The very next morning, at work in the packing shed, Kate collapsed.
On their trek back from Onslow Drive on Sunday the weather had turned foul. Snow began to fall in icy shards from a lowering sky, making it difficult to see, let alone walk, and they arrived back at Saltmarket with their clothes sodden and their feet squelching on a layer of freezing water inside their boots.
With Brendan nowhere to be seen, Maeve struggled with a fire which, in sympathy with the weather, was reluctant to light, instead producing flurries of damp smoke. She knew that the clothes they hung on the pulley overhead would still be wet in the morning, and she thanked God that at least Finola had a change of clothes and decent boots. Almost choking on the gaseous smoke Maeve reflected that never had the contras
