She’d been reading an article about cosmetic surgery and enhancement in a magazine at the hairdresser’s and had been most impressed by some before-and-after photos of an older lady who’d had fillers and Botox. Shrouded in a black gown, with her damp hair stuck to her head while she waited for her cut and blow dry, Imelda had stared at her image reflected in the square unforgiving mirror and wondered who was that pinched, lined, vexed woman. She looked far older than Brigid, she’d thought crossly.

As soon as she got home, she’d gone on her computer and spent hours on the Internet to find someone whom she felt would be suitable for her particular needs. Imelda was wary of cosmetic clinics and their boasts. Even the young one, who’d washed her hair earlier in the salon, had had her lips done; they looked like they were ready to explode. Her eyebrows were like two black caterpillars on her forehead. No, best to steer well clear of the money-grabbers and go to a ‘proper’ doctor, Imelda decided, making an appointment with a consultant.

She’d told Cormac and Felicity she was treating herself to an overnight stay in Dublin because she wanted to shop in Arnott’s basement to replenish her bedding and kitchen ware. They didn’t pay any heed to it, because Imelda had always gone to Dublin for the sales and stayed overnight.

She’d driven to Dublin very early, shopped in Arnott’s basement, and then driven to the Blackrock Clinic for an appointment with a ‘proper’ cosmetic surgeon. He had been so kind and encouraging during her initial appointment that when she lay on the couch to have her treatments, Imelda felt exhilarated.

The needles had been very painful, but she didn’t care. This was something she was doing for herself and worth every penny for the comfort it gave her after that upsetting family gathering.

She’d booked into the Royal Marine Hotel, down the coast road in Dun Laoghaire, treated herself to a room service dinner, unwilling to show her bruised face in the dining room, and rested against the pillows in the large luxurious bed, plotting how she would lavish more money on herself. A new car was next on the agenda. An automatic at that. Larry would want her to make her life easier, and feck the lot of them, that was exactly what she was going to do. There were no pockets in a shroud, and now that the rest of them were out of her will, she might as well spend, spend, spend.