‘Hopefully, it won’t take long.’ Conor rubbed his hands together. ‘First things first, though. Is there any chance of a cup of tea? I’ve just driven up from home, and it’s a foul old night.’

Tom wondered why Conor had been in Kilmitten. He presumed he’d soon find out. ‘You know where the kitchen is. Make me one too, would you? I’ll be back in a minute. I, ahm, need to change my socks.’

‘No bother,’ said Conor, his tone almost absurdly breezy. ‘While I’m at it, I might put on some toast. I could do with a bite. Will I put on a slice for you?’

‘Um, yeah, fine.’

While they ate, an artificial calm descended. They sat across from each other: Tom in his favourite position on the sofa, Conor in one of the enormous armchairs. Tom told himself that he wouldn’t be cajoled or coerced. Whatever Conor had to say would be finished by eleven thirty, midnight at the latest. There would still be time for a decent night’s sleep. He wouldn’t think about politics or Vanessa or his parents or anyone else. What mattered was what happened in this room. How he handled it. How he handled himself. If anyone knew how to say the right thing, it was him.

‘So,’ said Conor, ‘on my way back up, I gave quite a lot of thought to what I wanted to say. I know you don’t trust me, and I was thinking, well, I could get all tricksy here. I could play games. Instead, I’m going to tell you about the conversation I had with Hannah Galvin, Leo Galvin’s sister-in-law. No embellishments. No flashy stuff.’

‘I know who Hannah Galvin is.’

‘Sorry. Of course you do. What you probably don’t know is that she was very friendly with Father Leo. In fact, upon reflection, I wonder if she wasn’t in love with him herself.’

‘Come again?’ said Tom.

‘Ah, don’t mind me. I’m getting ahead of myself.’

Tom listened closely while Conor went through what Hannah had told him. There was no denying it: her story rang true. Even so, all she had were isolated conversations. Little parts of a picture. What Tom knew might belong to the same picture. Or it might be part of a different puzzle.

‘Obviously,’ Conor was saying, ‘I was disappointed not to have a name. What I did have, though, was the information about the church flowers. That’s one of the reasons I was in Kilmitten today. I had to find out more.’

The rhythm of his words reminded Tom of when they were children. Of how Conor would get a fixation – with Liverpool statistics or building a new den or making the most of ten pence worth of sweets. Then he’d approach his obsession from every angle. He would talk it all through, as if by doing so he was convincing himself.