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‘That’s because I am. I built up this business on my own, without help from anyone else. And you seem hell-bent on destroying it all.’

Lottie threw up her hands in confusion. ‘Ann, I have no idea what you are on about.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘Tell me then.’

‘I can’t. I’m sorry I ever said anything about Bryan O’Shaughnessy, but I can’t go there. I won’t go there.’

‘Is it about his time in Knockraw?’

‘That. And more.’

‘I don’t understand…’

Ann began to cry. Deep sobs racked her body. Lottie moved to comfort her, but Ann held out her hand, warding her off. ‘Don’t. Don’t touch me.’

‘I want to help.’

‘You’re not helping,’ she sobbed. ‘You’re making everything worse.’

Lottie was at a loss to know how to handle this. She wanted information, but she didn’t want to distress Ann any further. She waited while the woman composed herself.

Ann said, ‘You could never understand what I went through.’

‘Try me.’

‘No, I want you to go.’

‘Okay. But I will find out what it is that’s upset you so much.’

‘You can’t leave it alone, can you?’

Lottie closed her eyes and felt shame rush to her cheeks. The same words Boyd had used not a half-hour earlier.

‘No, I can’t, and I’m truly sorry.’ She moved towards the door.

‘I was there.’ Ann’s voice was soft and trembling. ‘I was in the Sisters of Forgiveness laundry. And I don’t need you, nor my own buried memories, bringing me back there.’

Following Ann’s directions, Lottie drove them over to the seaside resort of Salthill. She had to circle to find a parking spot and then wait until someone pulled out of a space.

They walked along the promenade, making small talk. About the weather. How busy the area was. Young mothers with buggies, people walking dogs, men and women jogging and a host of speed-walkers. All sorts enjoying the good weather and the sea breeze. Apparently without a care in the world. And Lottie figured that was how she and Ann looked to the unobservant eye.

Pausing at the entrance to the strand, Ann slipped off her sandals. ‘I love to feel the sand on the soles of my feet and between my toes. It grounds me.’

Lottie groaned inwardly. She hated sand. It got everywhere. But she wanted to hear what the woman had to say, to keep her onside, so she removed her own shoes and followed. The sand was surprisingly warm but scratched her feet. Ann walked straight down to the water’s edge and began to stroll along it, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake. Lottie remained as best she could on the dry stuff.

The dressmaker’s voice was soft as she began to speak. ‘We were always in the laundry, down in the basement. The heat, the steam, the sweat… it was unbearable. But we were forced to venture into it every single day. Teenagers, young and pregnant. And children. Child labour? Call it what you want, but to us it was inhumane and torture.’

‘I’ve been to the convent. I’ve seen the remains of the laundry. I can’t begin to imagine what it was like back when it was operational.’

‘No one can. You’d have to have experienced it. Our clothes, thin shift dresses, were useless to protect us. We got burned and scalded more often than not. One day, I’ve no idea of the date nor the year, this young girl arrived. Maybe seven years old. Iwas about fourteen or so. She looked frail and scared. Fragile. But she wasn’t really. She had a determined attitude. Reminded me a little of myself, if I’m honest. In the beginning, she tried her best to please the nuns. She did every single thing that was asked of her, until one day she didn’t.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The sheets often got stuck to the inside of the large washing machine drums. And this is the awful thing…’

Lottie waited, holding her breath.