And get this, Mammy – the day Dr Marcus died, he said to me the one place on earth he wanted to visit before he passed was his Mary Kate’s precious Tarabeg. Imagine that – he wanted to visit Mayo, Mammy.

Father Jerry carefully folded the letter then clasped his hands in prayer and sighed, drawing his thoughts inwards and waiting for the Holy Ghost to find him and help him deepen his meaningful prayer for the family he was devoted to. As he closed his eyes, it was Daedio who came to him as clear as though he were in his regular seat in the pew before him. Despite the lingering smell of the holy smoke from the swinging thurible at Mass, he thought he could sense the old man, long dead though he was now. He could feel his warmth before him, and one of their last conversations came to him, as though Daedio were whispering the words into the empty church.

He closed his eyes tight and pressed his palms together as the letter crackled in the sleeve of his vestments, dragging his thoughts back to Mary Kate and her predicament. She had been through so much in her short life; Father Jerry had been there long before she was born and had witnessed it all. He had held her mother, Sarah, in his arms as she took her last breath, and Sarah’s mother, Angela, before her. His most ardent daily prayers had always been for the Malones and he lived in fear for Mary Kate; he did not want her to die in his arms as her mother had. He prayed day and night against the curse that had haunted the family and which, despite his best efforts, he’d been unable to dispel.

He’d made her great-grandfather, Daedio, a promise during a visit to his bedside up at the farm just days before he’d died, and it was that day which was now at the front of his thoughts.

‘Look out for Mary Kate, Father,’ Daedio had whispered. ‘Shona cursed her – do you remember the night?’

Father Jerry had held a drink to Daedio’s lips and had taken great pleasure in being able to pass on news that had allowed the old man to finally die in peace. Shona the gypsy, who was older than anyone could guess, had cursed the Malones for many years. ‘Shona is dead, Daedio. I heard it from the priest at Newport. She died only last week. You did it, Daedio, you outlived her.’

He had never seen the gaze of a dying man shine so bright with relief. Rheumy and red with age, Daedio’s eyes had stared deeply into Father Jerry’s. ‘Is that a fact, Father? Do you know that for sure?’

Father Jerry had smiled down at him. ‘Daedio, I’m a man of God, would I lie to you? I spoke to the man who buried her himself.’

Daedio had slipped from his hands back onto the pillow and to Father Jerry’s utter surprise had turned his head to the fire and said, ‘Annie, do you hear that? You can come and get me now.’ He was talking to his long-dead wife.