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Three days after the robbery and assault at Able’s farm, the poor old man died.

At eighty-two, left lying in a puddle in fear of his life, and then hearing that his attacker had killed his dog and ransacked his house, once in hospital Able just gave up.

According to Kathleen, everyone was gossiping about it and she warned Beth she should expect people to waylay her to talk about her part in the tragedy.

The Garda were calling it manslaughter and had stepped up their efforts to find his assailant.

They found Beth’s bike some five miles from the crime scene, but they couldn’t return it to her yet as it was evidence.

They also found Able’s medals from the Great War under a hedge close to the farm.

They thought the case must have fallen out of a bag of stolen items hidden there.

However, she felt she had to go to Able’s funeral or risk offending the locals.

It was a very cold, wet day and the church stank of wet, slightly mouldy wool overcoats.

The Mass seemed interminable. Afterwards, at the wake in the pub, she overheard several people asking Sean what he was going to do about the farm.

He said airily that he had already sold the cows and donkey, but he was hoping someone would take the chickens, and when asked if he wouldn’t like to run the farm, he treated that as a joke and said he had had enough of it as a young man.

Beth thought that Able’s lifetime of hard work and caring for his family was what should be at least acknowledged, if not praised, yet his son appeared only concerned with money.

Rory, the younger brother, hadn’t bothered to come, and as the local men were swigging back pints as if the pub was about to run out of beer, and their women were gossiping in loud voices, which to Beth seemed irreverent, she slunk away after only twenty minutes.

The following morning, Dr McMara called on Beth. She had occasionally seen him in his gig around Dunmore, usually from a distance. He’d stopped to pass the time of day with her several times, which was always a little embarrassing, a reminder of the silly crush she’d had on him.

‘I just wanted to ask how you are,’ he said, smiling broadly, his eyes twinkling as she remembered. ‘Finding Able the way you did and meeting the man who did it must prey on your mind?’

She thought it was kind he could be bothered to call, and felt obliged to ask him in for a cup of tea. She just hoped he wouldn’t take advantage again.

‘I’m absolutely fine, Finn,’ she said. ‘It was distressing to find an old man in that situation, but I haven’t been dwelling on it. I just hope they catch the man that did it. Do sit down, the kettle has just boiled.’

‘He’s probably miles away now,’ the doctor said thoughtfully, following her into the kitchen and sitting down at the table. ‘As you’ve probably heard, the Guards are not great detectives. Too complacent in their comfortable jobs to put themselves out.’

Beth thought that was a bit harsh but she wasn’t going to argue. ‘I just wish they’d give me my bicycle back. I feel marooned without it,’ she said as she warmed the teapot and lit the gas under the kettle to bring it back to the boil.

McMara took a pad out of his pocket and wrote a name and address on it. ‘Go into Waterford and see Steven Malley, he’ll sell you one, and to be sure he’ll buy the other one off you when you get it back. He’s a good man, he has new ones and second-hand.’

‘That’s kind of you to help,’ she said, putting the note on the table and getting out some teacups.

‘So, Beth,’ he said, after admiring the new curtains she’d made for the kitchen, ‘a little bird told me you have a soldier boyfriend.’

Beth poured the tea. The little bird could only be Kathleen and it reminded her to be careful what she told her in future.

‘He’s in North Africa now,’ she said warily, putting the milk and sugar on the table for him to help himself, and some biscuits she’d made. ‘He’s nice but I don’t know him very well. We write, but that’s no substitute for seeing him regularly.’

‘I bet he’s dreaming about you every night,’ Finn laughed lightly.

‘I hope so,’ she said, and changed the subject to war damage, and wondering how people in England would fare with the cost of repairs.

‘The poor devils in the East End of London,’ he said. ‘Whole streets gone, and all their belongings. But from what I hear they are all being very stoic about it and helping one another.’

Beth almost launched into her own experience of how grim some of those streets were, and maybe them being bombed was a good thing. But she stopped herself just in time and said how touched she was that people in the more affluent areas of England were donating clothes and household items.

They stayed on that theme for some minutes, then Beth got up. ‘I’m sorry to chase you out, Finn, but I’m in the middle of writing to some friends back home. I must get on with it to catch the post. But it was good to have a chat.’

His eyes twinkled. ‘There’s me thinking you might invite me for lunch,’ he joked. ‘But now you’ve got a sweetheart you don’t have eyes for this old man!’

She laughed. ‘It was good to see you, and thank you for the address to get a new bicycle.’ She held out the plate of biscuits she’d made. ‘Take a couple to eat on your round.’

Unsettled a little by Finn’s visit, Beth decided she would take the bull by the horns and walk into Waterford immediately to see Steven Malley. For once it wasn’t raining and it felt warm in the sunshine.

She was nearly into Waterford when she noticed a few tinkers camped in a field. She paused by the gate to admire the five beautifully painted caravans, and smiled to see two little girls singing as they groomed a donkey, who appeared to love their attentions.

There was a group of four men further back in the field, who looked as if they were mending or erecting a fence, and a couple of women sitting by an open fire. Concerned that the adults would feel she was spying on them, she moved on.

Two hours later, Beth was joyfully riding her new bicycle home.

It was dark green, had a far more comfortable saddle than the old one, and Steven Malley had adjusted the height for her perfectly.

She had intended to buy a second-hand one, but all Steven had were men’s bikes with a crossbar.

He told her that his business was built on repair, and he normally only got a few new bikes in to order, mainly children’s ones, but when war was threatened and he’d heard petrol would be hard to get, he’d taken a chance and ordered a couple.

He wanted six pounds for it. She had no idea if that was cheap or expensive. However, it was worth it to be able to get around, and as Steven had thrown in a bell, a padlock and a basket on the handle bars to put shopping in, she was delighted with her purchase.

As she approached her cottage, she heard horse’s hoofs behind her. Looking back, she saw the rider was a man but he was already turning the horse as if realizing he’d come the wrong way.

Soon after she got in, the wind got up and the sky looked threatening, so she lit the fire in readiness for a storm.

The rain came along with the dark: gentle at first, gradually getting heavier, until it was a deluge.

The first flash of lightning was startling, then the clap of thunder made her almost jump out of her skin.

Further lightning lit up a small fishing boat coming towards the harbour.

She went up to the bedroom to get a better look, and during the many lightning flashes the boat was clearly illuminated as it was buffeted by big waves.

Finally to her relief she saw it had managed to navigate into the harbour, and saw a dark figure, presumably the harbour master or another fisherman, running along with a long boat hook to help secure the vessel.

Satisfied the boat was now safe, Beth went back downstairs, drew the curtains and put the radio on to drown out the noise of wind and rain while she cooked her supper.

The storm went on and on, and finally at half-past nine Beth decided to go to bed with a hot water bottle.

She lay there listening to the storm, thinking about what she’d discussed with Finn.

Knowing that most people in the East End lived a hand-to-mouth existence, she couldn’t really imagine how they could pay for a roof being torn off or all their windows broken.

She woke with a start to find she was still hugging the now cold hot water bottle. Then she heard a creak which sounded like someone on the stairs. She strained her ears to listen, and another creak came, this time one she recognized as near the top.

A cold chill ran through her. She reached out for the bedside lamp, but it didn’t work and she thought the power must have been cut off in the storm.

‘Who’s that?’ she called out, throwing back the covers and leaping to grab a heavy brass giraffe on the chest of drawers.

Kathleen had suggested she give it to the next jumble sale as it was a pain to clean, but Beth had joked it would make a good weapon as the neck fitted neatly into her hand.

Waving it might frighten a burglar enough to flee.

As she lifted it in readiness, the bedroom door opened and, although it was dark, she could see a faint silhouette of a slim man, taller than her. He smelled of something vaguely familiar.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

He didn’t answer but stepped closer and the smell grew stronger.

She didn’t see him raise his arm, or the weapon in his hand, not until he lifted it right above his head.

Beth ran at him, the giraffe firmly in her hand, and got the first blow to his chest before his cudgel came down on her. His blow missed her head but landed on her shoulder, making her reel back. It hurt, but the pain emboldened her.