A dark anger of clouds swirled along the brow of Ballycluggan hill, heavy with rain and ready to spill down on the gathered crowd of guests outside the Church. Patsy arrived, later than she had intended but still ahead of her daughter the bride. The surprise of yellow feathers that she wore in her hair transformed the sombre morning as she stepped out of the sleek, black limousine, bringing a note of cheerfulness to the mournful atmosphere.

Ryan came round from the other side of the car and took her arm, but she was the one to lead the way, directing her son into the middle of their awkward, waiting friends who tried in vain to form a screen to camouflage the mound of fresh, red earth that had been piled on top of the grave she had buried her husband in three days previously.

All smiles and hellos, Patsy steered Ryan through the embarrassed well-wishers telling them she had to touch base with David before such a momentous event. She stood and shivered for a few moments at the foot of the grave, secretly stopping herself from thinking about David in case she might cry, feeling guilty for shutting him out of his daughter’s wedding. Before she turned to face the wedding guests Ryan took charge at last and suggested that everyone take their seats in the Church since the bride was due at any minute.

They all willingly complied, relieved to have something to do, and Patsy was alone again, waiting for her daughter, for the ceremony that was going to deprive her of another member of her family, feeling ridiculous in her mother-of-the-bride confection, but smiling all the way. Tomorrow will be time enough for tears she told herself.