If she ever had a daughter, she would have one less worry for her, Marie-Claire thought gratefully, smiling into Julie’s camera for a selfie of their little group.

EPILOGUE

Sunday, 26 August 2018

‘Here’s a packed lunch for you now, and you have the flasks.’ Maura handed Marie-Claire a basket filled with freshly baked scones and brown bread and Tupperware containers of cold cuts, salads, and pasta.

‘That’s a feast, Maura. Thanks,’ Keelin said warmly. ‘What a treat it is to be here,’ she added gleefully.

‘I suppose that’s one good thing about the Pope’s visit, we got to see ya! I think Una’s mad to go traipsing up to Phoenix Park to see him, but to each his own.’ Maura was less than impressed that Una had gadded off to Dublin. ‘I thought you might have been up there too, Imelda,’ she remarked casually.

‘Huh! Me? There was a time I might have, but those days are long gone. I’ve no time for him and his ilk.’ Imelda drained the last drop of tea from her cup. ‘That fifteen million of our money we’ve to spend on this visit could have gone towards housing the homeless. It’s disgraceful! The Church has billions! And there were well-known people fundraising for this carry-on, expecting the hard-put taxpayer to dip deep into our pockets yet again.’ She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘We’re a strange little country sometimes,’ she said crossly.

‘We’re getting better,’ Brigid smiled. Her hair was damp against her head. She and Marie-Claire had been for a swim in the sea and were having a quick cuppa before getting ready to leave the Four Winds on another ‘small pilgrimage’, as she’d put it when she suggested today’s trip to the others.

Keelin had flown in from France the previous afternoon and she and Marie-Claire had driven directly to Glencarraig to collect Imelda, and then driven to the Four Winds.

So different from the last time they had all been here in January, Brigid thought, loving that they were all sitting in the kitchen chatting and laughing, the hot August sun splashing daubs of light all over the table, through the old-fashioned sash windows.

Una and Maura had welcomed the trio warmly the previous day, and had been exceedingly gracious when Imelda had apologized for ruining Brigid’s party. ‘I wasn’t myself,’ she explained by way of mitigation.

You were very much yourself, Maura thought acidly, but she refrained – heroically, in her opinion – from making any smart remarks and let her sister take the lead.

‘These things happen in families. The important thing is that you all rose above it, so that can only be a good thing,’ Una replied, a little embarrassed to see the usually cocky Imelda displaying unexpected humility.

Once the awkwardness was over, and they’d unpacked, Keelin suggested a walk on the strand before dinner.