His mother looked startled. "There'll have to be a funeral" she began.
They all seemed to be looking at the doctor for the solution. As he so often felt, Peter Kelly wondered what kind of social structure had made him the fount of all wisdom in such matters.
Stevie, a boy of sixteen maybe, looked him in the eye.
"You're not a hypocrite, Dr Kelly. You wouldn't want a charade."
There was something strong about the boy's face, and determined. Maybe six or seven years of his childhood robbed from him had been a good training for life as well as high price to pay.
The lad should not have to take part in a sham ceremony.
"I think the whole thing can be arranged very quietly at the Home. That is often done in such cases, and just the family attend as Mass there. Father Baily will arrange it, I know."
Kathleen Sullivan looked at him gratefully. "You're very good, Doctor. I just wish it had all been different." Her face was set and hard as she spoke. "I can't go to anyone for sympathy or anything because they'll all say it was for the best, and we're all well rid of him."
"I know what you mean, Kathleen." Peter Kelly did, only too well, and if he didn't have any suitable words of comfort, no one else in Lough Glass would be able to find them. "You could always call on Sister Madeleine." he said.
"She'll be the very one to comfort you at a time like this." He sat in his car after he left the house, and watched while Kathleen Sullivan, now wearing her coat and head scarf, followed his advice. He saw her heading down towards the boreen that led to the lake. As he drove home he passed Helen McMahon walking with her hair blowing in the wind.
The wind was cold and she wore a wollen dress but had no coat. She looked flushed and excited. He stopped the car. "Will I drive you back, take the weight off your legs?" he asked.
She smiled at him, and he realised again how very beautiful she was.