‘Do most people round here grow their own food and kill their own animals?’ Hope asked cautiously.
‘Are you crazy?’ asked Mary-Kate, stunned. ‘There’s a Dunnes supermarket five miles away and there’s Tescos in Killarney. The butcher’s shop is beside the pub. It’s closed now because it’s being refitted but he’ll be open again in two weeks. I’d much prefer to buy my food in the shop than grow it myself. Stay out of Emmet Slattery’s if you don’t want to be fleeced. I have a shampoo in the chemist that costs two pounds and I caught him selling the very same one for three! He’s a crook, rob his grandmother for a shilling.’
Hope grinned. ‘I sort of thought everyone made their own bread and jam and everything.’
‘Only if you’re stone mad, you do,’ Mary-Kate said. ‘Hope, this is the 21st century. What are supermarkets for?’
‘Well, Finula said…’
‘God preserve us from that woman! We’re modern people who just happen to live in a rural community, not a remote tribe fresh from the pages of National Geographic
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