At the back wall was a bed with an iron frame and a mahogany headboard. Next to it was a small cabinet that matched the wardrobe and a standard lamp with an old tasselled shade. The furniture was old but of the best quality. Even now the drawers slid open smoothly. He loved this room, with its sloping ceiling and dormer window that looked out across the road and down the croft towards the sea.

It had been many years since the other bedroom had been occupied, but it was little different from its twin along the landing. It smelt musty and he went over to open the window, which was so stiff that he only managed to raise it by a couple of inches, sending two spiders scuttling away. Air flowed in, causing the net curtain to stir.

It had been too large a house for Mary, she had said so herself often enough, but she would never have left. It wasn’t just a house, it was her home, as it had been home to many others in the family down through the years. Their photographs were everywhere. Formally posed pictures, sepia tinted with faded gilt frames. More relaxed, black and white snaps: a young man with a Glengarry trying to keep his wavy hair in place, smiling as he leaned in an exaggerated manner on the bonnet of a military vehicle; and Mary too, young and smiling faintly. The house was a place dearly loved, the well from which they sprung. The last to live here had been a woman with only the ghosts to keep her company in the lonely hours of the night. And how many ghosts there were.

Cal returned down the stairs to the living room. Here, the furniture was fairly modern. The main feature was a dresser. The glass doors housed hidden lights which lit up the crockery, nicknacks and photos, including some of him, one in his graduation robes. An empty crystal fruit bowl sat on a frilled lace cover beneath the display units. A television and VCR filled the corner opposite the door to the kitchen.

The decor was not to his taste, nor, indeed, the design of the house, but its value was in its location, the views. It would all be his soon. And yet, for the first time, he had the feeling that he was losing, not gaining.

He returned to his place by Mary’s bedside and time ticked on. Sleep beckoned him constantly and he began talking to her to keep it at bay, reminiscing over happy memories.

‘D’you remember that walk over the moor with my mum? It was the last time she was home. The sun was so hot. We all got burnt.’ Cal chuckled. ‘Remember her climbing the fence and she got her skirt caught on the barbed wire? She couldn’t get down for laughing and when she finally jumped the whole thing nearly came off! And those sandwiches you made, oh they were great. We took a break at Fibhig overlooking the sea. What was in them? Just cold meat, I think, but they were wonderful. That bread!’

If Mary heard him, there was no sign. At length Cal found himself unburdening his regrets about his father.