Mrs O’Keefe looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t know, Cat. Her family know absolutely nothing about what’s been going on with her here in Liverpool. She’s been living a double life: one life that she’s constructed for them in her letters home, and another life, the real one, here. She has almost cut herself off from her family, for fear of them finding out about her and Nicholas living together and all. She hasn’t even been to Mass for two years.’

Joan, who had never missed Mass, tutted loudly.

Cat’s heart sank with the disappointment. ‘Aye, well, if you ask me, it’s when something like this happens that you need family the most. And besides, Mary Kate is going to have to make a big decision. What does she do now – go back to Ireland or stay here?’

‘Jesus, who would want to be her up in that bed now. If she goes back, she’ll be leaving with nothing to her name and her heart full of sadness.’ Mrs O’Keefe knocked back the third glass of whiskey almost in one and stood. ‘Leave it, Cat, it’s not our decision. There’s time enough for all that. She has us for now. Sleep in the spare room, Cat. Or if you’re worried about the children, I can get you a taxi back.’

Cat shook her head as she drained the last drop from her glass. ‘No need. My neighbour, Pam, is sleeping with them. Besides, we all need to be here tomorrow. It’s going to be the hardest day of that girl’s life.’

*

Dana Brogan sat down at her desk in the nurses’ home and set about her weekly task, one she dared not miss. As she picked up her pen, there was a knock on the door. It was her good friend Pammy Tanner.

‘Got any washing to go in, Dana? I’m taking mine down now.’

‘No, thanks,’ said Dana, looking up. ‘I’m just writing my letter home. We had a lovely doctor die on the ward today – Dr Marcus – and I’m writing to tell Mammy because his wife, Mary Kate, only lives in the next village to us. Everyone knows the Malones and Mammy will want to pay her respects.’

‘Fancy that,’ said Pammy. ‘I did hear – it was all over the hospital. Who was the smart woman who used to come in every day?’

‘I think it must have been his sister. A right scold, she was. Anyway, if I don’t let Mammy know so she can tell people, I’ll never hear the last of it.’

*

‘Mary Kate! Mary Kate!’

She heard her name being called through a fog; the voice pulled her up through the folds of sleep. As she opened her eyes, she saw Joan standing at the side of the bed, a steaming cup of tea in her hand.

‘It’s gone nine,’ said Joan by way of an apology for looming over her.

Mary Kate rubbed her eyes and turned her head away from Joan, towards the window. She was disoriented. Why was she in her old room at Mrs O’Keefe’s? Why was Joan bringing her tea? For a brief moment her mind raced ahead, and then, with the force of a brick landing on her chest from a great height, the realisation dawned. She had lost Nicholas.