Boston feels different. Closer. Louder.

“Mick! Alannah!” my da calls up the stairs. “Get yourselves ready. We’ll have visitors today.”

Visitors already? We’ve only just arrived.

I go to the wardrobe and pull out one of the dresses Mam bought for me in the shops before we left Ireland. By the time I come downstairs, she’s nearly finished setting the table, with soda bread, jam, and tea laid out beside a small jug of milk.

A knock sounds at the door, and my father goes to open it.