Even the worst of nights go in eventually. We had drifted about until I got everyone around the fire with a slice of bread on a fork each. We need toast for these fried eggs, I said, and we all managed a small smile. Bridie mashed the tea in the old brown teapot and we sat at the table together. John was raging inside but that’s where he kept it, inside and away from the waynes. I touched his neck; it was hard as marble but he breathed out and the atmosphere cheered up a notch.

The next day we found out how many had died. It was twenty-nine. The news kept saying ‘civilians’. Over the next few days we found out how many were injured, over two hundred – some left without limbs, others blinded or disfigured. Men, women, children all chewed up by sectarian violence. A young woman who had been shopping with her mother and her little girl was killed. She had been pregnant with twins – all five of them wiped off the face of the earth. It could have been me, Bridie, Serena, Eugene and Marius. Then we found out who was responsible: it was our very own Real IRA. Would my darling mother’s rampant Nationalism be robust enough to spin this one?

We’ll soon find out. She’s been invited down for a slice of cake to celebrate Serena’s GCSE results and her A in art A level that she did ‘just for fun’. I didn’t invite her but my much more forgiving child did. Bridie groaned and Auntie Eileen announced that she, for one, would not be doing the party sober, No Siree Bob! Daddy’s coming too, although he won’t stay long. Serena’s done well, and her and the beloved Nora Reilly have their eyes on Belfast. I can’t bear to think about it but I nod away as she explains they want to get to Queen’s University to study law. There’s no flies on my girl. I should never forget that as I see her frown at me where I stand decorating today’s main attraction.

–  Why have you made a coffee walnut? You know that’s Dada’s favourite, not mine!

–  You like it well enough. Don’t mither!

–  I always get a coconut raspberry sponge; that’s my cake!

–  Serena, one more word and I’ll scrape the whole bloody thing into the bin and you can explain to your Auntie Eileen that’s she bought a load of silly fizzy wine that won’t exactly go with plain biscuits!