‘That’s a fact. I don’t think they’ll stay as long as me though. Teresa, I want the first dance of the evening with yourself down at the long hall and no arguments. I’ll take you in the car meself and I’ll pick you up at seven. You’ve still a few days to look out your best frock and your high heels.’

Miss Gallagher blushed like a seventeen-year-old. ‘Joe Malone, you are a card,’ she said. ‘May the good Lord forgive you.’

‘Don’t forget your glad rags now, or I’ll be very disappointed.’ He caught sight of Mary Kate glowering at him from the post office steps. ‘Good afternoon to you too, Mary Kate,’ he shouted.

Mary Kate narrowed her eyes. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Malone. Have you bought any new hotels today? How about Paddy’s shop and bar? I reckon he would sell it to you for a good price, and then you could turn it into one of those big American diners or something similar. Something else that will make Tarabeg unrecognisable and life here intolerable for everyone, and then we’ll all move out. Isn’t that what you want?’

Joe frowned, his feelings hurt. He chose not to reply. ‘Stuck-up madam,’ he hissed as he revved the engine, pulled out the choke and rolled away down the main street.

Mary Kate turned on her heel and marched into the post office, aware that her red boots were causing a stir all of their own.

‘Now, now,’ said Mrs O’Keefe as they walked in together. ‘I can see that anger is bubbling up inside you, but it isn’t Mr Malone’s fault that your Nicholas died or that life is moving on. You must remember that.’

Mary Kate felt chastened and for a ha’penny would have run back down the steps. To where, she had no idea, but Tarabeg was not doing what she’d hoped it would. She felt far from settled, and Mrs O’Keefe was right, her grief was turning to anger – with God, and the world, but mostly towards Lavinia Marcus, the woman who’d caused her Nicholas so much pain. The woman plagued her nightmares, which had been all too frequent recently. She made Mary Kate feel emotions she didn’t know she had.

Cat walked over to Teresa Gallagher. ‘Get you, you have a date for the dance,’ she said, grinning. She took Miss Gallagher by the arm and began helping her into the shop. Declan looked on, pausing in admiration as he watched Cat’s easy charm with Father Jerry’s housekeeper. He flashed Cat a big smile before he hurried back to the schoolyard. Cat caught it and threw her own smile back at him, over her shoulder.

The chatter in the post office was non-stop, the volley of questions thrown Cat’s way unremitting.

‘Did ye ever meet Father Doherty? He went out to Liverpool. From Ballycroy, he was.’

The questions came one after the other and Cat was dismayed that she had never met even one of the people she was asked about. Even so, she made a good job of giving the impression that she had. Mrs O’Keefe laughed when she heard her say, ‘Oh, everyone knows the O’Sheays. They deliver our coal, and the milk, one of them runs the Echo, and they have the corner shop on the end of the Dock Road.’