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overwhelming. We never had anything like it back home. I’d been to parties of course, but nothing as raucous as this (well, there had been a few sorority parties when I was at college, but even those were wildly different in their own way and I’d known more than two or three people at them – and of course, everyone spoke with the same accent as me and used words I understood).
    Sam returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine. “Saves us fighting through the masses to get to the bar every time we want a top-up,” he said, pouring his own glass and topping up the glass Peter had given to me. “I’d say, dear cousin, if we have to be here then we get sloshed.”
    “I don’t really drink that much,” I said, knowing that I sounded like a party pooper. But then again I was on my holidays and Sam seemed as if he would be a decent enough partner in crime. I saw my mother walking towards us, a host of grinning women looking at me as if I was a newborn they were setting their eyes on for the first time, and slugged at my drink. “Then again,” I said, “when in Rome and all that.”
    “Good woman yourself!” Sam said cheerfully, slugging from his own glass.
    As it turned out Sam proved to be a very effective deflector-shield. He was able to manage the hordes of aunties and cousins and family friends effectively – telling them about my business at the bakery and steering them away from too many questions about Craig. I guess the single comment had stuck with him. He was also able to steer the conversation away from my father when it started to get a little maudlin, and all the while he managed to make sure my drink was well topped up, which I was grateful for. Soon I found myself relaxing in his company and that of the family around me, allowing their warmth and friendliness to wash over and comfort me. It felt nice to be part of something bigger – to think that we were all tied in some way together. I liked it. It made me feel fuzzy and warm. I felt comforted in a way I hadn’t in a long time – comforted and cushioned by the warm way they welcomed me into the fold. They didn’t have to. I knew that. I was just a distant relative – someone they had never met before. I was a name on Christmas cards. A profile on Facebook. An entry on the family tree – somewhere off at the side on a very small branch. I wasn’t someone they had sat round the Christmas table with or whose First Communion they had attended en masse. And yet there they were, buying me drinks, offering me hugs and, in Sam’s case, treating me like a little sister who needed gentle care.
    After three glasses of wine it was enough to make me feel a little weepy – so I stepped outside into the cool night air to catch my breath. Digging in my bag I lifted out my cell – a need to speak to Craig to tell him how this felt so good had washed over me. I dialled his number, put the phone to my ear and smiled when I heard his voice.
    “Hey, babe,” I said softly.
    “Hey, yourself,” he said jovially.
    I felt myself breathe out and relax at the free and easy way he spoke to me and tried to push away that little nagging voice in me that wondered when he had stopped speaking to me kindly every time we spoke.
    “I’m having a lovely time, Craig. You should be here. Ireland, you know, it’s true what they say about the people being so friendly. You wouldn’t believe it. You wouldn’t believe it at all. They are having a party – for Mom of course, but I’m being made to feel so special too. Oh Craig, it’s something else! It really is. ”
    “Have you been drinking?” he asked, his voice still jovial but still I bristled.
    “A few, but that’s not why I’m calling. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
    “That makes a change,” he said – not harshly, I noted, but with a sad sort of resignation and I felt myself inhale again.
    “I’m sorry,” I whispered into the air as one of my cousins, or uncles, or friends stumbled out of the