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bridled, though waited until her more forceful sister was out of the room to mutter, ‘Smug devil. Just because she’s cornered herself a man doesn’t mean he’ll be daft enough to wed her. You’d think she was going out with the Prince of Wales. It’s not as if he’s anything to write home about – even our Nye’s better-looking than him.’

      Whilst Ellen and Nora chuckled, Niall gasped offence. ‘What do you mean, “even”?’ Using his palm to bat the shuttlecock onto the table, he leaned back and picked up a newspaper.

      ‘Well, at any rate, Gloria seems to think you’re the bee’s knees,’ Nora told him, with a sly look at her daughters.

      ‘Yes, I shall have to watch her,’ teased Ellen.

      Niall blustered with embarrassment and rustled the pages of his newspaper. ‘What’re you on about, you daft beggars?’

      ‘Oh, we’ve seen her making sheep’s eyes at you! Why do you think she’s always popping in here?’

      ‘She’ll have to ask her mam’s permission first,’ bleated Dolly.

      ‘You’re all bloody daft,’ muttered Niall grumpily. Then, as three drenched children swept in to ask if he would partake in a game of cards, he threw aside the newspaper with a cry of surrender. ‘I can see I’m not going to be allowed to read!’

      ‘Eh, don’t go tearing it,’ warned Ellen with a wink at her mother. ‘You might miss seeing a report about your wolf.’

      Whilst this was a jest, the children took it seriously, each of them jumping in with their own query, ten-year-old Dominic being first. ‘Have you seen it kill owt, Dad?’

      ‘Not yet.’ Niall lit a cigarette, its smoke overpowering the reek of wet hair and clothing.

      ‘John Mahoney’s dog killed Reg Wilson’s rabbit this morning, and there was all this blood, and purple guts hanging ou—’

      ‘Yes, thank you!’ Niall called a halt to spare the younger ones’ sensitivities, then addressed the boy’s mother. ‘You’ll have to stop feeding him meat. He’s getting to be a right bloodthirsty devil.’

      Dom’s smile burst forth.

      ‘Are you scared of it, Dad?’ tendered five-year-old Batty, his cheeks pink with cold.

      ‘Father’s not scared of anything, are you?’ Honor informed her brother in a quietly disapproving voice that said, how could he even ask.

      Yes, thought Niall, sometimes I am scared, scared that this is all there is to life, to undergo the same routine day after day, being tormented by female drivel year after year until I die; to be nothing more than the wage earner. But to his offspring he said, ‘Me, scared? Nah? If he shows them big teeth at me I’ll flatten him with me shovel and bring him home to make a fur coat for your mam.’

      Re-entering to the children’s giggles, Harriet pricked up her ears. ‘Our Nell’s getting a fur coat?’

      Ellen hooted. ‘On the pittance he earns? That’ll be the day.’

      ‘Shame, I could have borrowed it when I go to meet Pete’s family.’ Harriet’s young man was a comparatively recent acquisition, but already both were smitten.

      ‘I doubt it would impress them,’ smirked Ellen. ‘It’s that so-called wolf he’s supposed to have seen again. I reckon he needs specs.’

      ‘I’ve told you, it’s not just me!’ objected Niall, a smile on his face yet slightly annoyed that his wife should denigrate him thus, and in front of his children too. Even if it was intended as a jest it was no way for a woman to address the breadwinner. ‘All the other lads have seen it.’

      ‘They’re having you on!’ Ellen was relentless in her teasing. ‘I bet one of them’s got hold of a big dog and touched it up with a tin of paint.’

      ‘Don’t believe me then!’ Cigarette in mouth, Niall dismissed the laughing doubters, but remained adamant as he dealt out cards to his children for a game of Happy Families. ‘Dick Kelly says he’s going to set a trap for it. You’ll be laughing on the other side of your faces when he does.’

      ‘Well, don’t be fetching the stinky old thing home here,’ warned his wife. ‘If I’m ever lucky enough to get a fur coat I’d like it to be genuine.’

      However, by the time autumn was in full flush, what Ellen had assumed to be a figment of her husband’s imagination turned out to be quite real. Niall and his workmates had seen it a few times now; but more pertinently it had earned a wider notoriety for killing and partly devouring sheep, its gruesome attacks being reported in the newspapers. It was definitely not a dog, said the experts. And there was Niall’s name in print, being one of those witnesses interviewed. So they had to believe him now, didn’t they?

      On the contrary, they teased and tormented him even more, Nora and her daughters, that the following Sunday during dinner, Harriet decreeing mockingly, ‘Eh, he’ll do anything to make himself look important!’

      Smarting beneath his fixed grin, feeling his children’s eyes on him as they watched for a reaction, Niall continued in his stoic silent manner to eat his dinner, and awaited his wife’s contribution. But for a change Ellen stuck up for her husband, laying down her knife to lean over and pat him, saying with genuine affection, ‘Aw, he’s important to us, aren’t you, dear?’

      Niall returned her smile, half-expecting some clever comment from one of the others.

      So it was no surprise when Dolly added, ‘Aye, if we didn’t have him who else could we poke fun at?’

      ‘I’m sure you’d find somebody, Dol,’ muttered Niall, which everyone took as a joke.

      Then the clink of cutlery displaced chatter as all became intent on the delicious roast.

      After dinner, with Nora and Dolly in the scullery washing the pots, Harriet ironing work overalls, and Ellen escorting her children to Sunday school, Niall relaxed in his brown leatherette armchair and took up the newspaper, which had so far remained unread due to morning Mass. This was his favourite time of day.

      He must have been napping though, for when the children came home he was jolted awake to find the paper in a crumpled heap on his lap. Refreshed, he laughed at himself and greeted them.

      ‘Look what I’ve got, Dad!’ From under his jacket Batty presented a small toy car.

      ‘Why, you little demon!’ scolded his mother, then quickly explained to her husband, ‘The fly beggar must have picked it up whilst I wasn’t looking.’

      Niall was at once stern. ‘Eh, now then, Bartholomew Doran, what have I told you? You can’t have things unless you’ve got the money to pay for them.’

      ‘It doesn’t belong to anybody,’ protested the innocent. ‘It were just there on the road.’

      ‘Is this the sort of thing you’ve learned at Sunday school?’ demanded his father. ‘No! Now, take it back. There’ll be a little boy looking for that.’

      ‘But he wouldn’t have lost it if he’d looked after it,’ reasoned Batty. ‘You told me people don’t deserve to have things if they don’t look after them.’

      ‘Never mind what I said!’ retorted Niall firmly, his voice rising. ‘And you can stop trying to wheedle your way round me. It’s not yours, now take it back to where you found it.’ He shook his head in disbelief at Ellen. ‘How did we raise such a freebooter?’

      Covering a smile, his wife led the little boy away to replace the stolen item. Niall spent a few moments chatting to his other offspring before they were made to attend certain duties, at which point he rustled his newspaper to order and resumed reading.

      The rest of the afternoon was comparatively peaceful, everyone sitting reading or sewing or other suitably quiet pursuits. Towards five o’clock Nora went to put the kettle on and, discovering

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