‘You certainly did, Mrs O’Brien, and your cake is delicious, if I may say so,’ Armand added his praise to the conversation.

‘Thank you,’ Imelda said graciously, but didn’t offer him another slice.

‘Is there anything I can do for you, Mam?’ Keelin asked, picking the crumbs of almond icing off the plate. Imelda noted what she was doing. ‘I kept some almond icing aside for you – I know you have a weakness for it.’ She smiled at her daughter.

‘Ah thank you, Mam!’ Keelin leaned over and gave her a hug and Imelda’s cheeks went rosy pink with pleasure.

‘Go on with you,’ she said, but she was content with her daughter’s response. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been hugged or kissed. It was a good feeling. ‘Why don’t the two of you go and unpack. I’ll put a match to the fire in the front room. Even though the central heating’s on, a fire is always that bit more festive at this time of the year,’ she suggested briskly. ‘We’ll have a roast beef dinner today. I’ll cook us a turkey dinner for New Year.’

‘Do not go to trouble, Mam, we’ll cook,’ Keelin said immediately.

‘Indeed you won’t. It’s no trouble. It will be nice to cook for someone other than myself. Off with you now to unpack,’ Imelda ordered. She wasn’t having that fella poking around her kitchen. Besides, she liked cooking for people. It wasn’t the same cooking for herself now that Larry was gone. One thing about her husband, he’d always appreciated her cooking. A flicker of sadness crossed her face at the thought.

‘OK,’ Keelin said. ‘If you don’t mind, as soon as we’ve unpacked we might go and visit Dad’s grave. I bought a lovely Christmas wreath in Dublin for him.’

‘Right so.’ Imelda stood up from the table. ‘You go to the grave before it gets dark and then come back and sit in front of the fire and relax after your journey. I’ll start dinner preparations now.’

‘Let me put these dishes in the dishwasher.’ Armand began to clear the table, and she was about to stop him but decided against it. Keelin was looking so sad at the prospect of visiting Larry’s grave. There was no point in adding to her daughter’s distress by being unnecessarily rude to Armand. If he didn’t fill the dishwasher to her satisfaction, she would do it herself when they were gone.

CHAPTER NINE

MARIE-CLAIRE

When the plane had banked to make its final descent into Dublin, shortly before six-thirty a.m., and she saw the glittering lights of the city beneath her, tears brimmed in Marie-Claire’s eyes. She had to struggle to compose herself before leaving the cocoon that had sheltered her from facing the world.