‘ “And don’t come back here if you’re voting Yes,” he shouted as we were leaving. “A fine way to be rearing your children to ignore the teaching of the Catholic Church!” So then I lost it and said: “Yes the Church that allowed priests to rape children and get away with it, and moved the paedophile priests from parish to parish. The Church that silenced those victims of abuse and tried to buy them off. The Church that sent young women to Magdalene laundries and tore their children out of their arms to sell them off, and kept those women as slaves. The Church that lies through its teeth and calls it ‘mental reservation’. The Church that excommunicated a nine-year-old child who was raped – and her mother who took her for a termination because she would have died otherwise – but did not excommunicate the rapist! Is that the Church you’re talking about, Dad?” And when I’d finished shouting at him, we left. I’m telling you, Marie-Claire, the patriarchy is still alive and well in Ireland,’ Ella raged.

‘How are the girls?’ Marie-Claire asked sympathetically.

‘Ah they were shocked and upset initially, but now they’re being self-righteous with all the superiority of youth,’ Ella chuckled. ‘I had to point out that everyone was entitled to vote as they saw fit, and No voters had their point of view and it was important to respect their democratic right to exercise their vote, even if it was a No and harmful to the lives of women. I explained to them that centuries of the Church’s teachings had cowed whole generations into not opposing them, regardless of how much they might want to, and I said there were some people who felt their No vote was morally right and that was their decision. Just as our decision to vote Yes, was ours.’

‘Fair dues to you. I suppose balance is everything, but I might not have been so gracious.’

‘I know, it’s called motherhood,’ Ella said wryly. ‘But today I needed a break from them, march or no march.’

*

‘Whaaaatt?’ Marie-Claire wasn’t sure if she’d heard her great-aunt correctly. ‘You want to go on a pilgrimage to Iona with Maman and bring Granny? Controversial!’ she grinned.

‘I do,’ Brigid replied calmly settling herself into the front of Marie-Claire’s borrowed car. They were in a car park in Dublin airport. Marie-Claire had come to collect her from her flight and in the morning they would be heading west to the Four Winds for the weekend.

‘Well good luck with that, Mère. When I texted her after I came back from France in January, telling her I’d like to come and visit, to talk about what had happened, she told me not to bother. She’s done with all of us, according to herself,’ Marie-Claire grimaced, reversing out of the parking space.