Paddy had laid the three pots on the bar and all three men were taking their first draught. Tig had to wait a prolonged moment for his reply.

‘I’m going, I am,’ said Pete.

Paddy had been wiping the bar down with a damp cloth, but he stopped mid sweep and stared open-mouthed at Pete, as did Seamus. Joe, unaware of the significance of Pete’s statement, gulped as he downed a third of his pint in one go.

‘You?’ asked Paddy.

‘I was only joking, Pete.’ Tig came over, stood next to Pete and leant his arm on the bar. ‘You have never in your life been to the dance – what’s making you go now?’

The room fell silent save for the flames crackling in the hearth and Joe smacking his lips in appreciation. They waited patiently for Pete’s reply.

‘I thought I would just give it a go, just for a change, that’s all,’ said Pete. ‘Nothing more to it than that.’ Although he tried his hardest to look casual, he looked anything but, arousing suspicion in the others.

‘Get yourself out of here,’ said Seamus. ‘I’ve known you since you were knee high, Pete Shevlin – you think I believe that? You’ve never danced at a ceilidh in your life.’

‘I swear to God ’tis true, I’m going.’ To change the subject, Pete leant forward to address Father Jerry, who was standing further down the bar. ‘Will you be there, Father?’

‘Aye, that I will. Someone has to keep an eye on things.’

Tig, who, although he had never danced in his life, had been to every one of the dances since he was a boy, knew that what Father Jerry meant was he would be hovering around outside, ensuring that no flirting couples were led into temptation as they sought privacy and sinfulness in nearby fields or boreens.

‘Father here is looking for Michael,’ said Paddy to Seamus with a raise of his eyebrow.

‘What news would it be that ye have now?’ asked Seamus. ‘You can tell me, Father. I’ll be seeing Michael tonight and I can save you the job.’

Father Jerry looked put out but knew that he could not refuse the request from Michael’s own father. ‘I have news from the priest in Belmullet. The Brogan mammy had a letter from their daughter in Liverpool – the nurse, Dana. She has come across a Mary Kate from Tarabeg.’

A grin crossed Seamus’s face. His beloved granddaughter! Just the mention of her name brought a smile to his lips. They hadn’t seen and had rarely even heard from her for over two years. He was well used to his loved ones leaving. Every one of his daughters and sons apart from Michael had left, never to return, and he and Nola had only the memories of their childhoods to sustain them through the long winter nights, when they recalled them, one day and one child at a time. But with Mary Kate it was different. He’d always known she would return. Daedio had told him so. She had no notion of the fortune that awaited her, keeping warm in dollar rolls behind the bricks in the farmhouse fireplace, but as Nola often reminded him, ‘She doesn’t need to know. Fate will do its work.’