Unless you’re very careful, Mum says, I think you’re going to be up all night

It’s 8.30pm — and my three sisters and I are sitting at a restaurant table in Bairro Alto, Lisbon’s old bohemian district. 

“It’s our last night,” Sligo sister says, pulling out her chair, “let’s make it count.” “Yes,” London sister says, “let’s mark the occasion.” “Yes,” Devon sister says, “let’s celebrate.” “To my fantastic sisters,” London says, raising her glass, “and a fantastic four days.” “It has been a fantastic four days,” I think, and this is down to the lovely visceral ease that comes from being with three people who not only knew the make-believe monsters you were afraid of when you were little but also know the real-life monsters you’re afraid of now. This kind of sisterhood is a thing worth celebrating. I lift my glass. “Drink up,” says London [bosh.]. “Get it in,” says Sligo [bosh.] “Nice one,” says Devon [bosh.]

9.30. Sligo sister’s phone goes off in her bag. “Mum!” she says [bosh] and has a brief chat. Mum is passed around the table. “Unless you’re very careful.” Mum says, after she has been passed on to me, “I think you’re going to be up all night.” Mum says that if I want to gauge the right moment to bow out, it’s my Sligo sister that I’ll need to watch, then London, then Devon. “In that order,” she says, “mark my words.” I look at Sligo. It’s only 9.30 and she’s already got that skittish horse look in her eye. “She hasn’t shouted, “COME ON YOU ZULU WARRIOR” yet,” I tell Mum, “so I think I’m safe for a bit.”