Keelin lay beside her husband, listening to his steady breathing, wondering how he could sleep after the harsh words he’d spoken to her after the disastrous party. It wasn’t his family that had been torn apart. Armand wouldn’t have to live with the consequences like she would. Marie-Claire would take his side, and blame her for not allowing him to reveal his past. And now he could wash his hands of Imelda, and forget about her, Keelin thought resentfully, lying wide awake in the darkness, waiting for a text from her brother to say that her mother was home safe.

Felicity had knocked on her door earlier and shown her Imelda’s note. ‘The bloody old cow,’ Keelin had cursed, ‘If I could get my hands on her, I’d murder her, driving home on those country roads on a night like this, and after drinking as well. How feckin irresponsible is that! None of us can go after her because we’ve all had a drink.’

‘Your mother is nothing if not determined. She’ll be fine,’ Felicity tried to pacify her.

‘I don’t know how you put up with her,’ Keelin said through gritted teeth. ‘She’s impossible.’

‘I asked Cormac to text me when he sees a light on in her bedroom – he’ll be able to see it from our bedroom – and I’ll text you. I did try to ring her but she has her phone turned off,’ her sister-in-law said.

‘Thanks, Felicity. At least you won’t have to put up with her, driving back to Glencarraig.’ Keelin managed a weak smile.

‘Go to bed, Keelin. Things won’t seem as bad in the morning.’ Felicity urged. She was used to her mother-in-law’s behaviour, and had decided in the early days of her marriage that she was not going to let it impinge on her life, knowing that if she did, her marriage to Cormac wouldn’t last. She was an easy-going woman, the antithesis of her mother-in-law, and she suspected that was one of the reasons Imelda’s eldest son had fallen in love with her.

‘You’re a great sister-in-law,’ Keelin said gratefully, hugging the other woman.

‘And you’re not too bad yourself,’ Felicity laughed, returning the hug.

How did Felicity cope with living in such close proximity to Imelda? Keelin wondered, turning onto her front and burying her face under her pillow. Keelin only saw her three or four times a year and that was more than enough for her.

More than three decades had passed, yet her mother still hadn’t forgiven her for getting pregnant and having a baby out of wedlock, or for marrying a former priest even though he was the father of her child. The fact they’d opted for a civil wedding, in France, rather than a Catholic wedding hadn’t gone down well with Imelda either; she’d professed ‘grave doubts’ that they were properly married at all.