Shunty-Mae stepped warily around Grisha and took her daughter’s hand. Imelda’s fingers stiffened and she tried to pull away, but Shunty-Mae held on tight.

‘Let’s walk,’ she said. ‘Lock up, and we’ll go for a walk.’

The beach was quieter now. Above the pebbles, a heat haze still shimmered, but its ferocity had abated as the spent sun dipped lower in the cerulean sky. Shunty-Mae slipped off her sandals and headed towards the sea. Grisha raced ahead of her as soon as he was unleashed, plunging into the water – spinning and leaping in a joyful canine jitterbug.

Neither could Imelda resist the temptation to paddle. The cold, crimpling waves soothed her sweltering skin and the stones beneath massaged her tired feet.

‘I know you’re angry.’ Shunty-Mae gazed out to sea, water lapping at the hem of her dress. She stood strong and straight, like a ship’s figurehead, with the breeze tugging at her long dark hair. Imelda had never encountered a woman so beautiful, so powerful and so bewitching as her mother. Nor one so infuriating.

‘Damn right I’m angry! Why do you have to interfere every time a man comes into my life?’

Shunty-Mae laughed. ‘That last one was hardly a man. He was scared of his own shadow.’

Imelda’s last boyfriend had been a talented art student who had broken into a cold sweat every time he had met her mother.

‘Tom was just a bit shy, that’s all. You made him uncomfortable with all your questions.’

‘He was still a boy – even at twenty-two – and no match for you. But this one – this Cillian Byrne is different.’

Shunty-Mae turned and faced her daughter. ‘I’m not going to stop you seeing him.’

‘You can’t!’

Shunty-Mae smiled but there was sadness in her eyes. ‘I don’t want to.’

‘Then why did you talk to him like that?’

‘Because I’m your mother. I look at you and it’s like looking in a mirror.’ Shunty-Mae scanned the horizon, as though the sky or sea might harbour the words she was scrabbling for.

‘You believe that I’m invincible. Afraid of nothing. But I have one fear that taps me on my shoulder like a tight-fisted tallyman. The fear of seeing those I love get hurt. You are my only daughter, and I love you more than my own life. I want you to be happy. I want you to taste everything that life has to offer and to learn that salty tears and sour disappointments will only make joy sweeter.

Imelda was winded by her mother’s ragged voice and raw emotions.

‘But I still want to protect you, and if I do that, I’m clipping your wings. As your mother, my job is to see that you fly. But perhaps, one day, you will understand how hard it is.’

‘I don’t see what all this has to do with Cillian.’