‘I know that. And it makes no difference to how I feel about him, but it made a difference to our relationship,’ Keelin wept, pointing at Imelda.

‘How so? Believe it or not, I love you very much. That’s why I kept your father’s secret from you until now.’ Imelda wiped tears from her eyes.

‘If you loved me that much, why wouldn’t you let me come home with Marie-Claire when she was a baby? Why did you treat me like a pariah?’ sobbed Keelin.

‘Oh, Keelin, when you got pregnant I felt I was being punished by a very harsh God. And your pregnancy was the last straw. I couldn’t cope. I was looking after the parents. I was starting an early menopause. I was always afraid Larry’s secret might get out one way or another. I know it’s not an excuse for turning my back on you. And I genuinely didn’t want everyone pointing the finger at you . . . for your own sake. There was no excuse for how I behaved in the early years when you needed me most,’ she said earnestly. ‘But it’s my reason. From the moment I saw your father and the man that he loved, together, something twisted inside me. I felt unlovable. I felt unworthy of love. I felt I was a bad person and that this had been sent to me as a punishment.

‘When I saw them kissing and heard Larry saying “I love you” with such passion – words that I had longed with all my heart to say to a man and have him say the same in return, and then knew it would never happen – my life was blighted forever.’

‘You saw them kissing?’ Brigid exclaimed. ‘Oh, Imelda, how traumatic for you.’

‘It was. I can still remember the shock and fright of it to this day. He and Fran Cassidy, who was the art teacher in the school, were in the storeroom behind the shop when I came upon them—’

‘But Daddy wasn’t in any way effeminate,’ Keelin interrupted, unable to get her head around her mother’s disclosure.

‘Ah now, Keelin, you know better than that. Look at Rock Hudson. Look at Leo Varadkar—’ Imelda raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Yeah, that was daft of me. Sorry. I’m dumbfounded. I never had any inkling.’

‘Nor had I. The young man he was in love with was less of a masculine type than Larry. He was on the slender side, very quiet. He loved art and poetry and stuff like that. He left for England soon after I saw them together, and committed suicide a year later. Your father was devastated when he heard the news. He had a sort of nervous breakdown. I tried to keep it from you and the boys, and to keep him going as best I could—’