A ripple of excitement at the door made her turn her head in time to see her older sibling, an expression of eye-widening astonishment, followed by delight and happiness chasing across her fine features. Brigid might be eighty, but she looked twenty years younger and her skin was soft and unlined beneath her veil.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Brigid gasped. ‘How? When? Una!’ She turned to the housekeeper, who was beaming from ear to ear. ‘You rogue!’ Brigid declared before she was enveloped in a flurry of hugs as her sister nuns clustered around her.

Like a flock of chattering crows, Imelda thought unkindly as jealousy once again swept through her.

Brigid made her way into the room, guests hugging, kissing and congratulating her. She caught sight of Imelda and her face lit up. ‘You came!’ she exclaimed warmly, leaning forward to kiss her. ‘Imelda, I’m delighted.’

‘I’m your sister, why wouldn’t I? Sure, don’t we have to make a fuss of you?’ Imelda pecked her on the cheek.

‘Honestly, Imelda, I hadn’t a clue. It’s such a surprise,’ Brigid confessed, the sly sarcasm sailing over her head. ‘You look marvellous. That colour is lovely on you.’

Imelda softened at her sister’s compliment. ‘And black suits you,’ she reposted humorously and they both laughed.

‘And the Sheedys came, and the Mother General, and oh, Lord . . . it’s Keelin!’ Brigid’s face was alight with joy as she held out her arms to her niece.

‘Mère, oh Mère, it’s so good to see you. Happy, happy birthday,’ Keelin put her arms around her beloved aunt and hugged her tightly. A pain, sharp as the thrust of a knife in her heart, stabbed Imelda, viewing the tableau of love and affection in front of her.

If she lived to be a hundred, Keelin would never kiss and hug her with the love and warmth she had for Brigid. That look of joy would never cross her daughter’s face for her! Afraid that she might cry, Imelda finished her wine and made her way out of the crowded room to find the downstairs restroom. She needed to be alone for a few moments to compose herself.

She heard Una announce that dinner was going to be served immediately so it wouldn’t be overcooked, and that everyone was to tuck in, speeches could be made later and presents given to the guest of honour. Una was such a little dictator, Imelda thought crossly, wondering would she be able to eat anything when the lump in her throat was so big. She locked the door of the small bathroom behind her and leaned against it. Seeing how truly loved Brigid was, and how contented and serene she seemed, only emphasized her own sense of failure and disappointment with life.