‘I’ve too much to live for to hang around here, Frank,’ she said.

The ponytailed guard returned for Molly just after 8 p.m. She spent the rest of the night tending to a very sick and sorry Sheila B. She rubbed her and soothed her, she gave her water and brushed her hair. She wrapped her in blankets when she was too cold and stripped them off her when she was too warm. She cried with her, she spoke to her, told stories of the past and even made her laugh between vomiting and hallucinations.

‘There’s a man caught in the curtains.’

‘There’s no man and no curtains.’

‘Sure?’

‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Sheila.’

‘So sorry for all this, Mrs H.’

‘It’s my privilege, love.’

Molly spent the night cradling the vulnerable and desperate Sheila B and cleaning up her vomit and shite. It was the most content she had been since her youngest child drew her last breath.

Part Nine: The Birth

Chapter Eighty-Three: Davey

Chapter Eighty-Three

Davey

DAVEY SAT IN FRANCIE’S back garden drinking coffee while Francie enjoyed a cigarette. He had called Davey and asked him over so that he could talk to him about Juliet’s request before he discussed it with Karen Faye.

‘She wants to bury her ma’s ashes in with Johnny?’ Davey said.

‘In a nutshell, yeah.’

Johnny fuckin’ Cash,’ Davey mumbled to himself.

‘Jaysus, that’s harsh,’ Francie said. ‘So am I talking to her or what?’

‘Talk to her. Tell her I’ll pay her whatever she needs. I’ll buy her a new plot if I have to.’

‘Sure?’

‘Our Bunny wants her ma to rest in peace with the boy she loved. It’s the least I can do.’

‘I’ll get on it,’ Francie said.

‘You’re a good friend, Francie.’

‘I’m the best friend,’ Francie replied. ‘The cheek of you.’

Davey was still smiling when his phone rang. It was his da.

‘Good news, Davey, your ma’s seen sense – she’s saying sorry to the judge this morning.’

‘Oh that’s great, Da,’ Davey said, and put him on speaker.

‘Great news, Jack,’ Francie said.

‘Ah, hello, boys. You’ll never believe who she was inside with . . .’

‘Who, Da?’

‘Sheila B.’

‘Fuck off, Jack.’

‘I won’t. I’m serious.’

Francie started laughing again. ‘You couldn’t make it up.’

‘Ah, God love her. Molly said she was in an awful way and she was such a lovely Irish dancer in her day. I better go and pack up some fresh clothes for your mammy,’ he said, and he hung up before Davey could say goodbye.

‘Poor old Sheila B,’ Francie said, and Davey just nodded and drank his coffee.

Chapter Eighty-Four: Marjorie

Chapter Eighty-Four

Marjorie