Seamus Dempsey was cleaning a gutter at the front of his house when the Special Branch came for him. It was a job he’d been putting off for some time. But it was a bright summer’s day, a Saturday morning and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He had the day off and Eileen, his wife, had woken him that morning, briskly yanking the bedroom curtains apart and letting the sun’s rays rouse him from his slumber.
‘Get up out of that,’ she’d said, ‘that’s the first fine day we’ve had in a month and it would be sinful to waste it. Will you tackle them gutters before they collapse from the weight of the leaves in them and the house gets flooded.’
Blinking and groaning, Seamus feigned exhaustion but he knew from her manner it was a wasted effort. He hauled himself from his bed, swinging his pyjama’d…
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