Mary Kate blew her nose. ‘I’ll go up to the farm,’ she said. ‘To Granny Nola and Granddad Seamus. I’ll stay with them, in Daddy’s old room.’

Bee’s heart sank. How could she tell her that an American relative had taken up residence at the farm and was himself sleeping in Michael’s old room? The farm, with Pete and Joe there, was not a place for her right now. Bee instinctively knew that some of the changes in Tarabeg would not be to Mary Kate’s liking. Change was slow, but it was definitely happening.

She was spared the explanation as they both heard the front door crash open. Michael, slightly the worse for drink, half stumbled into the room with Rosie hot on his heels.

‘Captain Bob said he thought he saw you at the bus stop,’ were his only words as he looked at his daughter. ‘Why didn’t you call and let me know? I would have come to Galway to meet you off the train.’ His mind was racing. This would be a fresh start for the Malones. It had to be. Hadn’t he and his daughter now experienced the same pain? She had suffered enough.

Rosie didn’t speak but instead, in complete silence, pulled one of the painted pine chairs around the table next to Mary Kate and slipped her hand into her stepdaughter’s. ‘The words will never fall from our lips,’ she said. ‘We will tell no one, we will protect you. Michael and you had better go to see Father Jerry and tell him to call on Mrs Brogan and say she was entirely wrong and that Dana must have some fanciful nature to be coming up with stories like that.’

Mary Kate’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘You know?’

‘Aye, we do.’ Rosie pushed the hair away from Mary Kate’s wet cheeks. ‘Your one, Dana, she wrote home to her mammy. She meant well.’

Mary Kate’s cheeks flushed red. She had never imagined such a thing might happen, but how could she have? She had thought of nothing else but Nicholas. ‘I loved him, Rosie, with all my heart.’

It was as if Michael wasn’t in the room as she looked into the eyes of another woman, her stepmother, and met understanding and compassion.

Mary Kate’s face was streaming with fresh tears and Rosie’s heart folded in sympathy for her. How could she tell her that she would love again, when enough time had passed. She couldn’t; now was not the moment.

‘If people know, will I have to… leave the village?’ Mary Kate sobbed and stared dejectedly at the table, her head low. ‘I can’t bring shame on you all. I’ll go back to Liverpool.’

‘No, you will not.’ Rosie spoke in a tone that brooked no challenge. ‘If we never confirm that the story is true, it won’t be. No one will be any the wiser apart from us, and haven’t we all been through enough in the past to know how to protect you from this. Jesus, this is nothing. Your own grandmother was murdered in cold blood. The Malones have dealt with worse than a bit of unholy scandal. This is a village where everyone talks, but not here, not now, with this. Not one of us ever says a word to anyone. Now’ – she looked up at her husband and her eyes were hard – ‘we must be united as one and speak to no one. Michael, do you understand? What we know stays in this house and doesn’t go any further. It’s family business. You will have to be a better actress than Debbie Reynolds herself, but I know you, Mary Kate, you have great spirit. And if you don’t know who Debbie Reynolds is, ask Peggy. There isn’t nothing that has been written about any actress that Peggy doesn’t know.’