‘I know Dana meant well,’ Michael continued, ‘but everyone is now asking me why was it such a secret and I have no answers. Has she said anything about coming back to work in the shop, Bee? The sooner things get back to normal, the better.’

‘No, Michael, she hasn’t. But do you really think Mary Kate will want to work in the shop?’

‘Of course she would. She hates the idea of Joe’s hotel, so what else is she going to do? I’ll be off to Mammy’s then – you never know, I might get a second breakfast for my troubles.’ Without waiting for a reply, he lifted his cap in the air, waved them goodbye and strode back down the incline towards his car.

Bridget came and stood next to Bee as they both watched him leave.

‘She isn’t at Nola’s, is she?’ Bee said.

‘No, she isn’t,’ Bridget replied.

‘Holy Mother of God, where is she?’

‘I wish I knew, but I can feel her energy; she isn’t far away. Annie is fretting and she has brought it to me. Wherever she is, she cannot have gone far.’

*

Father Jerry could tell that something was wrong the moment Teresa and Keeva walked into church. During communion, instead of taking the Host, Keeva slipped him a note. Once communion was over, much to the surprise of the congregation, he went straight to the dismissal in a matter of seconds. There was much confusion in the church as a result.

‘Are ye feeling all right, Father?’ asked Philomena, who made straight for the altar. Because her own son was a priest, she saw herself as being on the highest social rung in the village, second only to Father Jerry himself, much to the annoyance of many.

‘Oh, get lost, Philomena,’ said Keeva, in a way she’d never spoken to anyone before in her life. She pushed past her. ‘Father, come on, we have to find Michael. Get your vestments off and your car out.’

‘And I’m coming too,’ said Teresa in a tone Father Jerry knew only too well and would not dare argue with.

*

Cat had received a note herself that morning, placed on the doorstep by one of the children. He’d been intercepted by Joe on his way out to the fields.

‘What do we have here?’ Joe asked as he held his hand out to the child. The boy obediently picked up the letter and passed it over. Joe immediately acknowledged the hunger in the boy’s eyes, his cold, white face and threadbare coat, his clothes held together by patches of mismatched darning. ‘Nola, have we something to give this young man for his troubles?’ he shouted. He scanned the envelope and saw that it was addressed to Cat. ‘Cat, it’s the mail boy for you,’ he yelled.

‘Mail boy? What in God’s name is that?’ said Nola as she came to the doorway with a dishcloth in her hand. ‘Oh, ’tis you, Malachy,’ she said to the boy. ‘Have you had your breakfast? Come on in, get some bread and rashers to eat on your way down to school.’