January 1982. In the rural village of Kilmitten, the Crossan family is holding its annual party during the biggest snowstorm Ireland has seen in decades. By the end of the night, the parish priest has been found dead, in suspicious circumstances.

For Tom, Conor, Tess and Nina, four teenage friends who were there, life will never be the same. One of them carries a secret and, as the years pass and their lives diverge, a bond that won’t be broken silently holds.

As the thirty-fifth anniversary of the priest’s death approaches, Conor, now a senior police officer, has reason to believe that Tom – a prominent politician – can help identify the killer. As his dilemma draws the four friends back together, all are forced to question their lives and to confront their differences.

Dedication

For the Englishes,
a family of great storytellers

Part One

1982

Chapter 1

County Clare, January 1982

They had never seen anything like it.

The first snowflakes arrived on Thursday afternoon. Before long, the flurries blurred into a steady fall, the snow folding itself around Kilmitten until everything was white. People took to the streets, beaming at the wonder of it all. ‘Look at that sky,’ they said. ‘It’s not finished yet, you know.’ Children shrieked with delight, and adults turned into children. Snowballs went zinging through the air, while kids on makeshift sleds – here a coal sack, there a tea tray – zoomed down Toomey’s Hill.

By Friday morning, the entire country was covered. On the radio, the newsreader warned against unnecessary journeys. Dublin was at a standstill, he said, and Wicklow was cut off.

Best of all, there was no school.

Tom Crossan sat at the kitchen table, swirling a spoon around his Ready Brek and listening to his parents have one of those conversations that was actually two separate speeches.

‘I still say we’re making a mistake,’ said his mam. ‘Nobody’s going to come out in this weather. We’ll be wasting good money on food and drink.’

‘The front room looks like something out of a tenement,’ said his dad. ‘Could you not dry those clothes elsewhere?’

‘You’d swear we had money to waste.’

‘Why don’t you bring them in here?’

‘And have you seen the state of the roads? Seriously, if you think I’m driving into Templemorris, you’d want to think again. I could end up in a ditch. I suppose I’ll have to buy the drink locally, and you know how much that costs.’

‘It’s a shame we had to take down the Christmas decorations. They brightened the place up. Could we string up a few lights, do you think?’