Brigid noted her surprise. ‘Keelin said I should wear trousers. I do feel rather strange wearing them,’ she explained, a tad defensively.

‘It’s so unusual to see you out of your habit.’ Imelda stood with her own clothes over her arm, studying her. ‘It takes a bit of getting used to.’

‘You can say that again,’ Brigid said drily, packing her nightdress neatly in her case. ‘It’s taken a while for me to get used to. My head is fierce cold without the veil sometimes, and . . . well . . . it’s strange seeing my . . . er . . . figure. The habit hides a lot.’

‘You have a neat figure,’ Imelda conceded, and, noting the seeming thaw in relations, added magnanimously, ‘I could do with less second helpings, I suppose.’ She made a face and patted her portly tummy.

‘I’m a skinnymalinks and always was,’ Brigid said ruefully, noting her sharp angular hips in the mirror. ‘I have Mother’s genes and you have Daddy’s.’

‘You could be right,’ Imelda agreed. ‘Was the water hot?’

‘It was grand. I opened the window in there to let out the steam; you might want to close it. There’s a howling gale blowing. You hear it at the back of the house, not this side. We’ll be bouncing around on the ferry.’

‘Hmm, it’s a pretty miserable day out there, unfortunately. What a shame. It was so nice and summery yesterday. You can hardly see Iona.’ Imelda pointed to the view from her window.

Brigid walked over, glanced out and sighed. ‘ “Blessed are those whose strength is in you; who have set their hearts on a pilgrimage.” I can’t remember who said that. We can’t let the rain stop our trip, now that we’re here. We’d better eat a good breakfast to keep our strength up.’

Imelda tittered. ‘That’s my kind of talk. I hope they offer us a fry.’

‘We only have a fry every second Sunday. It will be brown bread and marmalade as usual, for me,’ Brigid said briskly.

‘Ah for goodness’ sake, you’re retired now, Brigid, You’re on holidays. Have a fry if you want it. You deserve it,’ Imelda exclaimed, thinking how awful it was that the meals one ate were dictated in the convent. She would never have lasted in a nunnery. She’d never be able to hold her tongue if she was getting chastised, and she loved her grub too much. She had a fry at least once a week and a bacon butty for lunch whenever she felt like it.