‘A bug? I thought you were a bit down all right.’ Teresa raised an eyebrow, before taking another mouthful of the sinful concoction.

‘A baby!’ Imelda replied glumly.

‘Oh cripes, Imelda. So soon after Peter! How do you feel about it?’ Teresa eyed her warily, not sure whether to congratulate or commiserate but, knowing her friend as she did, feeling commiserations would be more appropriate.

‘Fed up, if you want the truth. I haven’t told Larry yet. I’d say I’m about six weeks’ gone.’ Imelda sighed deeply and cut her scone in half and spread butter and jam on it.

‘Were you not taking precautions?’

‘Ah sure, my cycle’s all over the place. Even bloody Mister Billings couldn’t make head nor tail of it.’ Imelda gave a wry grin.

Teresa snorted derisively. ‘Don’t you mean the recently elevated Knight Commander of the Order of St Gregory the Great? The Pope rewarded him with that title last year – that’s when he’s not writing encyclicals on birth control. Humanae vitae, if you don’t mind. On the Regulation of Birth. How bloody dare he stick his long beak and his pointy hat in women’s matters—’

Imelda tittered at this piece of irreverence. Pope Paul VI had indeed a rather prominent nose.

‘You may laugh. I bet you didn’t know that Master Billings and his missus had nine children. His natural family planning method didn’t work for them, and we’re supposed to believe it will work for us. Huh!

‘Nine! The randy little fecker. How do you know that?’ Imelda was gobsmacked. When Humanae Vitae had been published, the parish priest had read parts of it from the altar and urged all his parishioners to follow the guidelines therein, and not be availing of unnatural contraceptives that were against the will of God and therefore a sin. The Billings Method was the only method of natural family planning approved by the Church, and it was universally loathed by most Irish women.

‘A woman I met at a meeting told me: nine kids. And he and the Pope have the cheek to expect us to let them tell us what to do about controlling our own fertility—’

‘That’s very progressive talk, Teresa. What kind of meeting were you at?’ Imelda eyed her friend curiously, taking a sip of her delicious coffee, the likes of which she would never get to drink back home.

‘Wait until I tell you my news, Imelda,’ Teresa said excitedly. ‘I joined the women’s lib movement.’

‘Go way! Did you?’ Imelda was stunned. ‘The one they were talking about on the Late Late a while back? That was a mighty programme that night! There was ructions when the women got going and put Garrett Fitzgerald in his place.’