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boy. And the only way you'll understand that is if we thrash the devil out of you. Take your trousers off.’
    Paddy was trembling as he undid the buttons. Uncle Kevin took off his belt and folded it in two and then he roughly grabbed Paddy by the collar and forced him to bend over, across the desk. Paddy braced himself for the first lash. It was harder than he'd anticipated, and his knees buckled. He bit his lip to stop from crying out. Blow after blow rained down, each one more savage than the one before.
    On the desk in front of him stood the framed photograph of Uncle Patrick and Uncle Kevin on the day of their first communion. Their blank, indifferent faces stared out at Paddy. He hated them both. Beside the photo was a silver inkwell, and some of the ink slopped onto the desk with each reverberating blow. As Uncle Kevin drew his arm back for the next strike, Paddy closed his hand around the inkwell, spun around and threw it straight into his uncle's face. Uncle Kevin roared and dropped the belt, while Paddy darted around to the other side of the desk to grab his trousers. He bolted downstairs and through the shop, yanking on his trousers before running into the snowy street in his bare feet. He heard Aunt Lil calling, but he ran on, his feet slipping on the icy cobbles. He ran until his chest ached from gasping the freezing air. At the end of the next street, he stumbled in the slushy grey snow and fell on his hands and knees, panting. Suddenly, Aunt Lil was beside him, helping him to his feet. She smelt of oranges and warm bread. He pressed his face against her shoulder and then, all at once, tears ran down his face.
    â€˜Don't make me come back, Aunt Lil. I can't come back, not today,’ he sobbed.
    â€˜Patrick, darling, he doesn't mean to be so hard. He wants you to be a fine priest one day. He has such hopes for you. We all do,’ she murmured, stroking Paddy's hair.
    â€˜I can't come back. I can't. I'll walk back to school, Aunt Lil. I won't be bothering you. I'll walk back to school and never mind about Christmas.’
    Aunt Lil touched his cheek with her cool hand and then looked down the length of the silent street in the direction of the tobacconist's.
    â€˜Wait here. I'll come back to you.’
    Ten minutes later, she came hurrying around the corner. She brought Paddy his boots and a fresh pair of socks and a thick knitted scarf that she wrapped around his neck. She'd even brought his overcoat. When he had stopped shivering, she handed him a net bag with oranges in it, a bag of nuts and a folded piece of paper with an address scrawled on it.
    â€˜You go to John Doherty's and wait with him. I've drawn you a little map. He's just across the river. You can't be walking all the way back to the school in this freezing weather. You tell him how I sent you, and John will take you back to St Columcille's. God bless you, child, and now run, before your uncle realises what I've done.’
    The streets were quiet, the snow fell like grace, the Liffey was grey and still. It was as if the city was dead, for all were inside with their families except for Paddy Delaney.
    The street that John Doherty's family lived in had once been grand, with tall terraces all the length of it, but now the paintwork was worn and peeling around the doorways.
    Paddy knocked on the first door off the hallway and a man directed him to a room upstairs.
    â€˜Why, it's the little priest!’ exclaimed John Doherty as he opened the door. ‘Your good uncle has sent you to us after all, has he?’
    Paddy simply nodded and held out Aunt Lil's gifts. He was afraid that if he spoke he would burst into tears again. John seemed to sense something was wrong. He put his arm around Paddy and guided him into the room.
    There was not much furniture, just a single chair by the fire, a small table and three beds. A woman was cooking bacon on the fire and the room smelt warm and smoky. There was a crowd of small children and they