‘I’m not twisting anything.’ He paused. ‘You know what, Nina, I happen to enjoy what I do, and I happen to like the guy I work for. He reminds me of my old man: no badness in him.’

Nina felt another surge of anger. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Tom said nothing, just lifted a shoulder.

‘It’s a dig at my dad, isn’t it?’

‘If that’s what you want to believe …’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she said. ‘This is stupid.’

‘My thoughts entirely,’ said Tom, returning to his chair. ‘I’m genuinely sorry about this. I don’t like letting you down, but it’s not like there won’t be other weekends.’

‘That’s true, only … I thought this would be a great weekend, the four of us together – like old times, you know? Besides, I want to find out what the story is with this documentary. Every time I talk to them at home, they’re giving out about it.’

‘My own pair are the same. “What’s the point in dredging up the past?” Dad keeps saying.’

‘It must be especially grim for them, all right.’

‘And you can be sure the TV people will make everybody look like they’ve crawled out of the bog.’

Earlier in the year, a television researcher had arrived in Kilmitten. She was from an independent production company, she’d said. They were making a programme about the killing of Father Leo Galvin and how the crime remained unsolved. For a week or two, she’d knocked on doors, taken notes and generally made a nuisance of herself. Now she’d returned – with a camera crew and director in tow. The documentary would be aired the following January to coincide with the tenth anniversary of Father Galvin’s death. ‘Ten years,’ people kept saying. ‘How can it be that long?’ To Nina, it did feel like a long time. The intervening years had distorted her memory, amplifying some events, dimming others. She remembered being in the shed, the cigarette smoke burning her throat. She remembered her father humiliating her. And she remembered the snow. She didn’t expect they’d ever see snow like that again.

In Kilmitten, some people still spoke about Father Galvin. In Dublin, as elsewhere, the conversation had moved on. His was just another name on the long list of unsolved crimes. All the same, Nina had the feeling that a TV programme would rekindle interest in his death. While this didn’t bother her, others, including Tom, weren’t so relaxed. According to her mother, most locals had closed ranks against the TV crew, but some had an open mind, and a few were co-operating.

She allowed herself a smile. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said to Tom. ‘I won’t go giving them an interview: “My night in the shed. How I didn’t see what happened”.’

‘Seriously, Nina, there’s nothing to joke about.’