‘She’s always gone to Dublin to buy her clothes. Larry was very generous in that regard, and of course Imelda is an almighty snob and excels in one-upmanship,’ Brigid said ruefully. ‘I’m thinking now – and excuse me for changing the subject, dear – but perhaps we’d best not get into the whole “you said”, “she said”, “I said” carry on. Yes, eventually we’ll have to address the things she threw at us at the party, but I think initially we should take a restrained approach. Have our tea with her and ask her will she come to Scotland with us. It would be good to talk things over in a neutral setting. You know what Imelda’s like: if she gets defensive she’ll get offensive and there could be another row, then we’ll be out the door before we know it.’

‘Right. Good thinking. You’re very wise, Mère, and she doesn’t deserve the leeway you’re giving her.’ Marie-Claire swung into the drive behind Imelda.

‘Trust me, running a convent with women in various stages of hormonal disarray was a great training in how to manage disagreements, large and small,’ Brigid laughed.

‘Well, I think you’re awesome. You’re the one she should be apologizing to instead of letting us think she’s doing us a great favour by seeing us,’ Marie-Claire said indignantly.

‘It’s all a front. Remember, there was a lot of hurt and resentment behind that explosion of anger. Imelda had a point about being left to look after the farm and our parents, as well as looking after her mother-in-law and her own family. I can see that, looking back at it now, from her point of view. So let’s play it softly-softly. What do you say?’ Brigid studied her great-niece quizzically.

‘I say I’m in awe of you. Come on, Saint Brigid. I’ll follow your lead,’ Marie-Claire said fondly, switching off the ignition, glad she hadn’t come to see her grandmother on her own in January. She would have ended up making matters worse.

‘Go into the sitting room and I’ll make the tea,’ Imelda instructed when they followed her into the house.

‘The cakes, Imelda.’ Brigid handed her the square white box.

‘Thanks.’ Her sister managed a small smile.

‘I’ll make the tea if you like, Granny,’ Marie-Claire offered, as she always would when she was staying with her.

‘No, I’ll do it myself. Go in and sit down,’ Imelda gestured into the sun-drenched front room, before marching down to the kitchen.

‘We’re being treated like guests.’ Marie-Claire made a face, sinking into the plump-cushioned burgundy sofa.

‘We’re in, that’s all that matters.’ Brigid took off her coat and scarf and sat in one of the armchairs. ‘This isn’t where she sits, is it?’ she asked.

‘No, she sits in the one by the fire.’

‘Grand.’