My mother-in-law kept showing up with her whole family for free BBQ at our house — when they came empty-handed again on the 4th, I served them a lesson instead.

And every single item of it was booked for delivery to 14 Fentiman Row, Ashglen.

Solange’s bungalow.

I told nobody. Not Dermot. Not for six weeks.

They came on Friday the fourth of July at twenty past one in the afternoon.

Three cars up the lane, which you can hear from the kitchen for about ninety seconds before you see them.

Solange got out of the first one in the enormous sun hat she has worn to every outdoor event since 2019. Nessa and Roisin got out of the second with a handbag each and nothing else.

Six children came out of the third like water out of a burst pipe and went straight for the sheep field gate, which is a whole other conversation.

Solange came across that yard and hugged me and she smelled of the perfume she wears, and she said:

“Bridie! Tell me you’ve got it all ready, we’re absolutely starving.”