‘Is your mom gone back next door?’ Mary asked Fran now, looking around the kitchen.

‘No,’ Fran replied, her mouth full of cake, ‘she went out to the garden to chase down the twins – here she is now.’

Della Burke rushed into the kitchen, sweat on her brow.

‘Did I miss the singing? Sorry!’

‘Don’t worry, Mary will cut you a slice,’ Robbie said, and Mary passed her a plate.

‘Thanks. The twins were fighting over a football – I had to stop them before one of them put it through the window.’ Her cheery voice belied her harried expression.

Della had five children, of which the twins were the youngest. She’d always wanted three children, she said, and the fourth pregnancy was a surprise. Even more so when it turned out to be twins. And even more still when her husband walked out, just before the twins turned one, leaving her a lone parent of five.

A tall, blond boy – one of Della’s sons – darted in through the back door, yelling, ‘Cake! There’s cake!’

Mary didn’t know which one he was. There were three sets of twins in Rowanbrook, all called John and Paul. The Pope had a lot to answer for.

‘You were as well off missing it, Della, this lot are terrible singers,’ Tom Stedman called from the other side of the kitchen, winking.

Mary smiled and shook her head. ‘The singing was beautiful. Now, who’s for jelly and ice cream?’

A chorus of ‘Me!’ rose up among the younger guests, as Mary took a tub of vanilla ice cream from the icebox and a jar of jelly from the cupboard. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to her as a dessert, but Robbie had been adamant that ice cream and jelly was a staple at his own birthday parties growing up. She spooned ice cream into small plastic bowls, topping each one with a dollop of strawberry jelly, and began passing them around.

Aoife scrunched up her nose. ‘Why is there jam on the ice cream?’ she asked.

Susie Stedman sidled up. ‘Oh. That’s very unusual. Probably an American thing.’

Aoife put her bowl back on the table.

Mary frowned. ‘But Robbie said ice cream and jelly is a dessert here in Ireland?’

Susie began to laugh just as Robbie arrived over to see what was going on.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think the dessert is too popular …’ Mary trailed off.

‘It’s supposed to be jelly though, not jam?’

Fran came to the rescue. ‘Jam is called “jelly” in America.’ She turned to Mary. ‘I think Mr Murphy meant what you would call “jello”.’

‘Oh.’ Mary felt her face redden.

Susie laughed again. Robbie shook his head and put his hand on Mary’s shoulder. His fingers felt hot and heavy on her bare skin.

‘There’s plenty of cake and ice cream to go around. Nobody needs jelly. Or jam!’

He pulled her in for a kiss, picked up a bottle of wine and a corkscrew, and walked away smiling.