‘Well the pharmacist couldn’t give us the pill so Nell told us to buy aspirin and take them out of the packets. None of the customs men had ever seen the pill. Neither had any of us, come to that. So they would be none the wiser. No contraceptive pill came into the Republic today, but a hell of a lot of aspirins did,’ Teresa said drolly.

Imelda laughed heartily. ‘No more sending off postal orders to England with stamped addressed envelopes for rubber goods to be back sent under plain cover then.’

‘Ah, I’d say we’re not finished with the days of “foreign correspondence” yet,’ Teresa said sagely.

‘Foreign correspondence?’

‘Another name for French letters,’ Teresa winked. ‘The Church won’t give up without a fight, and sadly what the Church says still dictates what goes on here.’

‘It’s changing though. It’s changing. By the time Keelin grows up, it will be nothing like it is now.’

‘You hope,’ Teresa shrugged. ‘One battle at a time.’

*

Imelda felt refreshed and revitalized driving into Glencarraig the following morning. Her trips to Teresa, and Dublin, were a godsend. She knew how lucky she was to have a husband as decent as Larry. He never moaned; in fact, he encouraged her to have her days out in the capital because, he always teased, she came back in good humour after spending all his money.

They hadn’t had sex since she’d had the miscarriage at Christmas, nearly six months ago. And he was wary of the protection offered by condoms. He said he didn’t want to risk her getting pregnant again. Well, tonight there’d be no risk because she’d a tube of spermicidal jelly to go with the French letters Teresa had bought her, on her ‘Occasion of Sin’ to the North.

On a whim, Imelda turned into the car park in front of the shop. Larry had had a new extension put on, and a chill room, and the plate-glass windows gleamed in the May sun. The cheery baskets of cascading pink, purple and white petunias looked almost continental against the whitewashed walls. She was proud of her husband. He was a hard worker. A man with a vision for his business and he treated her and the children very well. And she had standing in the community, as his wife. She might not have been in love with Larry when she married him, but she could say, at last, that she was reasonably contented.

Imelda was feeling uncharacteristically cheerful as she made her way through the busy store, greeting customers and neighbours. Larry wasn’t on the floor so she poked her head into the office to see if he was there. ‘I think he’s out the back, Imelda,’ Betty, the secretary said, lifting her head from her ledger.