Jim began to pace the length of the bed.

‘I like left da hotel and took a bus, like. What’s ja take me far? A fool? That’s all – a bus. Don’na be cross at me just because you got a bad slap.’

‘How ja let this happen?’ Margaret Rose asked Jim.

And the entire matter landed on Jim, who neither caused it nor fixed it.

‘Killing a child. Well, that’s murder, I hope ye all know that?’ Paddy said. ‘Since ye all know so much ’bout everything.’

‘I’m so sorry, Mags …’ Jim nodded apologetically in his sister’s direction.

‘I’ll tell you, Mrs High and Mighty Morals, you’ve reached a new low now, ya have. Ta tells ya da truth, I’m awful shamed yar m’wife, I really am. Like … if things were different, I’d lave ya here. Disown ya.’ Paddy was shouting now, more certain of himself, darting his wild eyes around the Ward.

Michaela played with the beads and didn’t look at her sister, unsure of how this should play out, in the short term, and longer. Unsure of whose side she was on. Or whose side she should be on. She was buying time. Niquita moved and slowly lay back, naturally, with her mother. Margaret Rose put her arm around her daughter, gently kissing the top of her head and with both daughters lounging on her bed, she hissed back at her husband, ‘Disown me, disown me always, whenever ya like, ’cause, Paddy, yar a good-far-nathing bastard, ja hear me?’ Margaret Rose said. ‘And I tells you this, it was a sorry day I married ya. And all da time ya were off with Bernie Kelly. All these years –’ she stood up out of bed, moving Michaela with her like a small tide – ‘ya brought nathing ta dis family … but work. But you listen well ta me now …’

Margaret Rose began counting out on her fingers, starting with her thumb.

Thumb – ‘I was a good wife.’

She spoke rapidly now.

Finger one – ‘I did well by m’family and by yars –’ finger two – ‘and yar people.’

Ring finger – ‘I was a good mother, and I loved m’boys and girls.’

Pinkie – ‘I tried my best with you and I kept our place nice in far tougher times than now. And that’s enough. I never split myself with loving or running foolish around after any other man …’

‘Ah, would ya listen … who’d have ya?’ Paddy said.

Both girls cried out.

The Queen can move in any direction. Forward – back\diagonal/all moves, fast.

King moves slowly. Awkwardly. A step at a time.

‘Ah, now, that’s a low blow … even far you, Paddy. And only far ma brother –’ she motioned to Jim – ‘ya’d have ruined us, so don’na come in here and give me lip about my girls. They’re my girls, and they certainly don’na deserve Jonathan O’Keefe laughing at them, or taking his dirty way with them. Ya know what, ’tis an awful pity you didn’t you come in here and demand his number far getting fresh with her? And do something useful … like a father should.’