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squealed when they saw the bag of oranges Paddy was carrying. John introduced him, and in a moment, all of them were crowding around him, exclaiming as if he was the most exciting person they'd ever met.
    â€˜I'm going to make a Christmas wish,’ announced Peggie, the littlest girl. She glanced across at Paddy. ‘I'm going to wish that when I grow up, I'll marry that boy.’ She pointed at Paddy and all the Dohertys laughed.
    â€˜You can't be marrying him, stupid,’ said Moira, the eldest child. ‘He's going to be a priest. Uncle John says so.’
    Peggie pouted and put her thumb in her mouth, and everyone laughed again. Paddy looked down at the little girl, and for the first time that day he smiled. He took the oranges out of the net bag and even though his hands were sore, he started to juggle them. The little ones whooped with delight. Then Moira set about peeling the oranges and breaking them into segments for everyone to share. As soon as Paddy sat down on the end of one of the rickety beds, Peggie climbed onto his lap and put her arms around his neck.
    Paddy felt sorry for the scant Christmas meal the Dohertys spread out before him. There was no goose, chicken or turkey. The sausages and bacon and black pudding were warm and filling but there was barely enough to go around. Someone from St Vincent de Paul's had brought the family a hamper with a rich, sweet Christmas cake and some little bags of boiled sweets for the children. There was also a big red candle that Moira lit with solemn excitement and set on the windowsill as the December afternoon folded into evening.
    Mammy Doherty and Eileen served tea and there was a big plate of broken biscuits from the Jacob's factory. By the time he had finished eating, even though Paddy was sore in his body, he felt warm inside. The little boys bounced on the bed, their faces sticky with sugar and dirt. John pulled out a mouth organ and began to play and the whole family sang Christmas songs. When the candle grew low, and the small children sleepy, John turned to Paddy and gently touched his shoulder.
    â€˜Now, Paddy, it's too late to be taking you anywhere, my boy. I think you had best be stopping with the Dohertys for the night. I'm going out to check the nag, down in the stable yard, but you make yourself at home. They won't be missing you at school until tomorrow and, from what you've told me, your uncle won't be missing you neither.’
    Paddy tried to hide his grimace. ‘No, nobody will be missing me. Thank you kindly, John.’
    Paddy couldn't see how eleven people were going to pile into three beds, but he had nowhere else to go. Mammy Doherty and Eileen set a pot of water to boil on the fire and then scrubbed the children's hands and faces so they looked shiny and clean again, and then in no time the three little boys were organised to get into one bed with Paddy. The two elder girls climbed into bed with their mother and the two smallest with their grandmother. John Doherty would sleep in the big chair by the fire.
    Paddy was almost asleep when John Doherty returned, smelling of Guinness. He could hear the sound of men's drunken singing out in the street. John reached over and snuffed out the candle and then settled himself in the chair.
    Outside the window, high above Dublin, a full moon rose up, its white face like a crazed marble through the frosted glass of the tenement window. Paddy shut his eyes and let the darkness take him.

7
The faithful departed
    John Doherty no longer came to take Paddy into Dublin on Sunday afternoons. Uncle Kevin wrote to the Prefect of Studies saying he didn't want Paddy to visit until he had redeemed himself. MacCrae was wary of Paddy now, and even though Fitzgerald still punched him cheerfully whenever they passed each other on the stairs, Paddy could tell from his manner that his mother had told him to avoid the tobacconist's nephew. It was as if a black cloud lingered over Paddy and everyone could see