She grabbed me by the hand and bustled off, pulling me behind her. “’Tis not far to Mr. O’Hanlon’s house. And then we’ll put ye to bed with a hot whiskey and ye can have a grand sleep and be right as rain in the morning.”

She prattled on as she walked, clearly not expecting me to answer. It was just as well, because I could not have forced any words out of my mouth. It was as if I had been struck mute as soon as I told the lie.

A large black car was waiting for us. I’d never been in a car before and I peered at it in wonder before climbing in and sinking down in a soft leather seat.

“Where’s her luggage, Mrs. Donahue?”

She looked at the driver, then at me. Then she slapped her forehead with a big hand. “Ah sure, of course, the child has no luggage. She would have lost everything when the boat sank to the bottom of the sea.” She pointed at my battered and scarred satchel, “except for this wee bag,” she said. “’Tis a miracle you managed to hold on to it. It must be very important.”

She clambered in beside me, looking at me with a satisfied smile, and patted my hand. I closed my eyes, wanting desperately to hold on to this dream. For I believed it was a dream, and that I would wake up and find myself back in my cabin on the Titanic in no danger at all.

After a while I opened my eyes and looked out of the car window, hoping to get my first glimpse of New York. But I could see nothing but sheets of rain, blurred lamplights and hulking, dark shadows. I closed my eyes again.

When the car came to a stop, Mrs. Donahue tapped me on the arm.

‘Wake up, Nora, love. We’re here.’

I was about to say, “No, I’m Delia,” but I caught myself in time.

When I climbed out, I was facing a tall, narrow house with a black front door set back from the street. The rain had eased by now, and in the lamplight I was able to make out three tall windows marching across the front of each story, and a wrought-iron balcony on the second floor. Lamps burned in the ground-floor windows, the way they often did in Donegal to welcome travelers.

Mrs. Donahue was all business now. “Mr. O’Hanlon is away at the minute, but he’s expected back tomorrow.”

She ushered me inside and up a short flight of stairs into a front room. At her bidding, I sat down in a big, plush armchair beside a blazing fire, balancing myself gingerly on the edge of the cushion. She rang a bell and a young woman wearing a black dress and a white apron appeared. She stared at me with open curiosity.