Lizzie showed up one day not long after. I was standing by the half-door with Serena on my hip because I’d heard the sound of her car coming on the river. She braked hard because she was driving too fast and jumped out of the car screaming and ready to hug before it had stopped. She had to jump back in as it rolled towards the river field; she’d forgotten to pull on the handbrake!

–  Jesus Holy Christ in a chicken basket! It’s the Virgin Mary and Child!

–  Lizzie Magee! Go easy, will you? Don’t swear in front of the wayne!

–  God, look at you! Look at you! You haven’t changed an inch!

–  You have! What in God’s name have you done to your hair?

–  Fuck off! Perms are in! Not that you’ll ever need one with that wig! It’s pure fashionable! Oh cripes … sorry … erm … Mrs …

–  Lizzie, this is Bridie. Bridie, this is Lizzie Magee.

–  Very nice to meet you, Lizzie. Sure, I’ll take this little one and you two girls can run on down to the river or somewhere for a chat, eh? You must have some catchin’ up to do!

And we did run! Like children, whooping and screaming and pushing each other around! We were like cows let out after the winter: half-mad and blinded by the light but still determined to kick up our heels. The downy seed heads of the dandelions danced in our wake. When we came to a stop, breathless and laughing, I just held her for an age; she was soft and warm and I drew the softness and warmth deep down into my marrow. There was too much to say and no words to say it with. But Lizzie made a stab at it anyway as she dragged me on a whistle-stop tour of the past two years.

She’d actually studied, a near-miracle brought on by losing me to mess about with in classes. Sister Pious was still a dragon. My name had never been mentioned after the first week or so, when the thirty-three other girls in our class were desperate to know if it was true that the brainbox Mary Rattigan had got herself pregnant. Then they all got bored, especially as Lizzie had been ‘absolutely loyal’ and wouldn’t even grace them with a ‘fuck off’.

Sheila and her had found out about my wedding when it was a week old. They’d both laughed about the fact that I’d ended up with the most gorgeous man in town; it seemed appropriate somehow. I was a dark horse but then they’d always known that! Had they? It was news to me. Had she no problem with me getting married at sixteen at all? Had she forgotten that once upon a time I had other plans? What was so appropriate about me marrying him?