‘The thing is, the apartment will be empty, and I was telling her you were home, and you’d have to give your tenant lots of notice if you planned on staying, and she said why don’t you stay in hers, and she’ll put you on the car insurance too. It’s only a little Fiesta, but it would do for getting around until you figure out what you’re going to do. Whaddya think?’ Ella couldn’t hide her delight. ’Please say yes. Please stay in Dublin, I’ve missed you so much,’ she added imploringly.

Marie-Claire was stunned. ‘Jeepers, Ella, this is very unexpected,’ she said hesitantly. ‘You can tell her if I’m staying I’ll be paying rent. I’ll get a job somewhere,’ Marie-Claire said firmly. ‘Even if it’s only giving French grinds to students.’

‘She’ll say no!’

‘Well then, I won’t stay,’ Marie-Claire retorted.

‘You can sort it out between you,’ Ella laughed. ‘I’d better go, I’m back in the office and I have thousands of emails. ‘Ring me after the party and let me know how it goes and what your plans are.’

*

The sun was shining by the time she drove through the open wrought-iron gates that led to the rambling, whitewashed, Victorian two-storey house that sat sturdily atop a cliff. The sight lifted Marie-Claire’s heart.

She drove around the side of the house, got out of the car and walked into the back hall that led into the kitchen. The aroma of baking wafted around her, and her stomach grumbled at the smell. Marie-Claire inhaled the familiar scents of polish, and roses, that she associated with this house that had always been her refuge. She could hear murmured conversations and laughter and recognized Una and Mère’s voices.

She opened the kitchen door and stood taking in the scene. The two women – her great-aunt in her black habit, Una in her floral apron, sitting together at the table, sipping tea out of china cups.

It was Brigid who saw her first. Her jaw dropped. Her face took on an expression of pure happiness. ‘Marie-Claire!’ she exclaimed joyfully, standing with the alacrity of a woman half her age. Arms outstretched, she crossed the tiled floor as Una clapped her hands and cried in delight:

‘I declare to God, would you look who’s here?’

‘Dear, dear beloved girl,’ Brigid murmured wrapping her arms around her great-niece, her cheek soft and unlined against Marie-Claire’s. ‘What blessing is this the Lord has sent us?’

They held each other tightly, and in the tender embrace of her great-aunt, in the place of her greatest solace, Marie-Claire knew that she was finally home.

*