‘It’s too late to turn back now, Marie-Claire, we’re stuck on an island, at the mercy of the weather. Do you hear the wind getting up? And heavy rain is forecast, unfortunately. God works in strange ways, for sure. It will all be OK though, I truly feel it.’ She spoke with more confidence than she felt.

Marie-Claire laughed. ‘Maman, all I can say is, as I’ve said before, thank God for gin . . . and your optimism. Sláinte,’ she added, raising her glass.

‘To family,’ Keelin responded comically, and they laughed heartily.

*

‘Oh excuse me,’ Imelda burped. She put her hand to her mouth as another unladylike belch threatened. She was sitting against the pillows in her double bed, a few rollers tucked under her hairnet, ready to settle down for the night. Brigid was reading her missal in the adjacent single bed.

‘Indigestion?’ She arched an eyebrow at her sister. ‘Well, you did eat rather a lot at dinner. At our age, second helpings aren’t good for us.’

Imelda’s mouth tightened into a thin line and her eyes narrowed to slits of annoyance. ‘I’m not used to eating late at night, and neither am I used to people watching and commenting on what I eat. The height of bad manners, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

‘I was merely making an observation, Imelda. I was a nurse once. I have medical experience, and I know that overfilling the stomach late at night causes flatulence and discomfort. I’m merely thinking of your comfort, dear. Sleep well,’ Brigid returned sweetly.

‘You don’t have to worry about my comfort, dear. And I sleep very well thank you. There’s no pillow so soft as a clear conscience, as the old saying goes. Goodnight,’ Imelda retorted bitchily, switching off her light.

Cow, thought Brigid, in a most un-nun-like manner. What a spiteful response. A real dig at her. She racked her brains for a pithy comeback: ‘I rather like what James has to say in the Bible: “God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble.” ’

She heard her sister’s sharp intake of breath and smiled. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, madam, she thought, snapping off her light, hoping against hope that she would fall asleep quickly and wondering had she lost her senses entirely to take this journey with her extremely annoying and acerbic sibling.

CHAPTER FIFTY

The sound of a shower running woke Imelda and she lay in her warm bed, wondering where she was. This wasn’t her bed, or her room. She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes from sleep. A faint ray of light splashed through a chink in the curtains on the window opposite her bed, and she remembered she was sharing a room with Brigid and they were on the Isle of Mull, in Scotland.