I saw her near the special offer veg and I thought I’d got away because I’d only just arrived in and her trolley was full, so I thought she might be gone. But she nabbed me near the bread-slicing machine. I had to pretend to be surprised when I heard my name. But you never know how your face looks in these situations.

“Ann, how are you? How was the Christmas? I suppose you were entertaining all the way through?”

She always seems to think I’d be entertaining all the time, as if we’re the Embassy walking around with the tiny burgers. I decided to go on the attack: “I wouldn’t have thought I’d see you in here, Nuala.”

“I’m just in for some of the party food, Ann. We’ve a bit of a celebration on Friday night. A bit of a do, you know. For a special occasion.”

I wasn’t biting.

“We’ll probably have it in the house. We do all our entertaining in the house now. It’s just with all the room we might as well. I remember when Lawrence was asking me about the extension I always said: ‘Build it big. You’ll never regret a big room.’ I suppose we’ve a certain position in the community, so you need a good place to bring people.”

I couldn’t resist any longer, because she’d have described the curtains, the way she was going.

“Is it a special occasion, Nuala?”

“Well, Karen is going to be on The Late Late Show! They’re doing some sort of a panel thing about young people in Ireland today and Karen … I don’t know how they found her. Maybe because of the 600 points in the Leaving.”

Now this was news. Karen was gone away to college in Dublin doing Business and Something. It was 580 she got actually, but Nuala rounded it up straight away.

“You’ll have to come, Ann. I’m dying to show you the curtains. They’re Oryx and Crake. Very exclusive.”

I said I would. Out of pure nosiness.

The place was lovely, in fairness to her. It looked like Dermot Bannon had been around and knocked a few walls: skylights and the whole shebang. And a “smart telly”. “Don’t knock anything over, Denis,” I said.

My phone went as Nuala was showing me the wine rack in the kitchen island. It was a text from Deirdre: “U know what Late Late this is mam don’t u. It’s there Late Late sex show!!!!”

“Have you invited many, Nuala?”

“Ah, a few: 20 or so. Father Donnegan said he might call in if Billy Sullivan hasn’t died.”

Oh, poor Nuala. She clearly hadn’t heard about which Late Late it was. It was as bad, as you might think. There we were, rooted to our chairs as Ryan introduced one fluthered youngster after another. All of their mothers around the country mortified. By the time Karen came on, poor Nuala was near tears.

And Karen didn’t disappoint. Or rather she did. It was a blind-date type thing.

“Girl No 2: How many times a week would you get the ride?” says this clown with shiny teeth on him and an oul tattoo of a dancer on his arm.

“Enough for you, anyway,” says Karen. Nuala went out to put on more sausage rolls.

We could hear her crying.

“A sword shall pierce your heart,” says Father Donnegan.

A smart telly. I wish the telly was smart enough to tell us all go home.

I went in and found Nuala: “For fecks sake, Ann, you try your best and then they go making mugs of you. We’ve too much invested in them, Ann. Too much of ourselves. And FATHER DONNEGAN. What possessed me to invite him?”

“He could have invited himself, Nuala. You know he’ll turn up anywhere. Fierce social man altogether. He shouldn’t have been a priest.”

“Thanks Ann. And I suppose you have your own troubles do you?”

Whether I do or don’t – I do of course – I wasn’t going to let her in on them. I still don’t trust Nuala. She’s been palsy walsy before with people and turned on them

“Ah, you know, no one knows what’s around the corner, do they?”

She looked disappointed.

I went back in and there was Desdemona, my future in-law, showing Ryan her sex-toys.

Oh Nuala, I thought, If only you knew what was around our corner.