‘I know,’ Keelin agreed. ‘And I’m grateful to you and Teresa, and all the other women who are fighting for our equality. But, Mam, some of the work those women do out on the Missions is life-changing for the people they’re working for. And they don’t all wear the habit anymore. They’re very emancipated now, and Auntie Brigid does her own thing in Senegal. So it’s not all of them,’ Keelin pointed out.

‘Keelin, I once told you that if you ever entered a convent it would be the end of us,’ Imelda warned grimly. ‘I’ve no time for nuns, priests, religion or any of the claptrap associated with it.’

‘And I’ll make up my own mind. So much for me being independent and liberated,’ Keelin snapped.

‘Well, they’re two things you won’t be in a convent,’ Imelda retorted furiously. ‘For God’s sake, Larry, talk some sense into her.’

‘It’s a hard life,’ Larry said slowly. Keelin could see that her father was as shocked by her announcement as her mother was.

‘But it’s a lot different now. Being out in the community rather than being stuck behind convent walls – unless you’re a contemplative nun, of course – is now seen as the way forward. It’s exciting actually,’ Keelin explained.

Imelda gave a derisive snort. ‘Sure, aren’t you working in the community, teaching? Can’t you continue your education and go for a degree?’

‘Mam, I won’t be taking final vows for years. I can always leave if I’ve made a mistake. But something’s pushing me and I will always regret it if I don’t listen to that inner voice.’

‘Pshaw, inner voice,’ scoffed Imelda.

‘Imelda, don’t be disrespectful,’ Larry said sternly, and his wife glowered at him but said no more.

‘When do you go in?’ her father sighed.

‘Next January.’

‘Not too far away. At least we’ll have you with us for Christmas.’ Her father held out his arms to her and Keelin hugged him tightly, grateful for his quiet understanding.

‘I know you, Keelin. You’re too strong-willed and argumentative to subjugate your personality. It will all end in tears,’ Imelda said grimly, marching out of the kitchen.

‘Don’t mind your mother. You know what she’s like: bark worse than her bite. Do what you have to do. If it works out, it works out, and if it doesn’t you always have a home to come back to,’ her father said reassuringly.

His words were a balm to her agitated spirit. It was good to know she had a safety net.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE