Keeva had realised her mistake as soon as she’d spoken and almost bit her own tongue. ‘Tell you what,’ she said, ‘I know of two good-looking single fellas who are going and they are both a cut above the rest.’

‘Oh aye, who would that be then?’ Peggy dragged a hessian sack of carrots out from the shop doorway and began emptying it into the straw basket, lifting up the ‘Halfpence a pound’ sign she’d written herself to prevent it from being buried. ‘And don’t be saying Declan. He’s not my type. I don’t like the clever ones – not that I’ve met many. They make me feel so stupid, they do.’

‘I wasn’t counting Declan. I was talking about Joe Malone and Pete Shevlin, from up on the farm,’ said Keeva with more than a little triumph in her voice.

It worked. Peggy’s head swivelled sharply round. ‘Joe and Pete? But neither of them ever go to the dance. Joe is always heading out to Galway for his entertainment, or so Mrs Doyle told Father Jerry, who told Teresa Gallagher, who told Rosie, who told me.’

Keeva smiled. ‘Well, that’s not a crime, Peggy. He is from America and used to a bit more by way of entertainment than he can find here in Tarabeg, and that’s a fact. But they are both looking forward to the dance this time, they said so themselves to Tig over in the bar yesterday, and Joe even bought two tickets for them both. Pete gave him the money with no objection.’

Keeva peered hard at Peggy’s face; she was giving nothing away, but she saw the light flash in her eyes. Keeva had long guessed it and now she knew it: Peggy was thrilled at the thought that Joe and Pete were going to the dance, but she was proud, hurt from having been passed over, and felt foolish for having held such high hopes for her life.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Peggy replied. ‘I have to get behind the counter now. Michael is in the back with Father Jerry and he looks none too pleased. He’ll be giving out if he sees me gassing out here.’

Keeva made her way across the road, back to the butcher’s and bar, but before she reached the other side, Peggy called out, ‘Keeva, keep me a ticket. I’ll bring the money over later. I’ll come.’ She thrust both of her hands into her front apron pocket and grinned.

Keeva, delighted, waved and grinned back. ‘I’ll do it right now, before they all go,’ she shouted, ‘and we can walk together, me and you. Come over here before and I’ll do your hair.’

Keeva’s words made Peggy feel warm inside, but she knew that was Keeva’s gift, she did it to everyone she spoke to. She bent over and heaved up a sack of potatoes that Michael had left for her to put outside, a sack that Michael had carried on his shoulders with ease. She lifted up a hank of hair that hung over her shoulder and examined it despairingly. She couldn’t remember when she’d last washed it. Her hair had once defined her. She wore clothes close to rags, but her hair had shone like polished mahogany. Now it felt thick and coarse, filled with peat and potato dust. She flicked it back over her shoulder and huffed and puffed to the door, dragging the weight of a dead man in potatoes and muttering to herself.