The years went by, and their second daughter, Ally, was nearly eight years old. At this point Harold was getting over the compulsory solitude, and was content to just do his job and observe quietly.
Quickly came the 5th of May, a Sunday. The mother had taken Bridget and Timmy off to the pictures, and Ally was left to be collected by the father from Irish dancing. But the father was in no shape to be driving. The night before he had drank himself into the ground after losing a two-grand bet on a horse in Punchestown. By the time he got home it was after five in the morning and he barely able to get the front door open.