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As she sat down by the fire with a cup of tea and toasted a crumpet, she smiled to herself about buying a coat in London.

In all the time she worked for the Bradleys, she was too timid to go into shops, much less try anything on.

She’d bought a cheap skirt and blouse from a market stall, and once she picked up a cardigan at a jumble sale.

Mrs Bradley had provided her uniform, a navy-blue serge dress, and two aprons.

She occasionally spent her wages on a book from a second-hand shop, or knitting wool, and the rest went on stockings, underwear and face cream.

She hadn’t earned enough to go and buy a new dress.

Today in Waterford she’d bought some fancy face cream and a lipstick for Margery. Even before she left England such things were disappearing from the shops. She thought she’d take some meat with her too, as that wasn’t rationed here.

It was just on nine o’clock, when she was thinking of going to bed to read, when she heard loud screaming.

She opened the front door, but it was too dark to see anything, and the noise had stopped.

She was just about to close the door when it began again, louder and more desperate sounding than before.

She slipped on outside shoes and her raincoat, and, picking up her torch, made her way down towards the harbour, where the sound appeared to be coming from.

Another scream and she heard a woman begging for whoever it was hurting her to stop. The sound was coming from one of the three small cottages set up on the hill, and to Beth’s horror she realized it was Caitlin’s home.

Beth had only spoken to Caitlin a couple of times since she met her with the other women when she first arrived in Dunmore, and that was just to say hello.

It was Kathleen who’d pointed out where she lived, and said the big man outside chopping wood was Mick, her husband.

Beth remembered he was well over six foot, red-headed, with very broad shoulders, and hands like hams. She also noted he was unshaven and dirty.

Now she was sure it was he who was beating Caitlin, she felt justified in her earlier disapproval of his appearance.

Maybe it was because of how Ronnie had treated both her and her mother that her timidity left her and, gripping her torch more firmly, she marched up the steps to the door and banged on it loudly.

The door was flung open, and there was Mick in front of her filling the whole doorway. Beth gulped. The sheer size of him and his angry face was daunting, but she could hear Caitlin crying as if from the back of the cottage.

‘I was concerned at Caitlin screaming,’ she said more bravely than she felt. ‘May I see her to check she’s all right?’

‘Who the feck do you think you are?’ he retorted, taking a step closer to her. His breath stank of whiskey. ‘Bugger off or you’ll get some too.’

‘A man who hits a woman isn’t a real man at all,’ she threw back at him. ‘He’s just a bully.’

He lunged at her, fist raised to punch her. Beth lifted her foot to trip him and neatly sidestepped him as he crashed down the steps and landed on his face.

‘Oops!’ she said, and quickly got past him. She was buoyed up by feeling she’d got the better of him, but she wasn’t going to hang around and risk him hitting her.

It was only later as she collapsed on the sofa, out of breath and her heart pounding, that she realized she’d done a very stupid thing. Brutes like that didn’t like to be bested. He was bound to retaliate, and he might hurt Caitlin even more because of it.

Yet knowing she had stood up to him was a good feeling. She’d taken all the horror Ronnie had done to her silently, and she had no doubt that that had empowered the man even more.

The following afternoon Beth was just washing her hands after sweeping up fallen leaves in the garden when Kathleen called round.

‘Come on in, I’ll make a cup of tea,’ Beth said.

‘I came to say you were very brave to take on Mick Collins,’ Kathleen said, reaching out to squeeze Beth’s shoulder affectionately.

‘You heard about it?’ Beth said in surprise.

‘Nothing happens here without the world and his wife knowing,’ Kathleen said. ‘To be sure, Mick is a nasty piece of work. Poor Caitlin rues the day she set eyes on him.’

‘Why doesn’t she leave him?’ Beth asked as she got the cups and saucers out of the cupboard.

‘Where would she go with three children and no money?’ Kathleen shrugged her shoulders. ‘Besides, the Church would say as his wife she has to stay and make the best of it.’

‘Surely the Garda could do something?’

Kathleen’s laugh was hollow. ‘You can’t hope they’ll help. Most of them are as bad as Mick.’

Beth looked askance at the older woman. ‘Surely not.’

‘Welcome to Ireland, Beth. I once read somewhere “No one can love like an Irishman.” It’s my opinion whoever wrote that wasn’t married to one. To be sure they are all full of the romantic blarney until that ring slips on the finger. Then it’s gone.’

‘Get away with you. You’re an old cynic,’ Beth said, giving Kathleen a playful tap on her arm.

The kettle whistled and Kathleen moved to make the tea. ‘Just think hard before you agree to marry anyone,’ she said with a smile. ‘But you’re a smart girl, and a brave one. So maybe you don’t need a warning from me.’