‘OK, there’s the bar, straight ahead, twelve o’clock,’ Sharon says, picking her steps across a train set that a gang of kids are fighting over on the floor. Just then, Matt reaches out to take her hand. Which again, she shakes off. I’m not making any comment. Just noticing, that’s all.

When we get to the kitchen, it’s even more jammers, this time with people battling over the food laid out on the kitchen counter. I’m just about to suggest we go out to the back garden when a hand grabs me by the shoulder.

Steve.

‘Hey, you made it, didn’t think you were coming!’ he says bending down from his ridiculous height to warmly peck me on the cheek. There’s a very tall, pretty brunette at his side with poker straight hair down to her bum which she keeps swishing over her shoulders, and trendy square glasses that make her look like an architect. He introduces her as Elaine but she doesn’t shake hands, just hovers proprietorially at his shoulder, clutching a glass of white wine. So I introduce Matt to Steve, then point out Sharon. It’s hysterical, his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he cops a load of her.

‘Wow, Sharon? Is that you? I mean…you’re looking…I mean, you must have lost…and the hair…’ Then he just laughs at himself in that permanently good-humoured way that he has. ‘What I’m actually trying to say is that it’s good seeing you again and nice to meet you too, Matt. Now what’ll you all have to drink? In case you hadn’t noticed, Hannah has me doing barman for the night. All tips gratefully received.’

After taking our orders, he tells us to go on out to the back garden where it’s a bit less crowded and that he’ll bring our drinks to us there. So out we troop and bump straight into Mrs Foley and Mrs Brady, sitting like twin sentinels on two plastic garden chairs. The pair of them give Matt a very obvious once over, then demand to know who he is. Sharon stays to introduce Matt and is clearly having a great time seeing the looks on their faces when they clock that she’s on an actual date. With a normal enough looking fella, to boot.

I let her have her moment and move on, trying to find somewhere for us all to sit. Eventually I spot two free kitchen stools at the very bottom of the garden, so I leave them empty for the others and plonk down on a kid’s swing seat, glad of a bit of peace and quiet after the mayhem of the house. Steve’s out a few minutes later balancing a trayful of drinks which he hands out to Sharon and Matt, then spotting me, ambles down the garden in that long-legged way he has, sitting on the spare swing seat beside me. We chat a bit about work and he asks me how I’m feeling about going live on air next week. Can’t wait, I tell him, enjoying the drink, the late summer evening sun and the conversation.

‘We’re all very proud of you down at the station, you know,’ he smiles.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Oh, you know. Coming from the height you were at professionally, to a late-night/early-morning slot on a small local radio station. Plenty of celebs would have had a complete diva fit, but not you. You just bounced in, knuckled under and got on with the gig. No airs and graces at all. I really like that. We all do.’

‘Are you kidding me? Steve, you’re the guy who rescued me from flipping Smiley Burgers, chopping gherkins and asking bratty kids if they’d like fries with that. As far as I’m concerned, if you’d offered me a job washing the windows at Radio Dublin, I’d have considered it a step up in the world.’

‘You seem so fine about what happened. I’m not sure I’d be as cool about the whole thing as you are.’

‘Well, I wasn’t. Not for a long, long time. But I am now. At least, I’m getting there. And getting this job has been a big part of that, let me tell you.’

Suddenly he gets serious. ‘You know, Jessie, I saw that documentary about you. That A Day in the Lifething. It was horrendous and I’m not the only person who thought so. Did you ever consider the possibility that you might have been set up?’

I shake my head and smile. ‘Listen to you, you’ve been watching waaay too many conspiracy movies.’

‘Maybe,’ he grins. ‘But think about it and ask yourself, was there anyone who stood to gain by getting you out of the way?’

‘Oliver Stone himself couldn’t have come up with a better concoction.’

‘Sorry,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘It’s just, watching that programme, there was something not quite right about the whole thing.’

‘Steve, the only person who set me up was myself. Believe me, I’ve been over and over it a thousand times in my mind and the only conclusion I can come to is that, just like in the fable, I flew too close to the sun on borrowed wings and paid the ultimate price. I learnt a huge lesson though. The hard way, the way I seem to learn all my lessons in life, but there you go.’

‘Jessie Woods, you’re without doubt the spunkiest, bravest girl I know.’ He’s looking at me a bit more intently now.

‘Not a bit of it,’ I laugh off the compliment. ‘Just getting on with things.’

‘I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you though. There were so many shots of you in that incredible mansion you used to live in. To go from that to living back at home…’

‘Sleeping on the sofa, by the way…’

‘With Maggie and Sharon…although I have to say, Sharon’s changed so much since you came back into her life. It’s like she’s a different person. Not just her appearance, she’s…I dunno…softer somehow. If that makes any sense.’

‘She’s been terrific. Throughout all of this. She even apologised for the things she said about me in the documentary.’

‘Good,’ he nods, looking into the middle distance now, where some kids are having a water fight with the garden hose. ‘Because some of what was said…well, no matter now. All I’m clumsily trying to say is that you’ve had quite a journey in the last few months and I think you’re incredible to have come out fighting.’ A sideways glance at me, then he qualifies it. ‘That is…what I mean to say is, I think you’re handling it incredibly well.’

‘Well there you go. That’s my life story,’ I grin back. ‘I’m the original Celtic Tiger cub who fell to earth.’

‘But who lived to tell the tale.’

In the distance, just coming out of the house is Elaine, the swishy-haired girl, head swivelling around looking for Steve. She spots him and strides down to where we’re sitting, not saying much, just glaring at me through the architect glasses as if to say ‘Push off, babe, your time’s up.’ Unsure of what the story is between them, I leave them alone, with the excuse I’m going inside to look for Hannah.

I eventually find her in the TV room and just seeing her again after all these years brings so many memories flooding back. She’s the same old Hannah though. Tall and lean like Steve, with blonde hair (natural, natural, natural, used to make me sick with jealousy years ago) and not a single gram of baby weight on her.

‘If somebody doesn’t turn off that fecking Beyoncé Knowles song, I’ll throw the CD player out the window!’ she yells at her husband Paul.

‘Ah, come on, it’s catchy!’ says Paul.

‘Yeah? So is thrush.’

Definitely the same old Hannah. And if I’d thought it would be awkward meeting her for the first time after so many years, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Thank God.

‘Sorry,’ she says distractedly. ‘I hate that song. Gets into your head and stays there for three days. This is the first chance I’ve had in twenty-four hours to sit down and relax with a glass of wine, and that crap song isn’t going to ruin it for me.’

‘It’s good to see you, Hannah,’ I say, clinking glasses with her. ‘And congratulations again. Your daughter is a little beauty. Just like her mum.’

‘Tell that to her father. I had a fight with Paul on the way to the church because he said the baby looked like Khrushchev. Then he tried to qualify it by saying that ALL babies look like Russian premiers. There was nearly a riot in the car.’