'I did it for you,' he said. 'I knew it was insane. I was halfway through when I realized what I was doing, but the minute you said it should be a bedroom, I could think of nothing else but you, here, in this room. I hope you like it.'

I loved it.

I love it so much I even manage to keep it tidy. It has become the perfect s.p.a.ce in our house; it is a centre of calm where I often lie during the day to reflect on how lucky we've been. It is where Mike often finds me when he comes home from work and we lie there together for hours, just talking. It was where I asked Mike when he first fell in love with me.

'I'm not sure,' he said, 'but I remember an Easter weekend you were home from college I'd say you were in Third Year because you were doing your nut about exams '

'Third year?' I interrupted. 'That long ago?'

'That long ago.'

'Wow! And you never got tired of me in all that time?'

'No. I never got tired of you...'

'Anyway, I was in Third Year...'

'Yes, and you brought this pimply weed of a boyfriend home with you, and all weekend I couldn't work out what my problem was with the guy. He was utterly harmless, yet I found myself mentally plotting his slow and painful death...'

'I remember him Conor Moloney. I dumped him after exams. I was only using him for his notes.'

'I'm sure he's never got over it.'

'Anyway, you were plotting his death...'

'Yes, and I couldn't work out what my problem was with this poor geuck and then I realized it was because he went round the place with his arms splayed across your chest and he kissed you openly in front of everyone. I couldn't believe I was jealous and I presumed it would go away. I didn't really think I was capable of falling in love with my wife's baby sister... But it never did go away...'

Even Ruth's less annoying these days. There was a period a few months ago when she reached a peak: in the middle of her kitchen extension she suddenly had an epiphany that it wasn't a new kitchen she needed but a whole new house. So while her builders continued the demolition of her existing home, she got into her car and visited every show home and for-sale sign in the city. She even had plans drawn up, with Mike's firm, for a dormer bungalow on its own site. It was while she was in the throes of negotiating a price on a site fifteen miles outside Limerick that my mother told her not to be so daft. 'Exactly why do you want to be stuck miles out in the country, with no one to talk to and no shop for miles?' Ruth thought again and decided that a new kitchen and a holiday were probably all she needed.

Things were quiet for a while and then she announced she was pregnant. So far the pregnancy has been problematic: she's had back pain, constipation, diarrhoea, intermittent vomiting, swelling of the limbs and high blood pressure, yet she seems to be in her element. Right now she's carrying on a fairly normal conversation with Iris about the benefits of breastfeeding.

When I told Colette my news she was stunned. She thought the whole thing was outrageous but typically me. 'You're the absolute limit,' she said. 'Only you could run off with your sister's husband and make it sound reasonable. And what about poor Keith? He must be devastated.'

It turns out that Keith has managed to survive. I ran into him recently and he made a point of wishing me and Mike well. (He had heard from somebody.) He said he'd never forget me but he was still glad he'd done what he did. He told me he was seeing a girl he'd known years ago in college who had recently started work at the plant in Shannon. He said it was going well and he was happy. He looked happy. I know I should have been more honest with him from the beginning, but at the time I don't think I was capable of it. I'll always owe him such a lot.

As for that other guy, I b.u.mped into him too. It was Christmas and he was queuing with three of his kids outside Santa's grotto on O'Connell Street. I saw him from the other side of the road. The kids were hopping round him, singing, dancing, excited at the prospect of seeing Santa. And when he turned to rescue one child from walking under a cyclist, he looked happy too. He looked, if I remember correctly, as he had when I first knew him, when I didn't think he was the master of all evil. It was a nice image to take with me.

But nothing is as nice as the image before me now: my family gathered round the big mahogany table in the dining room, each perfectly content in their own way. And the best part of all is him, of course, sitting opposite me, in the middle of a mock-argument with Dad about the merits of some rugby-player, while my mother b.u.t.ts in every so often to repeat her mantra that rugby is a very dangerous game. Meanwhile, I pick at my honey-glazed quail and sip my champagne, confident, at last, that I have got it right.

Acknowledgements

Many people have helped me so much with their encouragement, excitement and belief, in particular: Vivienne McKechnie, Jo Slade, Maeve Kelly, Roisin Meaney, Claire Culligan, Damhnait O Riordan, David Burns, Gerry Greaney, Paul Grimes, Joan McGarry-Moore, Niall Moore, Joan McKernan, Pat Burke, Vivienne Graham, Noelle O'Kelly, Enda Grimes, Sheila McCarthy, Fiona Regan, Norma O'Brien, Mary Conlon, Lisa Kiely, Paddy Dalton, Sinead Donnelly, Pauline Goggin, Marie O'Driscoll, Siobhan Nash-Johnson, Gordon and una Cosgrave, Patrick and Linda Cosgrave, Geoff and Mary Griffin, Anne and Jim Cosgrave.

A huge thank you to Aine McCarthy and Ita O'Driscoll at Font for so much support, guidance and patience! Also a huge thank you to Patricia Deevy, Michael McLoughlin, Cliona Lewis, Patricia McVeigh, Alison Walsh, Hazel Orme and Ann Cooke at Penguin who have done so much to make this happen.

And of course to James, Dharma and Maya for not being there one hour each night, and for being there the rest of the time...