‘Aye, not even an Irish one can do that, and he was never one of us, anyway,’ said Bridget.

Nola set the bottle triumphantly on the kitchen table.

‘You bring nothing with you into this world and you can own as many manor houses and estates as you like, but you can’t be taking a single one out with you and isn’t that the truth,’ Bridget declared.

Both women began to giggle as they imagined what Seamus and Porick would say if they knew what it was they had brought back with them.

‘Seamus only nearly went and caught me,’ said Nola. ‘The bottle is that large, I had to slip the sleeve of me coat over the neck to stop the ghillie catching sight of it. I’ve never seen one that big before.’

‘Is that the whiskey you’re talking about, Nola, or your wedding night?’

Both women roared with laughter and sloshed as much whiskey into their cups as they did tea.

Never one to let a moment alone with Bridget be wasted, Nola gulped down the warm tea and whiskey and held out her cup. ‘Read my tea leaves, would you?’ she said.

Bridget peered over the rim and wrinkled her nose. ‘You need more sugar in it and you need to spin it around a couple more times.’

Nola did as she was told and, after the next serving, tipped the cup over onto the saucer with great speed and dexterity, handed it to Bridget and sat back in the rocking chair. Feeling like she lived the best life on earth, Nola rocked to and fro in the chair that had once belonged to her mother-in-law, Annie. On occasion, it rocked all by itself in the middle of the night, and they all knew that was Annie, back to check that they were all doing just what they should.

Nola didn’t have to wait long for Bridget to give her the news. ‘She’s here,’ she said.

‘Who is?’ Nola rocked forwards and, swivelling around in the chair, looked towards the front door.

‘Not here, you daft old cow. Mary Kate, she’s in the village.’

Nola’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Holy Mother of God, is she? Well, isn’t that the best news. No matter what has happened, if she’s here, she’s safe.’

Bridget was smiling, but her expression quickly darkened. She picked up the bottle of Powers, poured some more into her cup and took a gulp. ‘Feck,’ she said, with so much feeling that Nola rocked forwards again.

‘What? What is it, Bridget? Tell me.’

‘No, I might be wrong. It can’t be. Go and make more tea and give me a fresh cup and I’ll give it another go.’

Nola made the tea in silence and with a growing sense of dread. She did not like this one little bit. Bridget looked serious; she was whispering to herself, which was always a bad sign.

While Nola busied about the range, Bridget rocked and stared into the fire, waiting, hoping it was a fluke and that the next cup would tell her something altogether different. She leant back as she called upon Annie for help. ‘Are ye there, Annie?’ she whispered. ‘Is anyone there?’