‘I’m the one teaching holistic classes and holding spiritual retreats and pontificating about how to live our best lives.’ Keelin followed Marie-Claire into a lift, glad they were alone. ‘What if I can’t do it, though? What if I can’t hack it with Mam. Then where are we?’

‘What would you say to someone in that position if they were asking your advice?’

‘I suppose I’d say, provided you’ve done your best, let them go. We can’t love, or even like everybody who’s in our lives, and that’s OK. Bless them and let them go, basically.’

‘Well, that’s what you’ll do then, Maman,’ Marie-Claire said pragmatically. ‘Stop beating yourself up. Who knows, a miracle might happen and we’ll have a fun time,’ she added. ‘Speaking of miracles, you’ll never guess what happened to me today,’ she exclaimed, hoisting Keelin’s case into the boot of the car. ‘An old college friend phoned me, out of the blue. His wife is pregnant and very sick and he needs someone to run the post-production side of his business, and that someone might be moi!’

‘Terrific,’ enthused her mother, settling into the passenger seat.

‘That’s a real sign that I’ve to stay in Dublin, isn’t it? I was so unsettled, I didn’t know what to do with myself and thought of going to the States—’

‘And going back to Marc?’ Keelin couldn’t hide her shock.

‘No!’ scoffed Marie-Claire, reversing out of the parking bay. ‘I’d never go back to him – though I did think about taking the job in his NY office. But now this has come up and I really like the idea of it.’

‘And you’ve moved back into your lovely house. It’s perfect,’ Keelin encouraged, relieved that Marie-Claire was staying put. ‘Mary Magdalene is working her magic already – let’s hope she gifts us with a serene few days in Scotland.’

‘Somehow I don’t equate the word “serene” with Granny,’ Marie-Claire replied, and they laughed heartily as they headed for the hotel.

*

Brigid knocked on Imelda’s door. She’d got a text from Marie-Claire to say that she and Keelin were leaving the airport, and to be in the foyer in ten minutes. She was thoroughly enjoying this great new adventure. Staying in a hotel was a real treat. Whenever she’d travelled for work, she’d always stayed in convents.

She’d had a lovely post-lunch siesta, lying on her bed flicking TV channels before losing herself in her latest Patrice Chaplin book, which was all about life in a small French village. They were going to dinner in Marie-Claire’s house, and make plans for their Scottish itinerary. She hadn’t been this excited since she was a small girl waiting for Santa to come.