I cooked the dinner and everything turned out gorgeous. Even the Christmas pudding was worth floating in a pint of cream. Bridie announced she was retiring from the job of head chef. Lizzie Magee, home for the season, came up at night-time to have a drink and I watched her gassing with Bridie and John and not noticing that I couldn’t join in. I poured beer for them and made turkey sandwiches and they hardly looked up from Serena, who was lying on her stomach drawing pictures of mammies and daddies in the heat from the fire.

Daddy came down on Boxing Day night to thrash out the plans for the new barn at The Hill; it would be built by February or March and we would start on the house as soon as the better weather of spring arrived. He stayed for a round of cards: him, Matthew, Bridie and John played Strip Jack ’til bedtime for pennies. I made biscuits on a whim because I wanted to keep away from the table and the talk. I came out with shortbread dusted with cinnamon that were cool enough to have with the tea before they left. The label on Daddy’s vest was sticking out and I tucked it in, resting my fingers lightly on his neck for a moment. He didn’t even jump but turned round and gave me a smile worth a million pounds.

–  My mother always made shortbread biscuits, he says. Just like yours.

I made a cake with ‘3’ written on it in pink icing on December 30th and John beat me to helping Serena blow out her birthday candles. I made a wish anyway. I wished I could fly, but not because I wanted to go anywhere else. I just wanted to know if they’d look up at me if I took off and did a few circuits of the kitchen ceiling at Johns Farm; there was no guarantee.

The foundations for the new barn were dug just after New Year, 1986. They were still full of icy water when my twentieth birthday came and went on February 20th unmarked bar a card and sweets from Auntie Eileen and a card with a £20-note from Kathleen: a pound for every year, she wrote in it, kiss, kiss. I took myself off for a walk to Brooky Hay the day the Ladies were walked from the river field for the last time. They had to climb to The Hill to be loaded up in trailers and taken to the mart. When I got back, the whole street was pitted with hoof marks but there was no other trace of them. I should have had the courage to say goodbye.