Mrs O’Keefe was more pleased than alarmed at Mary Kate’s reaction. It was a sign of passion, proof that Mary Kate was coming back to life, and what was more, it was raw anger, which she knew from experience was a phase she would have to pass through.

‘Well, there’s nothing to be done to stop him,’ said Michael, taken aback by the venom in her words. ‘A man is entitled to do as he wishes with his own money, and meself, I have no objection to his plan. He will bring more jobs and tourists to Tarabeg and that means more money. There’s nothing wrong with that, Mary Kate.’

‘Yes, there is,’ Mary Kate fired back. ‘The whole place will change. It won’t be like Tarabeg any more. He’s an oaf. A loud-mouthed show-off. He’s despicable.’

‘Oh no, Mary Kate, you have him all wrong. He is not. Nola and Seamus love him, as does everyone around here.’

‘We don’t need him or his money or his bloody tourists.’ Mary Kate turned in the seat, folded her arms and glared at her father.

This was not the daughter that Michael knew. He stared ahead through the windscreen and raised his hand to Teresa and the woman standing next to her, and to Declan, who had called into the post office for his tobacco. The children were in the playground at the front of the school and Rosie was standing there with her tea in her hand, watching. Declan stopped and nodded at Michael and Mary Kate.

‘That’s Declan,’ said Mary Kate over her shoulder to Cat and Mrs O’Keefe. ‘He’s my friend. A good man, not like big-mouth Joe.’ She waved to him and he came over to the car.

‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ he said as he poked his head through the passenger window. ‘We will be needing a hotel at this rate.’

Mary Kate looked horrified. ‘Oh no, not you as well.’ She pressed the handle down on the door and almost pushed Declan over.

‘Jesus, Mary Kate,’ said Michael, struggling to contain his temper. ‘You see Mrs McGinty there, next to Teresa, in the shawl with the big hole on the shoulder and the shoes with a rag tied over the front to hold them together? I think she might disagree with you. And the children who come down the hills from the farms and walk into school with no shoes on their feet – their mammies might have something to say too. There has to be more to life than scratching a meagre living from the land in the pouring rain, Mary Kate. Everyone should have the opportunity to work where they’ve grown up, close to their families, and not have to travel thousands of miles to earn a crust, do you not think?’

If Mary Kate agreed with a single word of her father’s lecture, she did not show it. ‘No, I do not,’ she answered, her jaw set. ‘I’ve told you what I think. ’Tis a disgrace and so is he. Who does he think he is – Lord Malone?’