‘There’s something else I need to say. Seeing as we’re being so honest with each other,’ Imelda said slowly. ‘Keelin, I treated you so badly when you got pregnant, and then I let you think for all those months afterwards that it was your fault that your father died, when it had nothing to do with you, and was a result of that awful haemochromatosis. Something happened with me and Larry, years earlier, that had a terrible effect on me—’

‘Ach, ladies, would yae like some sandwiches? The wind is dying down, yae could be lucky yet?’ The landlady breezed into the conservatory; oblivious to the moment of revelation she’d interrupted.

‘Um, perhaps later, thank you, we’ve not long had tea,’ Brigid said calmly, noting Keelin’s tense expression and Imelda’s pale strained face.

‘Right, I’ll be away tae our wee house at the back. Call if yae need anythin’.’

‘Thank you so much.’ Brigid smiled graciously, thinking privately, Go, woman, and let us get on with things.

‘We certainly will,’ Marie-Claire said pleasantly, but her fingers were curled into her palms under the table and she felt sick. Were Imelda and her mother finally going to come to grips about their dysfunctional relationship and try and sort it out? Please let it go OK, please, please let Maman and Granny make their peace, she prayed silently as the door closed behind their friendly landlady and they were alone again.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

She could feel it bubbling up inside her, wanting to be expelled out of her with volcanic force. That awful thing which she’d swallowed down and kept secret all her adult life. That cruel situation, which had poisoned her with grief, resentment and envy, and ruined her marriage, and all that went with it.

Imelda looked at her family, gazing at her, concerned, expectantly and knew it really was now or never. She cleared her throat.

‘Keelin, well, the thing is . . . I have a revelation too,’ she blurted, ‘but I think it’s going to hurt you and I don’t know whether to tell you or not.’ Imelda bent her head, uncharacteristically stuck for words.

‘What is it, Mam?’ Keelin’s voice had an edge of anxiety which Imelda misunderstood. Was there a hint of exasperation in her voice? Did her daughter think she was trying to steal Brigid’s thunder? Perhaps she should have stayed quiet.

‘Tell us what’s troubling you, Granny?’ Marie-Claire said kindly, noting her grandmother’s heightened colour and unusually bright eyes.

Imelda swallowed. She felt her throat close. ‘Give me a hot sup of that tea, will you?’

‘Don’t say Johnny Larkin got you pregnant too, Imelda,’ Brigid exclaimed in consternation.

Keelin blanched. Was her mother trying to tell her that Larry wasn’t her father?’