‘At least you’re young enough to have plenty of enjoyable sex – not like us ould wans,’ Brigid teased, trying to ease Marie-Claire’s pain. The others laughed. ‘If Mother General could hear me! If my Sisters could hear me, they’d think I’ve lost my mind. Me, the one who was so starchy and prim and proper in the convent. Me, living a lie all my life and suppressing every emotion, every surge of longing that flooded my body. I was very happy in Africa. I should have left the convent and gone back there as a lay person,’ Brigid sighed. ‘But I didn’t have the courage to stand on my own two feet. At least you’re living, Marie-Claire, even if right now your heart is in flitters – and I know the pain of that. But you’re not running away from life like I did,’ she added forcefully.

Imelda looked at her sister quizzically, ‘I never thought of you like that. A young woman with needs and desires, and emotions. Once you put the veil on I thought of you as . . . don’t laugh.’ She eyed her sister with a glint of affection. ‘I thought of you as holy.’

‘Holy! Me? I was far from holy,’ Brigid snorted, amused at the notion. ‘I battled myself night and day to conquer my real self. When I wasn’t envying you, that was.’

‘I don’t know what you were envying me for. My life was a life of . . . of . . . disappointment,’ Imelda confided ruefully. ‘My first time wasn’t great either. I was petrified. I was afraid it would hurt, and it did. I didn’t know anything about foreplay and lubricants. I cared greatly for Larry. He was a good man, but I wasn’t in love with him – I’m sorry to say that to you, Keelin,’ she turned to her daughter. ‘He was my opportunity to get away from home and working the farm and looking after Granny, seeing as you were gone, Brigid. I wanted a home of my own and that was the reason I married your father. There was no great coup de foudre for me.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mam,’ Keelin said quietly. ‘It’s a shame those were the reasons you married. I’m sorry none of you have known real love like I did, and do, with Armand.’

‘Well he is a Frenchman,’ Brigid joked, breaking the tension, and they all laughed again.

‘And was your first time good, Keelin?’ Imelda asked, astonished, yet feeling decidedly liberated that she was having such a conversation with her daughter. This exchange was what being a mother and daughter was about. This was the way Keelin and Marie-Claire interacted, and now she was part of it, no longer the one on the outside. Imelda felt a surge of joy like she’d never felt before.