The previous day, the children had made their First Confession, filing in one at a time to kneel in front of Slattery’s grim profile. Davy had been first, but was given an interminable penance, kneeling in the pew while the others came and went. Cushla thought about going to Bradley, who was standing by the entrance to the crying chapel, but, remembering the revenge he had taken on the McGeowns for her insolence, said nothing. Eventually Tommy strode up the aisle and pulled Davy off his knees. He marched him towards the door, a hand between his shoulder blades. Slattery had left the confessional and joined Bradley. Tommy stopped dead in front of them. I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, he said, but it’s not right. Cushla had followed them out. Tommy lit a cigarette at the bottom of the steps and began walking, Davy trotting beside him. Cushla broke into a run and, on hearing her footsteps, Davy turned and hurtled towards her.

I didn’t do anything really bad, miss.

I know you didn’t, she said, her hand on his head.

He said I’m a bad boy.

You’re not a bad boy.

Come on, you, Tommy said, dragging Davy away from her. She pleaded with them to wait and went to her car. She found the bag from the religious shop in her glove compartment – she had planned to drive to the house with it later – and gave it to Davy. He opened it slowly, showing the contents to Tommy as if they needed to be vetted. As she looked at Davy now, shuffling uncomfortably in his Communion suit, she understood how very hard it would be to fix things.

The Apostolic Ladies had decorated the church with white and yellow flowers, and Slattery’s homily was notable for an absence of references to extreme sectarian violence. The children tripped up the aisle to receive the host without incident, efficient now at the flick of the tongue, the inclination of the head, the move of the fingertips to the brow. The Father, Son, the Holy Ghost, amen. When the choir began to sing ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, sniffling started, women rooting in handbags for tissues. Cushla looked up at the gallery. Gerry Devlin’s face appeared over the railing. He held up a thumb at her. A new crowd-pleaser.