‘And a cup of tea’s idolatry – jump!’ He grabbed her round the waist and jumped with her over the fire. They both scattered the smoke and I could see she had her eyes closed. Everybody burst out clapping and she got busy patting and smoothing down the long skirt she was wearing as though she didn’t want any smoke there and it might catch fire. Uncle Eamon patted her on the back, ‘Didn’t hurt, and now that’s done you’ll have a drink.’

‘I won’t,’ she said.

‘Ah, you will. Tess, the invalid has a thirst on her.’

My aunt moved in and gave her a hug, and they spoke to each other but I didn’t hear what they said.

Uncle Eamon and my dad started handing out drinks to everyone. Nana was there, and our cousin Sean, who was older than all of us, even Manus, and Paul who was Connor’s age, and their sister Carmel, but there was lots to go round.

‘Put the kettle on,’ Tess said. The backyard had grass and a fire and no one wanted to go in, so we sat round with our drinks watching the fire crackle with smoke. It burned with long flames that settled down into a red and yellow glow before another log got put on and sparks flew up and the flames started catching hold again.

Nana was sat under the tree on a chair with her yellow drink and my mum was on a kitchen stool beside her with a glass of Guinness she wasn’t drinking because she put it down and let it spill into the grass beside her. Tess was smoking on a blanket on the ground beside Carmel, with Busola across from them on a rolled-up carpet beside Sean who was teasing Nana about the colour of her drink. Nana was looking at him with her head on one side to hear what he’d say because he was wearing a yellow Beatles jacket from Sgt. Pepper. Busola and Carmel weren’t playing, just sipping their Coca-Colas and looking at each other across the fire. The rest of us were sitting on the grass or running round for things to poke and throw in the flames. The dogs had been locked up in their kennel with a stick through the cage handles to stop them getting out. They were making loud snuffles and pants with their wet tongues out, lapping up water and letting their eyes join in. Uncle Eamon said they were guard dogs and he wouldn’t let them in the house. They crouched low and wouldn’t bark if he was around, but I didn’t go near them just in case. He was standing up with my dad by the table with drinks at the back door, talking about what happened in Ireland.