‘Do you think they’ve forgotten about us?’ said Cat as she lit a cigarette.

Mrs O’Keefe watched in amazement as a mass of people came racing out of the shop at full pelt and across the road into the butcher’s. They were like a pack of wild animals, shouting and with their arms flailing, led by an athletic young man and a figure she recognised as Michael Malone. ‘Would you look at that, Cat,’ she said, waving away her offer of a cigarette.

Cat peered out of the doorway and into the darkness, squinting to try and see better. The lights of the butcher’s shop flared into life and lit the patch of road outside it. ‘Blimey, they have funny parties out here,’ she said. ‘There must be a late-night offer on the trotters, or they’ve ran out of butties or something. Who goes to the butcher at nine o’clock at night? Oh God, what is that smell? I need the smoke from the ciggie to hide it.’

Mrs O’Keefe smiled. ‘It’s just the raw country air, Cat. Nothing fresher than that.’

‘Jesus wept, the chimneys in Liverpool smell better. To think we sent Mary Kate back to this stink, and people charging across the street screaming like madmen. There’s not even any street lights or a proper pavement. What were we thinking of? What in God’s name have we done, sending the poor girl back here?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Mrs O’Keefe. ‘I’ll tell you what, though, not one of them is running as fast as that fella with the sack who just legged it over the church wall.’

Chapter 13

The men pushed past each other as, one by one, with Joe Malone leading the way, they raced out of the shop and across the road into Paddy’s bar. Tig struggled behind on his stick, but Keeva was up at the front with Joe, screaming the names of her three youngest sons as she ran.

Joe thought he saw a fleeting light, the burning end of a cigarette, in the tailor’s shop doorway. ‘You go up and check on the boys,’ he said to Keeva as they entered the bar. He flicked on the light switch as the door banged against the wall. ‘If there’s anything amiss, come straight back down and tell me.’ He wanted to run to the tailor’s shop and see who it was who was in the doorway, but his marines training kicked in: secure the immediate area was his first instinct. He grabbed Keeva by the arm and held her eyes with his. ‘You can do your crying later – the priority is to tell me immediately what you find, or don’t find.’

His words ran like ice down Keeva’s spine. She bounded up the stairs to the room where she’d left her sleeping boys, her heart beating madly, her throat so tight she could barely breathe.

The men followed Joe in a pack, falling in through the door, puffing and gasping.

Joe took control immediately, pointing to each of them, putting his training to good use as one man after the other appeared to be going round in circles, wondering what to do next. ‘Paddy, take the back of the bar and the fridge. You go with him, Seamus. I’ll search the shop at the front. Everyone else, get outside and surround the bar and shop in case he’s still around and hasn’t got away. Michael, go and check the doorway of the tailor’s shop – I think I saw something up there – and then the top by the crossroads and the church.’