‘Much the same as she is now,’ he replied. ‘Bright, beautiful, stubborn and impossible! She takes after her mother.’ He paused a moment for Shunty-Mae’s reaction, but mellowed by Cillian’s champagne, his wife allowed his gentle teasing to pass without comment.

‘We once had to fetch her home from school for allegedly putting a curse on a fellow pupil. The wretched child finished up vomiting all over a needlework lesson.’

Cillian whistled through his teeth. ‘Wow! That’s impressive. Can a curse really do that?’

Imelda laughed. ‘It wasn’t so much the curse, although I was pretty pleased with it at the time, but more the fact that I also told her I’d put a maggot in her milk at break time, after she’d drunk it.’

‘And what had she done to rile you so much?’

‘She had it coming,’ Shunty-Mae muttered.

‘She called me a gyppo.’

Eventually, after dinner, cake and more vodka, the conversation began to drift into comfortable silences and long-held looks across the table between Imelda and Cillian. Imelda had been hoping to spend some time alone with him, but it was getting late and everyone except Shunty-Mae had work in the morning. With uncanny timing, Shunty-Mae announced, ‘We have one more surprise for you, Imelda.’ She and Alexei both got up and headed towards the back door.

‘Keep her entertained for a moment, Cillian, and don’t come outside until we call you.’ Alexei closed the door behind him as he disappeared into the garden with Shunty-Mae. Cillian pushed back his chair and stood up slowly. He took Imelda’s hand and pulled her to her feet. He paused for the briefest moment and looked straight into her eyes before pressing his lips onto hers, softly at first but then urgently, almost bruising. Imelda ran her hands down his hard-muscled back and returned his kiss, meeting his hunger with her own.

‘Imelda?’ Her father’s voice called just before the door opened. If he saw them break apart from their embrace, he said nothing to betray it. Outside, a trail of tealights in jam jars led down the garden and all the way up the steps to the door of the vardo, which was wreathed in ivy, flowers and fairy lights.

‘Happy Birthday, Imelda!’ Her parents stood with their arms around one another, smiling. ‘It’s yours now.’

Chapter 37

Chapter 37

1973