The Dunnes had all come dressed up in their Sunday best, Brigid noted, touched at the effort they had made for her. Her father was looking smart in his good brown suit and, because it was a special occasion, wearing his black fedora hat rather than his usual grey woollen flat cap. Her mother was dressed smartly in a new wool knit ensemble, a dress and jacket in heathery lilac colours, with a lilac headscarf. Imelda sported a pair of royal blue slacks and a blue and white cheesecloth blouse. She was wearing blue eyeshadow and mascara and had pink painted nails. Brigid thought she looked the height of fashion and couldn’t hide the pangs of envy as she caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the big plate windows, in her woollen white novice’s habit, hair hidden under a veil and wimple, and not a lick of make-up. Her brothers wore their white Sunday shirts and ties, their hair slicked back with Brylcreem.

‘Brigid!’ Her mother hugged the daylights out of her in a rare display of affection, her familiar scent of lily of the valley and Max Factor powder almost making Brigid cry with nostalgia as she buried her face in Elizabeth’s neck and held her tight. Then it was her father’s turn, and she saw with shock that he had tears in his eyes as he studied her with pride.

‘You look wonderful, Brigid – a real nun,’ he said proudly, enveloping her in a bear hug that made her feel like a little girl again.

‘Daddy, Daddy, I’ve missed you so much,’ she gulped, loving the feel of his lined, weather-beaten cheek against hers.

Joan’s tearful goodbye kiss before she got into the taxi to go to Kingsbridge had been the first time Brigid had had any display of affection since her entry into the religious life, and now to be lavished with hugs and kissed from her parents made her realize how much she’d missed the comfort of touch.

Mortifying though it was for them to display affection in public, her brothers made the effort and kissed her on the cheek. However, Imelda, true to form, couldn’t hide her jealousy. Given that they hadn’t seen each other for so long, Brigid was unprepared for the frostiness of Imelda’s lacklustre peck on the cheek and sullen, muttered, ‘Hello.’

‘I love your outfit.’ Brigid offered the compliment with as good a grace as she could muster, hiding her indignation that Imelda wouldn’t even try to make an effort.

‘When you’re stuck in the sticks, you have to do the best you can,’ Imelda responded tartly.

‘Well, it’s very fashionable, Imelda. You look great in it.’ Brigid tried to be the better person.