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day, they’d say in Ulster.
    And then, halfway through the
Times
, he came to an article entitled “How long, oh Lord, how long?” It was written by a retired Member of Parliament, once a Minister at the Northern Ireland Office, who not unreasonably felt that sixteen years of bloody war in Ireland was enough. His preferred solution was an independent Ulster as a member of the British Commonwealth. Incredible how naive on the subject even politicians could be.
    Keogh closed the paper, lit a cigarette, and sat back, watching the girl. To his amusement, he saw that she frequently consulted the dictionary. She glanced up and saw him smile.
    She frowned. “What’s so funny?”
    “Not much. You just seem to be having some difficulty with that.”
    “It’s not easy. I only started learning three months ago. There’s a phrase here that’s damned difficult to work out.”
    Keogh, a fluent Irish speaker, could have helped, but to disclose the fact would have been a serious error. People who spoke Irish were Catholics and Nationalists, it was as simple as that.
    Ryan had finished the file, put it back in his briefcase, and leaned back in the corner, closing his eyes.
    “He seems tired,” Keogh observed.
    “He does too much, almost burns himself out. He’s a believer, you see. Our cause is everything to him. Meat and drink.”
    “You too, I think.”
    “You have to have something to believe in in this life.”
    “In your case, the death of your family gave you that?”
    “The murder of my family, Martin, the murder.”
    There was no answer to that, could never be. Her face was white and intense, eyes filled with rage.
    Keogh said, “Peace, girl dear, peace. Go on, read your book,” and he picked up the
Daily Mail
and started on that.
     
     
    A NOTHER HALF HOUR and the attendant returned. They had more tea and ham sandwiches. Ryan was still asleep.
    “We’ll leave him be,” the girl said.
    They ate in companionable silence. When they were finished, Keogh lit another cigarette. “Sixteen, Kate, and the whole of life ahead of you. And what would you like to do with it if peace ever comes to Ireland?”
    “Oh, I know that well enough. I always wanted to be a nurse, ever since my time in the hospital after the bomb. I was at the Royal Victoria for three months. The nurses were great.”
    “Nursing, is it? Well, for that you need to pass your exams and you not even at school.”
    She laughed that distinctive harsh laugh of hers. “You couldn’t be more wrong, mister. Most people do their ordinary level exams at sixteen. I did mine at fourteen. Most people do the advanced levels at eighteen. I did mine four months ago in English Literature, French, and Spanish. I have a thing for languages, you see.” There was a kind of bravado in her voice. “I’m qualified to go to University if I’m so minded and I’m only sixteen.”
    “And are you?”
    She shrugged. “I’ve more important things to do. For the moment, our struggle is all that matters. Now shut up, Martin, and let me get on with my book,” and she returned to
The Midnight Court
.
     
     
    T HEY GOT OFF the train at Carnforth. It was desolate enough, hardly anyone about, rain drifting across the platform.
    Ryan checked his watch. “There’s a local train to Barrow-in-Furness leaving in forty minutes. We’ll get a cup of tea. I need to talk to you both.”
    The cafe was deserted, only an aging woman serving behind the bar. Kathleen Ryan went and got the tea and brought it back on a tray.
    “I mind the time when this station was open for business twenty-four hours,” Ryan said. “Steam engines thundering through one after another.” He shook his head. “Everything changes.”
    “You know the area well?” Keogh asked.
    “Oh, yes, I’ve visited the Lake District a number of times over the years. I was up this way only four weeks ago.”
    His niece said in genuine surprise, “I didn’t know that, Uncle Michael.”
    “You thought I’d gone to