‘Mère, think of the fun we’d have,’ Keelin urged, cheering up at the prospect. ‘It will only take half an hour or so to get there, an hour and a half to buy an outfit and have a cup of coffee, and we’ll be back here before dark. We can all have a rest and then an early dinner in the hotel. A little celebration of your new life, with us,’ her niece wheedled.

‘Oh, all right then!’ Brigid succumbed. Imelda’s accusations had been as upsetting for her niece and great-niece as they had been for her. Perhaps the ‘girl’s jaunt’ as Marie-Hélène called it was exactly what they all needed. The day was fine. The driving would be easy. What harm could it do?

A lot of harm to her purse, it turned out. Brigid smiled at the memory. It was the first spending spree she’d ever gone on in her life.

While Armand had gone fishing, the women had piled into Una’s station wagon, made a pit stop at the hotel for Keelin and Marie-Claire to change their shoes, then headed for the town of Kilrush, twenty-five kilometres away.

She’d felt a frisson of nervous excitement when she’d walked into the clothes shop. She wouldn’t buy anything too flashy. Plain cardigans, blouses and skirts, like most of her fellow nuns wore.

Marie-Claire and Marie-Hélène had other ideas. She ended up with two pairs of beautifully cut trousers, a tailored ruby-red jacket, three tops, two skirts – not pleated, at Marie-Hélène’s insistence – and two jumpers. And then the dress she’d worn to dinner. She ran her fingers over the soft russet velvet jacquard material that flared out slightly from her narrow waist to drape in elegant folds to mid-calf. The small gold cross on its fine chain that her parents had given her when she took her final vows was the only jewellery she wore. Keelin had seen the dress and held it up against her.

‘Mère, it’s beautiful. So simple, so elegant, so perfect. Try it on.’

When she’d looked at herself in the mirror, Brigid could not believe it. Who was this elegant, slender woman? A pang of regret for that woman who had been so firmly repressed – by her own choice, Brigid admitted – brought tears to her eyes, knowing that her life could have been so different. She swallowed hard. She’d made her choice, even if it might have been a mistake, and she’d to live with it. Strange though how she’d never seen ‘herself’ when wearing the habit.