When Marie-Claire had texted her saying she wanted to come and discuss the family row, Imelda had been in the height of her annoyance with them all, and had fired off a cold, unforgiving text. She’d heard nothing since. Felicity had mentioned last week that Brigid was still in France. She could stay there, for all Imelda cared. Her mouth drew down into a thin line. What was she doing, thinking of them and ruining her enjoyable morning? She would buy a box of crème cakes at the bakery and drop them in to Felicity and tell her to keep the éclair for Cormac because they were his favourites, and then she would run the mower over her lawn, a chore she quite enjoyed. Afterwards, she would settle down to read her book for the afternoon and put her feet up. Pleased with her plan for the day ahead, Imelda finished her cappuccino, retouched her lipstick and made her way out to the bakery. She was glad she’d packed her shopping into the boot of the car earlier. Nothing worse than lugging shopping bags around. There was a queue, of course. The bakery was always busy. She stood behind an elegant grey-haired lady, admiring the cut of her hair. Stylish and modern. Should she stop colouring her own hair and finally go grey? Imelda wondered idly.

‘The loos were packed,’ she heard a voice say as a young woman stepped in front of her. Imelda’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. ‘Marie-Claire!’ she exclaimed involuntarily.

Both women turned in her direction.

‘Granny!’

‘Imelda!’

Imelda stared at the grey-haired woman in shock. ‘Brigid! Where’s your veil? Your habit?’ she said idiotically.

‘I don’t wear it anymore. Hello, Imelda, how are you?’ her older sister said calmly.

‘What are you doing here?’ Imelda snapped, flustered.

‘We had our breakfast in the café after the drive from Dublin, and then we decided to buy some cakes to bring to you, hoping that you wouldn’t close the door in our faces,’ Brigid said matter-of-factly.

‘Oh!’ Imelda was gobsmacked. ‘I wouldn’t close the door in your face,’ she muttered, unable to meet her sister’s steady gaze.

‘We weren’t sure what sort of a reception we’d get, seeing as you didn’t want to meet me when I texted you and asked if I could visit,’ Marie-Claire said quietly.

‘Oh! Yes. Well, I was very upset then,’ Imelda said defensively. ‘Did Cormac and Felicity know you were coming?’ She eyed her granddaughter suspiciously, anxious to get off the subject and pleased that she’d made sure they knew that she was as wounded by them as much as they had been offended by her.

‘Nope! It was all very spur of the moment!’ Marie-Claire shrugged.

There was a strained silence as two pairs of eyes studied her expectantly. Imelda was in a complete tizzy. She hated being caught on the hop.