‘Oh no, it’s not black magic at all ... oh, Jesus! I didn’t mean that. I meant the Muslims, Father. He says they’ve to let out the blood and pray over it.’

‘That’s as may be,’ said Canon Byrne, ‘but you’ve the three children and that’s a responsibility – to God, to the Church and to them.’

‘Four, Father,’ she said, lifting her head up.

‘Is it?’ he said, looking at me, like I was going to become two people, but I could see he was on the back foot from the way my mum wasn’t having any of him not knowing who we were and set her shoulders back, and closed her lips.

‘Well, there’s Connor here –’ he said, and my mum flashed her eyes at me like he’d just made it worse but I shouldn’t say anything. My face went hot and flushed and I felt my ears burning.

‘He doesn’t know who we are, Mum,’ Busola said with her thumb still in her mouth.

‘Sh! you!’ and she shook Busola off her arm, even though Busola didn’t budge and grabbed it back and leaned on it.

‘Now, Bridie, you’re doing your best. You haven’t been in the best of health and you’ve a big family. I know the sacral burden falls to women, and that’s good for Kathleen, but that’s no excuse not bringing Connor into the Church, is it? He’s not in catechism.’

‘Bernadette Mary,’ Busola said, taking her thumb out her mouth and giving him her scary blank stare. ‘And Jesus loves me. Sister Anne says.’

‘Now, go on, you two. Go and watch television,’ my mum said, but I was stuck and Busola wasn’t moving.

Canon Byrne wiped the bald top of his head with his hand and nodded, and gave a big sigh. He looked at my mum, and at Busola and at me. ‘We’ll have to start again,’ he said. ‘How is it the chickens are not coming to church? Oh, for God’s sake! The children aren’t coming? And is there anything I can do to help?’

He took a big gulp of his tea and put the cup down gently on the table, giving my mum a long look, and making peace. ‘I’m old now, Bridie,’ he could see an opening, ‘and I can’t for the life of me pin a name to every last chicken I’ve on my conscience. Truth be told, I’d want to go home. Knowing full well I’ll never get back there. Couldn’t tell you the way. And why would I want to leave you and your beautiful children when they never loved us enough in Ireland to keep a hold? Isn’t that where we are?’

‘It is,’ she said.