‘We also need to squeeze into those skin-tight costumes,’ laughed Daisy, something that didn’t appear to concern Dixie, who sat quietly devouring an enormous helping of the cream-laden confection while Grisha drooled at her feet. Ruby popped the cork of a bottle of Asti Spumante so that they could make a birthday toast, but Sara-Jade refused a glass when offered one, preferring to stick to her usual tipple.

‘I have a theory that gin dissolves fat,’ she proclaimed, ‘which means that I can eat as much cake as I like,’ and helped herself to another plateful. Titus, taciturn as ever, returned from the bar with a gin for Sara-Jade. It seemed that he had developed quite a soft spot for the woman in the suitcase.

Later, as Imelda settled herself in her booth, which was now heady with the scent of flowers, she opened the card that Ruby had given her. Everyone had signed it – even Marty. Even Cillian. She traced over his name and the single ‘x’ beside it with her fingertips. But he hadn’t been at the party. He’d been tinkering with one of his bikes over at the Wall of Death. Imelda had seen him on her way in. And he hadn’t been alone.

_______________________

Imelda arrived home to the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen, and her mother wearing a beautiful violet silk dress, make-up and her best earrings. ‘Hurry up!’ she chided. ‘Get changed and do something with your hair.’

‘Why? What’s the rush?’ Imelda followed her through into the kitchen to find a vase for her flowers. She kissed Alexei on the cheek. ‘Hi, Papa. Why is my mother acting like a crazy lady?’

Alexei smiled. ‘Good evening, Melda. Your mother is a crazy lady. But she’s right. Go and put on your finery.’

Imelda turned and registered that the table, set with their best linen, cut crystal glasses and silver cutlery, was laid for four people.

‘We have a guest? On my birthday? Who?’ This was a family occasion; her occasion. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or irritated. It would depend on the guest.

‘You’ll see,’ Shunty-Mae replied. ‘Now, upstairs! Get ready!’

The doorbell rang just as Imelda was on her way back downstairs, and on the doorstep stood Cillian Byrne.

‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’

He smiled. ‘Well, that’s a fine welcome, I must say. I’m sorry I missed your little party earlier, but there was something wrong with the bike and I had to get it fixed before this afternoon’s show.’

Imelda raised a single eyebrow. ‘And no doubt Vivienne was there just to pass you your tools?’

Shunty-Mae came up behind her daughter. ‘Imelda! What are you doing keeping our guest standing outside? Come in, Mr Byrne. What will you have to drink?’