It had taken a couple of weeks for the discreet Botox and fillers to settle, but Imelda was delighted with the results. Everyone was telling her how well she looked. If only they knew, she laughed to herself. They wouldn’t believe what she’d done. Felicity and Cormac kept looking at her, wondering . . . Well, let them wonder, Imelda thought defiantly.

She opened the side pocket in her Desigual Madeira bag, slid out a small bronzer compact and opened the mirror to have a quick look. Not ‘done’ but very subtly ‘refreshed’, she thought, admiring the new plumpness of her cheeks and lip area, where the dermal fillers had taken years off her appearance. The Botox around her crow’s feet and frown lines had hurt but it was all worth it, Imelda thought proudly, snapping the compact shut.

Never had a moment of madness worked out so well.

‘Good morning, Carmel,’ she said perkily, coming abreast of the other woman.

‘Morning, Imelda. Isn’t it a lovely day after the terrible weather we’ve had?’

‘It certainly is,’ Imelda agreed. ‘I needed to stock up again.’

‘But sure, wouldn’t Cormac do your shopping for you and have it delivered?’ Carmel remarked.

‘Indeed he would. He’s always telling me he’ll get the van to drop by with anything I need, and it was handy to have that facility in the bad weather. But I like to do my own shopping – after all, it was my shop once,’ Imelda said, reminding Carmel that she too was a woman of substance.

‘Well, Cormac’s made a great job of it. Who would ever have thought we’d have such a fine supermarket in Glencarraig? It’s as good as any you’d find in the city.’

‘Indeed it is. Cheerio, Carmel, I must get on. I want to make a start on The Immortalists today, to have it read by Tuesday.’

‘A strange book. A Greek tragedy and all that, but superbly written nevertheless,’ Carmel observed knowledgeably, and Imelda thought irritably that she shouldn’t have let on she was behind in her book club read.

‘See you on Tuesday,’ she said, waving at Mags Reid, who was coming down the aisle in the opposite direction. ‘Mags, I heard Dickey Casey is laid up with cellulitis and won’t make bridge tomorrow night. So you could partner Susie Murphy Hemsworth, seeing as you don’t have a partner either for this Sunday?’ she said to the other woman.

‘That would be great, Imelda. Glad I bumped into you. Poor Dickey. He’s having a hard time of it.’

‘Indeed he is, the craythur. I’ll see you on Sunday so.’ Imelda carried on to the next aisle, very pleased with her Saturday morning.

‘Morning, Imelda.’ Sergeant Kenny saluted her when she passed him with her trolley. He was carrying a basket with cartons from the deli counter and a tub of ice cream and a rhubarb crumble.