me a better system,’ he’d say, ‘and I’ll operate that one instead.’

During his first term in Leinster House, critics had complained that he was a glorified constituency secretary with no firm policies or positions. That he was a triumph of style over substance. This had rankled with Tom, who liked to see himself as being on the side of the regular man or woman. He took every issue on its merits.

Tess had teased him. ‘So, essentially,’ she’d said, ‘you’re in favour of good things and against bad things?’

‘That’s about it,’ he’d replied.

He was fortunate that the local businessmen who’d suggested he run for election didn’t interfere too much. During his first campaign, a couple of them had provided what was known as walking-around money. It had paid for election expenses: giving kids a few euro to distribute fliers, buying drinks for canvassers, that sort of stuff. In return, they’d expected him to speak up for the area and to lobby for the west in general. In his twenties, Tom would have been sceptical about the arrangement. He’d have seen it as borderline corrupt. But age made everything fuzzier. He told himself that he was not only helping Kilmitten, Templemorris and the rest of County Clare, he was giving a dig-out to towns and villages everywhere. Dublin got all the money; he was trying to redress the balance. From time to time, he questioned what he was doing. Mostly, however, he was able to push his doubts aside.

Tom’s first five years went smoothly, and few were surprised when, next time out, he topped the poll.