Confronted by his anger, Harriet failed to interpret the underlying guilt, but instead took it as indication that her mother had been correct, he was trying to conceal something. ‘I’ll bet you’ve been nowhere near the Institute. You’ve been coming here all the time, haven’t you?’

‘I haven’t!’

‘I don’t believe you!’ came the blunt accusation.

‘And what if I have?’ he demanded testily. ‘What has it got to do with anybody else? You’ve no right to be following me!’

Harriet grasped his upper arm in an act of concern. ‘Look, Nye, it’s only for your own good. We can see how you miss Ellen. I still can’t believe she’s gone so it must be ten times worse for you, losing your wife …’

At the sound of her name his belly flipped again. How could he have let himself be caught out in such shameful fashion? Now he guessed how his brother must have felt.

‘But you can’t drown your sorrows, you know,’ said Harriet. ‘You’ll just pickle your liver, and then where will your children be?’

When her victim continued to frown at her blankly, obviously unwilling to admit his problem, she added a lively incitement. ‘If you think you’ve been covering it up with peppermints you’re wrong!’

In the wonderful realisation that he was not being accused of anything worse, Niall felt his chest flood with relief, eventually demanding with a forced, dry bark, ‘You think I’m turning into an alcoholic?’

‘You might not accept it, but this is how it starts,’ reasoned Harriet.

But this evinced only humour, Niall shaking his head and his face creased with laughter, such was his relief. ‘You daft bugger! How could I afford it with your mam doling out my spending money?’

At this, Harriet let go of his arm and paused to consider the matter, her face undergoing a gradual dawning.

‘In fact,’ Niall went on strenuously, ‘I’ve been told off by t’landlord for making my pint last an hour and a half. Come and ask him if you don’t believe me.’ It was a safe enough invitation; she would never be seen in a bar.

‘No, no!’ His sister-in-law was looking somewhat relieved herself now. ‘I’ll take your word for it … of course it makes sense … sorry, it’s just that we’ve all been so worried for you, Nye.’ She inclined her square jaw in an attitude of repentance, her glassy grey orbs searching his.

‘Thanks,’ he said with gratitude, though suddenly awash with renewed penitence at so deceiving her. ‘But don’t be. I just need to get out of the house for a while. These dark evenings are getting me down …’

‘Well, I hope you’re not staring into your glass, moping.’ She wagged a finger at him, though satisfied enough with his explanation.

‘No, there’s usually a game of darts or dominoes to occupy me.’ That was true; at least there would have been had he wanted to disrupt his happier pursuit for a more trivial one.

Accepting this at last, Harriet apologised again. ‘Well, I’m sorry we thought the worst of you. Carry on and enjoy yourself.’ And with that she backed away into the darkness, saying she would go home now and vindicate him with her mother and sister.

Glad of her departure, Niall considered himself lucky, told himself he should be more careful and should not pursue this doomed liaison. And at that moment he seriously considered it. But, pushing open the door to the saloon, his eyes lit up as they settled upon Boadicea, and just as quickly, his former resolution was quashed.

Tonight would mark a turning point, he decided, as she greeted his arrival at the bar more warmly, more personally than usual. There was a definite connection between them – he was sure of it from her eyes. The exchange with Harriet had fired him up. Upon asking for his pint in the normal fashion, he found the nerve to blurt an additional request. ‘Could you get tomorrow night off and come out with me?’

There was fleeting disconcertment. Then Boadicea raised her fair eyebrows and, with a rather mocking chuckle, said, ‘It’s good to tell you’re not accustomed to pubs.’

Taken aback by this unexpected response, he looked blank.

‘Saturday’s our busiest night!’ she declared.

His embarrassed laughter joined hers. ‘Oh aye, sorry, I was forgetting what day it is!’ She had done that to him – made it so he could think of nothing else. Sometimes he was unsure what planet he was on, never mind what day of the week it was. Undeterred, he blurted quickly, ‘Sunday then?’

‘I’m afraid I’ll be working that too. Sorry.’ Wearing an apologetic smile, she finished pulling his pint and handed it over.

Not wanting to sound desperate in asking which night she was free, he nodded quickly, handed over payment and murmured, ‘Maybe another time then,’ and he hid his discomfiture in his glass.

Boadicea dealt him another brief smile, though not another word, before moving on to serve someone else. Receiving no encouragement, Niall retired to his usual corner to nurse his wounded pride.

Deeply disappointed and utterly confused by her attitude – one minute seeming to welcome his attentions, the next giving him the brush-off – he chose not to go to the pub on Saturday, almost managing to remove his mind from her by helping his children prepare for their coming roles in the St Patrick’s Day procession.

At least, though, he did manage to grab sight of her on Sunday, if only at Mass. She looked so lovely, so angelic with her rosy cheeks, and her golden hair curling from under a new green hat, he couldn’t understand why no other man seemed as interested as he. But to feast his eyes on her would give him away, though the glimpse he allowed himself was totally insufficient, and the thought of another evening without her unbearable.

His eye on the clock for opening time, directly after tea he decided to risk his mother-in-law’s wrath and visit Boadicea at her place of work.

There were more stunned faces, naturally, over this detour from the normal Sabbath routine.

‘Not going to Benediction? But you always love to go!’

It was indeed Niall’s favourite service, but, ‘Not tonight. I don’t feel like it.’ However, it was obvious he was intent on some venture for he had risen.

‘Where you off then, Dad?’ asked Juggy.

‘Mm?’ Niall examined himself in the mirror. Seeing that the sprig of shamrock in his lapel was rather wilted, he went to the scullery and delved into the bucket for a fresh one and was pinning it on as his daughter asked again: ‘Where you off?’

He looked down at her now. ‘Oh … nowhere.’

‘The same place he goes the rest of the week,’ muttered Nora, casting a tight-lipped expression at Harriet and Dolly, who looked similarly disapproving.

Niall ignored this, but catching the six-year-old’s fearful expression, he addressed her more gently. ‘Don’t worry, Jug, I’ll be here when you get home from Mass.’

Hardly noting that his daughter was not fully reassured, he turned to Nora. ‘Would you mind taking the kids?’

‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ retorted his mother-in-law somewhat sniffily at being taken for granted.

‘Thanks.’ Warning his children to be good, Niall went directly along the passage to the front door, as he did so overhearing a stern addendum from Nora.

‘A good job there are more dutiful souls around to maintain the children’s religion whilst others fall prey to the evils of drink!’

But he chose not to heed the disparaging comment, and soon his entire thoughts were once again fixed on Boadicea, determined that she would be swayed.

Needing no other alibi than it was Sunday, his weekday casual garb was displaced by a navy-blue double-breasted suit and tie, a silver watch chain gleamed upon his waistcoat, his shoes were buffed to a high gloss, and his dark hair also groomed. How could she turn him down? There was a fresh confidence to his step, a sparkle to his eye, as he swung open the door of the saloon, marred only by the fact that she was not behind the bar when he arrived, and so did not immediately witness this new Mr Doran. For the moment that did not concern him, for she might be serving in the snug. It was busier tonight, being St Patrick’s Day, the bar all decorated in green.

Provided with his glass of Guinness by the landlord, Niall remained at the counter in the expectation of chatting to Boadicea when she did finally come around this side, occasionally running a finger around the inside of his starched collar, and admiring his reflection in the mirrored glass behind the bar, what little there was of it between the bottles of liquor and the row of green pennants. The pint had been three-quarters consumed by the time he accepted that she was not coming.

Forcing himself to sound casual, swilling the dregs of his pint round his glass as a prelude to buying another, he remarked, ‘Barmaid’s late tonight.’

‘She doesn’t work on a Sunday,’ Mr Langan informed him.

Niall’s heart dropped. And then he immediately stiffened, the surge of disappointment being quickly overwhelmed by anger that she had lied to him – lied simply to get rid of his unwanted advances. Tossing the last of his drink down his throat, he wished the man a curt good night and left.

‘Not going out?’ enquired Nora on Monday evening, when her son-in-law remained in his work clothes for longer than was usual – long after the children were in bed – and sat in preoccupied fashion staring into the fire.

Still deep in thought and brooding over being made a fool of, Niall took a moment to glance up at her and the other women who closely examined him, then shook the frown from his brow. ‘No, I think I’ll have an early night …’

Harriet and Dolly exchanged looks of relief that he was not resorting to alcohol again; though both were to feel concerned that his recent good mood should have relapsed so quickly, as he added in lacklustre voice, ‘I just can’t bring meself to go to bed.’

Nora empathised with his reluctance. ‘Too much room in it, I know. ’Sfunny, when my Dom was alive I was forever bashing and prodding him, trying to grab meself more space, but afterwards …’ Her voice trailed off in a wistful sigh.

His mind somewhere else, Niall picked at the hard skin on his workman’s fingers. ‘Seems a bit daft, me having that double bed all to meself, and the rest of you squashed in together. Why don’t we have a shuffle round, and I share with the boys?’ His suggestion came out of the blue.

Though it choked Nora to say it, she broached a possibility; for if one brother could do it, then so could the other. ‘Well, I didn’t like to suggest it meself. I thought maybe you might decide you want to get married again some day.’

He looked shocked that she might have guessed what had been behind his nocturnal jaunts, and tried to read what was in her eyes whilst delivering adamant rebuttal. ‘No, no, there’ll never be anyone else for me.’ After his humiliation by Boadicea, he had finally decided to be content with his lot. ‘Unless of course I lose my chief cook and bottle-washer,’ came the half-jocular addendum.

His mother-in-law looked gladdened by this show of allegiance, her masculine face and steely grey eyes projecting warmth, as much as they were able. ‘No, I’ll always be here to see you’re fed and watered. I just thought I’d make sure. Wouldn’t want to hold you back … I should have known you better,’ she concluded fondly. Harriet and Dolly too looked pleased about his loyal decision.

‘Well then,’ Nora rubbed her hands thoughtfully, as if intending business, ‘if you’re quite sure, Nye, we will have that shift about tomorrow.’

His soulless nod conveyed certainty. ‘If you wait till I get home I’ll give you a ha—’

‘Nay, just you leave it to us!’ Nora’s tone impressed upon him that she would not dream of this. ‘You work hard enough as it is, me and the lasses’ll organise everything, won’t we?’

‘Well, if you don’t mind—’ began Niall.

‘Mind?’ cried Harriet, springing up to make cups of cocoa and tweaking his cheek playfully in passing. ‘I thought you’d never ask! After twelve years of having our Dolly’s toes stuck in me face, I’ll be up at the crack of dawn to turf you out of bed.’

There was soft laughter then, and discussion over who would sleep where.

Hence, for Niall, it was his last night alone. From then onwards, he would sleep alongside his boys.

For a whole week he managed to stay away from the pub. Yet try as he might, he could not forget Boadicea, nor her lie that had so hurt and insulted him. It niggled at him day after day, demanding an explanation. If nothing else, he would have that.

Staving off any qualm from Nora and her daughters, he convinced them that tonight’s venture was not a regression to his previous drinking habits. ‘But I reckon I should force meself to go out once a week, if only for the sake of sanity – mindst, I could have changed me mind by the time I come in!’ That was certainly true, the outcome dependant on Boadicea’s apology.

It might have been an idea, thought Niall after a catastrophic evening, to grant her the chance to offer one first, before steaming in with a smart comment. The look on her face as he said it…

‘You must have long arms, being able to pull pints when you’re somewhere else.’

It was obvious she had translated the remark, for she had the grace to blush. ‘Oh, yes, Mr Langan said you’d been in …’ Slightly flustered, she picked up a glass and prepared to fulfil his requirement.

‘Get a better offer, did you?’ He did not meet her eye, hoping it was obvious that underneath his stiff exterior he was furious with her.

‘No,’ she said firmly, grasping the ivory handle of the pump. ‘I was at home. I had things to do.’

‘If you didn’t want to go out with me why didn’t you just say?’

‘It’s not that …’ She fought for an explanation. ‘I was just thunderstruck that you’d even ask. I wasn’t expecting it from a married man. I didn’t know what to say.’

Niall’s blue eyes brimmed with indignation. ‘You think I’d ask you out if I was married?’

Her own eyes were cynical. ‘A bachelor has no reason to visit a pub in order to get his newspaper read. Sure, I know a married man looking for a bolthole when I see one.’

‘Oh, so now I’m a liar as well!’ He was grossly insulted.

‘If I’m wrong then I beg your pardon, but either way it proves we don’t really know each other, doesn’t it?’ Ill at ease, she worked the pump, filling the selected glass to a creamy head. ‘I think it’s best if we just keep our conversation for the pub.’

‘Suits me! On second thoughts, don’t bother with that!’ And thus saying he turned his back on the glass she had presented, went directly from the bar, and was to prowl in the darkness for half an hour in the hope of composing himself by the time he got home.

He might have succeeded in pulling the wool over Nora’s eyes. He might even have convinced himself that all was well, as he went on to perform his usual tasks during the ten days that followed. But all was not well, for despite every effort he failed to overcome his obsession with Boadicea. His face might often bear a smile but his heart was a vacuum. And eventually, that inconsolable longing was to drive him back.

That others might suffer because of this decision he was hardly to notice. Coming home that evening, his sole intention to fill his belly before going straight out again to The Angel, he found that the rain that drenched his clothing had also driven his children indoors. Juggy and her friend had set up a ‘house’ in the passage, laying out blankets and pillows for their dolls, talking to them as if they were naughty children. On seeing her adored father, the little girl beamed, and looked set to jump up.

‘Do you want me to come in now, Dad?’ she asked him.

But, intent on one pursuit, Niall was to stride over the obstruction she had created. ‘No, you’re all right to play for a while, love,’ he told her, briefly ruffling her hair before moving straight to the living room, and leaving a crestfallen face in his wake.

Her siblings were to fare no better, their pleasure at seeing him rewarded with a smile of lesser value, the younger ones’ request for a bedtime story receiving short shrift.

‘Oh, I’m a bit tired tonight, lads,’ was all their father murmured abstractedly, as he gulped down his tea. ‘Maybe somebody else’ll oblige.’

‘I’ll read you one,’ a kind-hearted Dominic told his little brothers. But it did not escape his notice that Father seemed not too tired to go out again.

The moment Niall walked into that pub his spirits miraculously soared. However, they were soon to plummet, for the object of his dreams appeared not to have missed him at all. She was chatting to some other man when he went up to the counter, and seemed reluctant to tear herself away, until the landlord prompted from the other end of the bar, ‘Eh, missus, are you going to serve Rockefeller?’

Smirking at Mr Langan’s pun, Boadicea came up to enquire of Niall, ‘The usual, is it?’

No apology, no how are you, even. Cut to the quick by her indifference, he nodded and placed the correct money on the bar. She served him as politely as she would anyone else, then wandered back to her previous conversation partner. Niall carried his pint to a table, pulled out a stool and sat with his back to her, inwardly sobbing with anger and frustration. Before he knew it his glass was empty. Against habit, he took it back to the bar for a refill.

It was the landlord who served him this time, affecting great astonishment. ‘Another? ’Struth! Don’t tell the taxman I’ve doubled me profits.’

Niall gave a sour smile, but accepted the teasing in good part, and, instead of returning to his table he remained at the bar to share a few desultory words with Mr Langan, cheered up slightly by the latter’s humorous ancedotes. Soon, though, the landlord was called away, and with no one to entertain him, Niall took a self-conscious sip of his beer, put down the glass and stared into its depths, his heart aching.

‘I feel a bit responsible.’

He knew it was her but did not glance up. ‘For what?’ he asked dully.

‘Driving you to drink.’

He could have said don’t flatter yourself, in fact he did consider it, but he was not so openly rude, and he liked her too much. Oh God, how he liked her, and how it hurt that she didn’t care for him. And so he said nothing.

‘Do you always sulk when women turn you down?’

He did present his face then.

Taken aback by the intense sadness upon it, she flinched and appeared repentant. Still he did not reply. This was not a man for games. A glint of compassion in her eyes, Boadicea weighed her words carefully. ‘It isn’t that I don’t want to go out with you personally, just that I’ve made it a rule never to go out with customers. If I do it for one I’d have to do it for another.’

Niall continued to stare at her unhappily, feeling no better at learning that she regarded him as just another customer. ‘So why didn’t you just tell me that there and then? I’d rather be told the truth than all that palaver …’

This stung her to irony. ‘Like the palaver you fed me?’

Niall forced himself to remain calm. ‘If you’re on about me being married—’

‘Don’t kid me you’re not.’ She showed disbelief.

‘I used to be, but my wife died.’

‘Aw, God, I’m so sorry!’ Boadicea’s face was momentarily distorted, and she covered her mouth, imagining how difficult it must have been for him. ‘And me accusing you of such indecency! She must have been young … how long is it since ye lost her?’

He was ashamed to say six months, didn’t want to see those sympathetic eyes turn hard and to hear her say you don’t waste your time, do you? Hence his reply was ambiguous and his gaze downcast. ‘Oh … a fair while now.’

‘Still, it’s awful! I hope you’ll accept my apology.’ She formed a quick, sad smile. ‘Sure, I always seem to be apologising, don’t I?’

‘Ah well, no harm done,’ murmured Niall, lifting his eyes to her again.

‘You’re very gracious.’ Even now she remained annoyed with herself. ‘After I treated you like that, not even granting you the chance to say otherwise …’ She shook her head in self-punishment.

Forgiving her everything, Niall took advantage, smiling warmly as he said, ‘Does that mean you’ll reconsider my invitation?’

She looked at first amazed. ‘You still want me to go out with you after that?’ Then, at his keen nod, she became flustered. ‘Well … I would, but you see …’

‘You don’t go out with customers,’ he provided.

‘No, yes, no, what I mean is—’

‘Some might say I deserve to be exempt from that rule, having putting up with such injury.’ How daring that was for him to say!

Her attempts to explain were stilted. ‘’Tis awkward … you don’t really know me…’

But this only gave Niall further encouragement, for it was plain from her expression and the lack of an outright no that she very much wanted to say yes. Now it was he who was the better orator, his tone calm and reasonable and kind. ‘I thought that’s why people went out together, so they can get to know each other.’

‘Sometimes you never really get to know a person.’ In the course of those few moments, despite her apparent attraction towards him, Boadicea seemed to have become inexplicably edgy. ‘Anyhow, what I really meant was, you’ve no idea what you’d be getting yourself into.’

‘I won’t know unless I’m granted the chance.’ From the way she had uttered her latest remark, and her determination to hold him at arm’s length, Niall got the strong impression that she had been hurt by someone; could see a struggle taking place behind that fair visage. He was about to reassure her, but just at that moment a customer slammed his glass on the other end of the counter and bawled for a refill. Apparently relieved at being rescued, Boadicea swiftly excused herself and hurried away.

Niall continued to watch her closely, denouncing his former lack of confidence as he did so, for he saw now that although she did use that smile of hers to great effect on others, her eyes did not behold them in the way they did him. And so, for once undeterred, he was content to bide his time while she rushed about and pretended to be busy. If he had to stand there all night he would have a positive answer.

This he told her after she had been compelled to return to the vicinity, unable to ignore his signal for a top-up. ‘If I have to drink meself to death in order to get your attention then so be it.’ Encouraged that she did not immediately dismiss him, he leaned nearer to her, conscious that he might be overheard, issuing his plea in a low earnest murmur. ‘Just give us a chance. Then if you decide you don’t want to go out with me again I’ll gladly stand aside – well, not gladly, but you know what I mean.’ He wondered if she did know what he meant; if his roundabout bumbling fashion had been sufficient to let her know how he truly felt about her.

Somehow, it must have struck a chord, for she too leaned forward to whisper, ‘Look, Mr Doran, I like you—’

His face and spirits brightened considerably, though his voice was gruff. ‘I like you, an’ all. And me name’s Niall.’

But she sought to temper any excitement her remark may have caused. ‘– so I’m going to tell you something and I’m not sure you’ll feel the same afterwards.’ She waited a second, checked that no one else could hear, then whispered, ‘I’m married.’

Immediately she saw his shocked eyes go to her ring finger. With the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, she rubbed self-consciously at the denuded digit. ‘I took it off when he left me. I don’t know where he is and I don’t care.’

‘I knew you’d been hurt!’ Niall exclaimed.

‘Ssh! Nobody else knows, not even the people I board with.’

‘Why? It’s none of your fault. I’d say he’s the one to blame for running out on you.’ Niall found himself full of hatred for the one who had got there first.

‘I just don’t like people knowing my private affairs,’ whispered Boadicea firmly.

‘Neither do I.’ Still shaken, but pleased to find something that they shared, he confirmed, ‘They won’t hear it from me.’

She smiled and tilted her head in appreciation. ‘But now you can see why I’m not really free to walk out with you or anybody. Much as I’d like to,’ came her sincere addition, her eyes endorsing this as they held his face.

Searching them, he pondered her answer for a while. In fact he was not to say anything else on the matter, for Boadicea was taken from him again. When she returned he had almost finished his pint. Deep in thought, mainly ones of jealousy, he emerged to ask, ‘What will you do if you never see him again?’

She shrugged, took up a cloth and wiped spills from the counter. ‘It’s no loss.’

Niall shook his head. ‘No, I meant it’s not much of a life being on your own.’

Instead of identifying with this statement she exclaimed with a smile, ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Sure, I’m happy enough with the folk in my boarding house.’

He kept his voice low, their conversation interspersed by the sporadic thud of darts into a board and occasional applause. ‘So you’d never contemplate marrying anyone else? I’m not hinting or anything!’ he hastened to add with a laugh. ‘I’m just interested to know, being in a similar position. Even if you were free—’

‘Never,’ she said adamantly. ‘Once bitten and all that.’

Stricken by bitter disappointment, Niall wondered if this showed. ‘Still, it can’t feel good knowing you’re tied to somebody, yet not married in the real sense.’

‘Marriage isn’t for me,’ she said with certainty.

It hadn’t been for him a couple of weeks ago. How swiftly could one’s life change. Desperate, utterly consumed by his need to possess her one way or another, he exclaimed, ‘Tell you what! How about coming out with me just as a friend then? We both know where we stand. I can’t see it’d do any harm and we like each other’s company – least I think we do,’ he ended with an embarrassed laugh.

She hesitated, probing his eyes warily, before replying, ‘I suppose so …’

‘Next week?’ Having rationed himself to one night out per week, it might look suspicious to Nora if he were to start making regular outings again. ‘What day?’ He half expected another excuse.

But no. ‘I’ve got next Monday evening off,’ she told him. ‘In fact every Monday evening from now on ’cause they’re changed my hours.’

Niall’s heart soared in triumph, and though he tried his best to disguise this for fear of scaring her away, his face appeared brighter than she had seen it for weeks. ‘Do you like the pictures?’ At her enthusiastic nod, he began to list the options. ‘There’s Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi at the Rialto – or maybe you prefer Greta Garbo?’

‘No, give me a good fright any day.’ She cocked her head knowingly. ‘I see you’ve already checked to see what’s on. I admire your confidence.’

‘I wasn’t confident at all, just hopeful.’

Her eyes were warm but stern. ‘Remember we’re just friends.’

‘Just friends.’ But his gut was taut with excitement.

‘The Rialto it is then.’

He grinned his delight at the venue so easily being agreed. Then, with a care as to who might see them, he added, ‘Shall I meet you outside? It’ll have to be second house ’cause I’m working away and I sometimes don’t get home while seven.’

‘That’ll be grand,’ smiled Boadicea.

And the deal was struck.

Niall could hardly believe this was happening – would refuse to believe it until she was standing there outside the cinema – and he bade himself not to become overexhilarated. Even so, there were plans to construct. For a start he would need more than his usual pocket money from Nora. Without wanting to explain what the extra amount was for, he took it from his wage packet on Friday before handing it over. The slightest hesitation as she opened it showed that she had noticed the packet had been tampered with, though to his relief she did not remark on it.

Then there was the question of his whereabouts. Having allotted Monday as his night out there would be no trouble getting away, but with two films and a newsreel to watch, he would be out much longer than usual. Whilst he laboured on the railway line, he was to mull over a list of excuses. But why not be truthful? At least half truthful? It wasn’t illegal for a man to go to the pictures on his own and that was what he would let them assume.

Having made that decision, his next concern was what to wear. It bothered him that he could not dress in suit and tie, and he fretted over this as he donned these for Mass on Sunday. But there was much more to bother him that morning, for this was no ordinary Sabbath. Only the most thick-skinned of men would have enquired what ailed the children, who sat all misty-eyed and forlorn in preparation of their trip to church. Where others would offer flowers and prayers of gladness on this, Mothering Sunday, Honor, Dom, Juggy, Batty and Brian would only be reminded of their still raw loss, and Niall’s heart went out to them, knowing how empty was this festival for those without a mother. His eyes pricked with tears when Juggy was the one to articulate her own despair and that of her siblings. ‘I wanted to make one for you, Gran,’ she murmured sadly, as she examined the cards on the sideboard that had been sent by Nora’s daughters, ‘but, ’teacher wouldn’t let me. She said we could only make one for our mothers …’

Everyone looked round as Honor rushed outside. Not knowing what to do, a concerned Niall glanced at Nora, but she shook her head as if to say leave the child be.

Whilst the boys hung their heads, Juggy turned her attention back to the cards. ‘I told her I didn’t have a mam any more – Mary Kelly put her hand up, an’ all – but ’teacher said it wasn’t called Grannying Sunday and those of us who didn’t have a mam could do jobs instead, so I had to bash the chalk out of the blackboard duster.’

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