He’d slipped the knife from his own heart and thrust it into Peggy’s, or so he thought, and he felt even worse now for having done so. Hastening his step and without another word, ashamed of himself, he moved away from Peggy and caught up with one of the farmhands, leaving her alone and bewildered at the rear. He could have kicked himself, bitten off his tongue, run into the Taramore and drowned himself a hundred times over. He’d seen the look of hurt and confusion on her face as he glanced at her from under the brim of his cap and had immediately regretted his words.

He liked Joe, and he loved Peggy – it was the thought of the two of them together that made him so miserable. He groaned with the pain of it every morning when he woke and had to spend another day asking God in his prayers why, if he’d made his own heart desire Peggy so awfully much, he had made Peggy’s heart fall for Joe. ‘Have you made a mistake there, Father?’ he asked every night, and when there was no answer forthcoming, he knew that a lifetime of pain was to be his lot because with few single women in Tarabeg of a suitable age, them all having departed for Liverpool or America the second they left school, it would only be a matter of time before Joe took Peggy to be his wife.

*

Bridget and Nola had left the wake long before anyone else. Seamus had remained with Bridget’s husband Porick and had put Nola and Bridget in the horse and cart. Nola was not used to this. ‘Will we be all right? We won’t fall out, will we?’ she said to him.

‘What’s that in your pocket?’ Seamus asked her as he patted the rug down over her knee.

‘What pocket?’ she said. ‘Nothing at all. Now help Bridget up, will ye. I don’t like this, Seamus, I think I’d rather walk.’

‘Nola, you know what this old nag is like on the way home. You don’t have to do anything, he would know the way if he was blind. You just hold on for the last stretch at the top of the boreen, once the old house comes into sight, as he will go at a fierce pace and have you out of the seat then, so he will.’

Seamus had been right. Nola had no need to do anything other than rest the reins lightly in her hands as the old nag took them safely home.

Once they were inside the house and the fire had been encouraged to roar and the kettle to sing, Nola stuck her hand into the oversized pocket of her coat and began easing out a huge bottle of Powers whiskey. She grinned.

Bridget looked shocked. ‘Nola, what are you doing? Did you take that from the manor?’

‘Holy Mother of God, Bridget, don’t you be pulling your face at me. ’Tis not a sin – you can’t steal from a man who is already dead. He won’t be wanting it where he is and it was only going down the ghillie’s neck. I’m sure a dead man can’t take his Powers to heaven with him, can he now.’