The bus to Gortnahook took us from west to east through a series of small towns, most of which had at least one chapel, one church – usually Mr Paisley’s Free Presbyterians of Ulster – and one barracks, all on A-roads. It nearly got stuck and had to reverse and turn, reverse and turn a few times. Each episode was an excuse for sitting up at the windows, pointing and waving at the locals and being annoying. Jacques stayed très calm throughout despite several attempts by the tenacious Lizzie Magee to engage him in conversation.

–  Sir, sir, Jacques, do you see we nearly crashed into that pub then, sir? Do you drive, sir, back in France, on the left like?

–  Jacques, what do you think of Ireland?

–  Sir, is there more than one word for green in French, sir? Or is it just plain vert?

Jacques never cracked, just stayed staring ahead at the forty shades of green hills. Sister Pious eventually told Lizzie to stop being so bold and to leave poor Mr Bernier alone.

–  Sorry, Sister, I just thought I’d work on my vocabulary!

Sister Pious pointed out that she knew very well what Lizzie was working on and told her there was to be no more attempted intercourse between her and Jacques. Which blatant bluff-calling shut even Lizzie Magee up. The rest of us sniggering on the sidelines followed suit. She slumped against me so she could sulk in comfort. We watched the grey April skies ripple and roll as the clouds raced each other to let go their soft rain. When I glanced back, Pious caught my eye and frowned. She’d warned me that Lizzie Magee was not the most suitable friend a girl like me could have, how I should make sure that I kept my mind on my studies as I was bright enough for As in nearly all my O levels.

What was a ‘girl like me’? I tried to figure it out by staring at the back of Jacques’s beautiful neck but he picked that instant to turn around and look directly at me. I wanted to scream and point and say I wasn’t the one being bad but instead I blushed and he smiled a bit smug and turned around again. I could not wait to be grown up. Women don’t get reddeners, and they only cry when they’ve had a drink.