THE FAMILY WERE WAITING for them back at the house and – judging from their expressions – not in the best of tempers at being kept waiting so long. Father Kelly was ensconced among them, next to the warm Aga, with a large mug of tea in one hand and Alice Pickford’s less than dainty paw in the other. He patted her hand every so often in an absent-minded manner as he sipped his tea. He glanced up at Rafferty’s eruption into the kitchen.
‘Ah, so you’re back, young Rafferty. I was just talking about you. I was telling this dear lady’ – Alice Pickford’s hand got another, more solid pat – ‘that you’re smarter than you look. So don’t be making a liar out of me.’
‘No, Father,’ Rafferty said obediently. He was always obedient to Father Kelly’s strictures. He found it saved time. Though he could d
