Tom zoned out. For as long as he could remember (which was eight years’ worth of memories – he couldn’t recall much before the age of four), his parents had held a party in early January. It’s such a miserable month, they’d say. People need cheering up. He’d worried that this year the weather would put them off. He should have known better. The snow could be roof-high, and still his dad wouldn’t cancel a get-together. He liked to boast that no one was turned away from his house: no matter how snooty, no matter how hard-up, everyone was welcome.

Tom had heard that there were places where people went an entire year without clogging up each other’s houses, where there were no rowdy gatherings of red-faced men and overly perfumed women, no card games in the kitchen or ballad-singing in the front room, no morning-after gossip. What a pain that would be. Everybody in Kilmitten liked a party, and while their parents were busy making fools of themselves, the village’s youngsters got to experience some freedom. Tonight, Tom planned on making the most of it.

‘You’re quiet, Tommo,’ said his dad, as he poked a knife at the concrete-hard butter. ‘Are you not looking forward to a day in the white stuff?’

‘I’m going to call up to Conor in a second.’

‘Well, be careful not to fall over or do anything stupid,’ said his mam, who was an expert in things going wrong. ‘And don’t forget I’ll want you back here good and early. There’ll be work to do. Oh, and eat up that breakfast, would you?’

Tom returned to his cereal. His mother was always baffled when teachers complained about him being too talkative. ‘There’s barely a word out of him at home,’ she’d say. ‘I can’t imagine what he goes on about at school.’ What she didn’t understand was that, for most of Tom’s life, there hadn’t been any space for talking. If his sisters and their friends weren’t yap-yap-yapping at each other, his parents were arguing or storytelling. Now that his sisters were gone, there were more opportunities for him to have his say, but what was the point in speaking when nobody listened?

‘Ah, Cora,’ said his dad. ‘Don’t spoil the lad’s fun. Sure how often do we get a fall of snow like this?’

‘Don’t “Ah, Cora” me, Haulie. The last thing I need is a child with a broken leg or a head full of stitches.’ She rose from her chair and began piling dishes into the sink. ‘Anyway, shouldn’t you be getting off to work?’

‘I can’t see there being much business today.’ He leaned back and smiled. ‘Throw us on another piece of toast there, pet.’