‘The Hayes family kitchen table, Sunday roasts, laughter and mayhem, your gran and granda, Grace, Davey, Johnny, all the band and your ma. Everyone scrambling for roast spuds and talking all at once, throwing shapes, bantering, making big plans and arguing over the last piece of beef or who was first for dessert.’ The kid must have been made of flames, because her insides burned but she talked right through the fiery contraction and remembered to breathe right through it. A tear rolled down her face. Juliet used a tissue to dab it, then she patted Marjorie’s damp forehead.

‘And person?’

‘Well, the obvious of course is your ma.’

‘Or Davey,’ Juliet said.

‘Or the mighty Molly.’

Juliet grinned and nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she said.

‘But I’m going to say you . . .’ Marjorie said, cupping the back of Juliet’s head and guiding her head gently towards her so that their foreheads touched. ‘You are my favourite person.’ And she reached up and kissed Juliet’s forehead. ‘That first smile, when you reached for my hand, your little stories, when you were convinced you were an alien, your bravery, your big heart and how capable you are, the way you took care of your mam. When she died and you were leaving everyone you loved and you saw me. Don’t be scared, Marjorie, you said. You break my heart, kiddo. We’ve always been family one way or another, you and I.’

‘I love you, Marj,’ Juliet said, and she grinned that little imp grin that melted Marjorie’s insides, ‘now breathe – your face is going purple.’

Marjorie did as she was told. She inhaled and exhaled.

‘Davey asked me to marry him,’ Marjorie said. ‘I said yes. He said we should tell you when you were happy. So I’m telling you now.’

‘We’re going to be the Hayes family,’ Juliet said.

‘Yeah,’ Marjorie said.

‘Sunday roasts.’ Juliet chuckled, and Marjorie nodded with a smile.

She couldn’t speak because the little bastard was trying to take her stomach with him or her, she wasn’t sure which. She’d refused to find out the sex. She’d wanted a surprise. She was surprised, this kind of pain was profoundly surprising. She had an image of a baby wearing her stomach and/or bowel as a rucksack. Holy Saint Jesus. Juliet was rubbing her back, down low, good pressure. Oh that’s good. That’s really good. ‘We’re going to deal with Trevor, you and I,’ she said, and Juliet stopped rubbing. Oh God, don’t stop.

‘OK,’ Juliet said. ‘I never have to see him again.’

‘Never.’ Please, please rub my back.

‘I never have to speak about him.’

‘Except to a therapist.’

‘I will if you will,’ Juliet said, and Marjorie sighed and nodded. It was time to face that very old demon. An inconvenient time, but time it was.

‘Deal,’ she said. ‘Now for fuck’s sake, start rubbing.’