Mary Kate wasn’t even listening. With eyes glazed, she was watching her Nanny Nola keep her promise and dish her up the biggest bowl of stew. ‘Jesus, there’s not a pick on you. Is it still the rations over in Liverpool?’

Mary Kate had no need to answer. People talked at her, with so many questions, and so fast, she only needed to provide the occasional answer of a few words to satisfy them. She felt a glass being pressed into her hand and looked up as Tig winked at her.

‘Get it down you – it helps,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why you’ve come back and I’m not going to ask, but as God is true, you are a sight for sore eyes. I’m as happy as anyone that you’ve come home, not least because something tells me ’tis where you need to be.’

Mary Kate felt the first tears prick her eyes. Uncle Tig, her godfather, her father’s best friend, had been a part of her life since the day she was born. She remembered him from before her mother died and his own boys were born, carrying her on his shoulders up the boreen to Nola and Seamus’s farm to see Daedio, her mother and father walking ahead in the sunshine, her father’s arm lovingly placed around her mother’s waist. In a village like Tarabeg, you didn’t need to be related by blood to feel the bonds of family love.

She was about to answer him when the chatter in the room rose an octave and the air seemed to shift as a man she had never seen before in her life walked into the room with Father Jerry and Teresa Gallagher. The kitchen was hot and filled with the smell of stew and stout and the breeze as the door opened and closed was a welcome one. She looked up and instantly met his gaze.

The man was the tallest person in the room and he stood out, not just because he was head and shoulders above everyone else but because his bones were better padded. His dark hair was brushed back, slick and gleaming. His skin was pinker and more clean-shaven than Mary Kate had seen on any man. His teeth were white and dazzled when he smiled, and yet there was something about him that was familiar. And then it struck her: he had the look of a Malone. Of Daedio, her late great-grandfather, to be precise.

His shirt was pressed and tucked into the waistband of his equally crisp trousers, which were held up by a smart leather belt, not string like Pete Shevlin’s. It was all she could do not to stare. He looked completely out of place, and yet he seemed entirely comfortable as the people she had known all her life flocked to his side.

Her eyes met his and they were the same, almond-shaped and twinkling. With a start, she realised he had noticed her close inspection. His expression was inquisitive, mocking almost, as he lifted one eyebrow and raised the glass someone had placed in his hand in her direction. Mary Kate flushed and turned quickly back to Tig, but he was gone.