In Byrne’s he collects his winnings and then buys the items on Patty’s list in Meath’s, asking for a plastic bag to carry them in. The woman at the till mentions the death, respectfully commiserating. ‘Lonely for you now,’ she speculates as she punches out the prices on the cash register, and he replies that perhaps it will be. Her eyes pass over his clothes when she turns to tell him what the total is, and he can feel her thinking that Esmeralda Coyne should be looking after them. He has put a jacket on, as he always does when he drives over: with his trousers, it makes a suit, brown, striped, creased and shiny in places. The green jersey he wears is tattered at the elbows but cannot be seen beneath the jacket, is Patty still across?’ the woman casually asks.

‘She is.’

‘I didn’t see her this long time.’

The woman is wondering if it is right and proper for Patty and himself to remain under the one roof, now that Sarah Pollexfen has died. She is wondering if Esmeralda Coyne knows enough about the business to take charge of an hotel. She is wondering if Esmeralda Coyne will get him.

Tom knows all that. He can sense the woman’s thoughts because he has known that woman all his life. He packs the items he has bought into a carrier bag and says goodbye to her. She calls after him to ask the day of the funeral. ‘Tomorrow,’ he says.

There’s hardly enough land left to scrape a living from. Between them the brothers sold too much after Lionel’s accident with the harvester, and then again when Haverty was too old to work. They had needed the money to keep the household going, and none of it had mattered since there wasn’t going to be another generation. One of these days he will try to buy an acre or two back.

In Broderick’s he watches the pork chops being cut, a section of kidney left on each. The butcher, son of the Broderick who sent over meat of poor quality to Carriglas, being upset because his wife was pregnant, remarks upon the death, and sympathises. ‘Tomorrow,’ Tom repeats. The doors of the shop will be closed, he is assured.

‘No trouble in the world.’ In Spillane’s the barman’s tone is complimentary. ‘An easy length.’

‘The going suited her, of course.’

His stout is poured. The man who’d been reading the Irish Press has gone. What’ll become of the old place? the barman conversationally enquires, and Tom remembers what Haverty said about the lead on the roof being worth a fortune, and Villana saying once: ‘Sell Carriglas for the lead, Tom.’ He doesn’t know, he replies.