‘Thank you, dear. I might do that.’ Brigid smiled, gazing at the panorama before her. The throb of the ship’s engines reminded her of the many times she’d travelled on boats upriver in Senegal, en route to outlying villages to minister to children. It seemed a lifetime ago. A dream almost, she thought sadly, remembering how young and vigorous she’d been then, and happy to be with her beloved African children, giving them the love she’d never been able to give her own, lost baby. Don’t think about it. She buried the memories with difficulty, and said ‘Isn’t that’s a stunning sunset?’ admiring the streamers of red, gold, and pink that tinted the western horizon. The faint lights in the houses on Mull began to get brighter as dusk deepened and the mountains darkened, etched against the twilight sky.

‘Absolutely beautiful!’ agreed Marie-Claire, snapping away on her iPad and turning the camera towards her companions to take their photo.

*

‘It’s a long time since we shared a room,’ Imelda remarked, studying their surroundings with pursed lips. The landlady of the B&B they were staying in had shown them to the spacious bedroom with en suite that would be theirs for the night. There was a single and double bed and she didn’t fancy sleeping in the narrow confines of the smaller bed. She was exhausted after the early start and all the travelling. And she was hungry.

‘Indeed it has, Imelda. A long time too, since I shared a dormitory with my fellow Sisters. I suppose we’re lucky we’re not sharing a bed like we did in the old days.’ Brigid took off her coat and scarf and hung them neatly in the wardrobe.

‘You’re skinnier than I am, will the single bed do you?’ Imelda ventured.

‘I’d sleep on a rock, I’m so tired,’ Brigid said tartly, annoyed at her sister’s selfishness. Typical Imelda. Always thinking of herself first. Little fat selfish lump, she thought viciously. Their short entente cordiale was wearing thin. It had begun to erode when Imelda had taken the front seat of the car for the long trip from Craignure to Fionnphort with a pointed, ‘My turn to sit in the front, but I won’t hog the front seat for the entire trip.’ It was directed at her and Brigid had felt a blaze of indignation, and had had to bite her tongue to smother the retort that came instantly to her lips: You wouldn’t have been on this trip if it weren’t for me, you crabby old biddy.

One would surely think that after her sister’s dreadful behaviour at the party, Imelda would be bending over backwards to make amends. But no. Me, me, me to the fore as usual. The way she was carrying on, you’d think Imelda was the one hard done by.