For years, she’d taken Elizabeth and her Aunt Dervla up on the train to Heuston station, where they’d caught the bus to the city centre. It had been a great day out. The atmosphere of gaiety and anticipation in the carriages as the train rattled along the tracks to Dublin was infectious, and half of Ardcloch and Glencarraig would be on the exodus of trains and buses leaving the West for the big day out. But Imelda had been looking forward to going on her own this year, and staying with Teresa, who had married a carpenter she’d met at a dance in Galway. He worked for Dublin Corporation and did plenty of nixers, and they’d bought a small bungalow in Glasnevin. Imelda envied her friend greatly, living in the city with buses and shops and interesting places to visit, all to hand.

‘No, I’ll stay put this year, Imelda. I don’t want to leave your father on his own all day. God knows what he’d get up to. He’s got no patience, that man,’ her mother sighed.

‘I’ll bring you to Galway or Limerick some morning,’ Imelda offered, relieved that she would be travelling solo and knowing how much her mother loved the lights and decorations in the cities at Christmas time.

‘That would be lovely, Imelda. You’re a good daughter. We’ll have lunch. My treat,’ her mother said gratefully, patting her arm. ‘I don’t know how I’d manage without you.’

It was rare for her mother to praise her, and Imelda felt a softening of her impatience. She loved her parents, but she resented the time she’d to spend looking after them and their affairs. It seemed to her that she’d never, not once in her life, had time to spend on herself, doing what she wanted.

*

‘But sure, what woman ever gets time to spend on herself, Imelda?’ Teresa laughed, a week later,, when they sat together sipping coffee in Bewley’s Oriental Café on Grafton Street, and Imelda was regaling her friend with all that was going on in ‘the sticks’.

‘True,’ Imelda agreed, sitting back to allow the waitress to place a steaming mug of coffee and a scone and jam in front of her. They had been lucky to get a table in the famous restaurant. It seemed half the country was up in Dublin for the Holy Day, and the streets were thronged with Christmas shoppers, and excited children gazing awestruck at the Christmas lights.

‘Would you not have an éclair, Imelda? They’re delicious! You always have one when we come here.’ Teresa licked some cream from the side of her mouth and poured herself a cup of tea.

‘I’d have liked to, but my tummy’s a bit off these days.’ Imelda eyed the choux pastry and chocolate treat with envy.