Bridget appeared to be aware of her arrival before she got to the door, but the smile on her face disappeared when she saw the expression on Bee’s. ‘I take it you aren’t as happy about coming here this morning as you once were?’ she said, her heart sinking.

‘Oh God, no, that’s not it,’ said Bee. ‘If the truth be known, I’m delighted to be here. Anything to get away from that big lump of an eejit.’

Bridget was horrified. Bee and Captain Bob were known to be inseparable. They functioned as one, not two. When you asked him a question, she would often answer, and the same in reverse, or quite often they would answer together. ‘You can’t be talking about Captain Bob?’

Bee almost pushed past Bridget as she walked through the door. She began unbuttoning her coat so vigorously that one of the buttons flew across the room. ‘Can’t I? Why would that be then? Because to the whole world he’s Mr Wonderful and Marvellous, until of course his wife asks the big man can she learn how to drive the car.’

She untied her scarf and threw it over the back of the settle with such force, it fell down the back. ‘Oh, let me tell you, the face of the Mr Nice Fella totally falls away then, so it does, and do you know what it leaves behind, Breege? A beast, that’s what he is. A beast and an eejit who hasn’t the manners, the good sense or the patience to teach his wife how to drive without losing his temper. That’s who Mr Nice Fella Captain Snarky-Mouth really is, a great big bloody beast.’

Bridget couldn’t help herself, she roared with laughter until the tears threatened to pour down her cheeks. A more unlikely beast she had never met. ‘Oh Holy Mother of God,’ she said, almost crying into the handkerchief she’d removed from the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘Have you heard yourself?’ She blew her nose hard, dabbed at her eyes and shuffled in Porick’s slippers over to the fire to shift the kettle across onto the hot embers.

Bee had removed her coat and flopped down onto the settle next to the fire, folding her arms firmly across her chest, her face set.

‘Why did you want to learn to drive anyway? I didn’t even know women could do that. Isn’t there a law against it in Tarabeg, or something along those lines, since Teresa Gallagher drove the father’s car straight through the church wall and landed upside down on a grave? Lying on top of mad Mick Feenan all night, she was, before anyone found her. You should have heard Paddy. He said that was the closest she’d ever got to being on top of a man, and she chose one who’d been dead for fifteen years.’ Bridget giggled at the memory. ‘Mind you, ’twas lucky she was alive. Not a scratch on her, there wasn’t. She was just filthy; filthy and shaken up a bit, you know. Father Jerry wouldn’t let her near the car after that. What a scold she was for weeks. Blamed everyone except herself for the accident.’