Well, her haughty spirit had taken a fine stumble tonight. One she might never recover from. Heartsore, Brigid sat up against her pillows, the small red lamp under the picture of the Sacred Heart illuminating the darkness.

She thought she’d reached calm seas in her vocation, until tonight. Was this her punishment for becoming a nun under false pretences, and staying a nun by burying truths, or lack of truths, about her faith that she did not wish to acknowledge, she wondered miserably, staring at the shadowy lamp-lit image of her Saviour.

She reached across and took the brandy goblet in her hand, raised it to the mournful visage of Jesus, and took a drink of the amber liquid. Tonight was one of the worst nights of her life; she might as well keep sinking until she hit rock bottom.

She choked and spluttered as the alcohol hit the back of her throat, her cheeks flushing with heat. Why did people like the stuff, she wondered. It didn’t taste nice. It made her insides feel warm though, took the chill off them, she realized as the liquor coursed through her.

She tried to banish the memory of Imelda’s bitter and twisted face, full of spite and anger, spewing her appalling tirade of vile rancour. Tonight her sister had burned every last one of the women in her family, right down to Marie-Claire. How could Imelda do that to her own child and grandchild? The knowledge that her sister carried such levels of animosity and resentment towards the family shook Brigid.

That Imelda had carried a torch for Johnny Larkin had come as news to her. But then, Imelda had always kept things to herself, in a sly, sullen way, even as a little girl. She wouldn’t share her toys, or books, and was mean spirited and spiteful when Brigid was brought to the fore, on her birthday, or Holy Communion, or Confirmation days.

She was so jealous, always! Had she never once looked back and seen what a shallow, sleazy ladies’ man, Larkin was? Pawing every girl in the parish. Feeling nothing for any of them. And then marrying a girl purely to get his greedy paws on her father’s land. Did Imelda not realize that he had used both of them? What a waste to have held on to that childish hurt. And it seemed Imelda’s obsession had blinded her to the gifts she had been given: a good husband, children, grandchildren, a home of her own . . . How could Imelda possibly have remained so envious, when she’d such graces in her life? All the things Brigid would have loved to have.

Brigid had never begrudged her sister the life she’d had. But she’d never understood why she wasn’t happier and more content with her lot.