‘It’s her wedding day, Eileen. Her daddy’s not here. She’ll want her mammy. Please.’

‘And exactly who are you to tell me what to do with my own daughter?’

He stopped her, held onto her arm, the two of them an island in a fast-flow of bodies.

‘You know who I am. You know what I’ve done. And I’m saying there will be no more of this today. I’m saying that as your old friend and Cliodhna’s godfather. All right?’

Eileen stared down at her pink, pink shoes, a chastened child in its mother’s make-up.

‘If that little madam would just look at me—’

‘Eileen.’

‘And she’s wearing a bloody nightgown! With no bra that I can see! It doesn’t even look new! And that woman, his mother, looking at me thinking was she not even brought up right to know how to dress?’

‘Eileen.’

‘I just—’

‘Have you got it all out?’

Eileen inhaled, her nostrils standing to attention.

‘I just need a bloody fag. But I don’t want them looking down on me even more for it.’

He fumbled in his pocket for the cigarettes, and her shoulders sagged.

‘Here you go. We’ll join them in a couple of minutes, eh?’

‘Thanks.’

A pause as they both blew out smoke, making space for each other.

‘It’s good to see you, Donald Bain.’

There was some faffing around when they finally arrived – ‘Got a bit lost!’ Donald had muttered, to cover them – as the restaurant had had to add an extra chair for Eileen, jammed in at the corner of the table.

‘So sorry about this, Eileen,’ Mansfield’s mother was saying, standing up to usher them in. ‘I’m afraid the postman must have lost your RSVP. My own fault for not adjusting the booking earlier.’

Donald understood she was being gracious, trying to mask the mistake; he also saw that Eileen was taking it as a slight.

‘But the mother of the bride shouldn’t be all the way over there in the corner! Susie, Adam, would you two scooch round, please? Eileen, you must come up here and sit with me. It’s so wonderful to meet you finally. I’ve heard so much about you.’