Father Galvin’s funeral had been a massive affair with the bishop and four other priests. Tom had sat six rows back, between his parents, who’d kept their eyes closed most of the time. The church was as packed as he’d ever seen it, so packed that some people had had to stand outside in the snow. On the way in, the Crossans had stopped for a word with Mercedes Talty.

‘Here we are,’ she’d said, ‘a church full of suspects.’

‘For pity’s sake, Mercedes,’ Tom’s father had snapped, ‘there’s no call for that kind of talk.’

His parents hadn’t gone mental over the shed business. Or maybe they had, but in unexpected ways. His dad told long stories about his own school days, while his mam just nodded. Her eyes were pink, and her cheeks were hollow, as if somebody had sucked all the air out of her. Although Tom wished Conor hadn’t told his father, he wasn’t surprised. That was Conor for you: he always had to do the right thing. It was like a disease.

During the funeral Tom had seen Nina on the other side of the church with her parents and brother. He tried – and failed – to catch her eye. Tess was down the back, on her own. Tom had heard that her mam was an atheist or a pagan or something, so that must be why she’d stayed away. Still, this wasn’t a regular Mass. Even the simple people and the men who rarely left the farm were there, and he wondered how Tess felt about her mother’s absence.

Tom’s parents had rung his sisters in New York to tell them about Father Galvin. Dympna had offered to come home. Then Deirdre had pointed out that if she did, she’d be stuck in Ireland and might never get back to America again. ‘It’s a funny state of affairs,’ she’d said, ‘when a city like New York is safer than your own house.’

There was a weird atmosphere in the village. People huddled into small groups, exchanging titbits of information. Then, those same people would check themselves and start to act as if they hadn’t said a word; as if they were too sad to gossip. It felt as though all the normal everyday noise had been drained away. The grown-ups spoke about ‘appropriate behaviour’, but how did they know what that was? It wasn’t like they had any experience to fall back on. Nobody could say, ‘Well, the last time the parish priest was killed …’