‘I’ve sent Grace out to buy something.’

‘No,’ Marjorie said, shaking her head and resting her hands on her hips.

‘Excuse me?’

‘No, Molly. Sorry. No way.’ It was unusual for Marjorie to stand up to Molly in such a way; normally they were on the same page. Marjorie was nervous and the last thing she wanted to do was be disrespectful to Molly, the woman who’d pretty much raised her, and especially during this terrible time, but if you don’t stand for something you stand for nothing – at least that’s what Molly Hayes always said. Molly waited for Marjorie to find her words.

‘You know what to dress her in, you just don’t want to.’

Molly sucked her cheeks in and bit on them hard; chewing on the inside of her own face was something Molly did when she was in a tough spot.

‘You’re referring to AC/DC,’ Molly said through clenched teeth.

Marjorie nodded. ‘AC/DC.’

‘And you have something specific in mind?’ Molly said.

‘Highway to Hell tour, 1979.’

‘So you want my dead child to wear an AC/DC Highway to Hell tour T-shirt into her grave?’

‘It’s not about what you or I want,’ Marjorie said, undaunted.

‘Well, why did she ask me to pick her clothes, then?’ Molly was losing the battle even in her own head.

‘Because she knew ultimately you’d do the right thing,’ Marjorie said.

‘And what’s that?’

Marjorie smiled. ‘You’d come and talk to me.’

Molly leaned on the wall and knocked her head against it three times just as Davey counted his father down. ‘One, two, three, pull.’

‘Come on, son, put some welly into it,’ Jack said from above.

‘You’re like a baby elephant, Da.’

Molly slowly removed the key to Rabbit’s house from her pocket and handed it to Marjorie just as Francie Byrne walked in through the back door as though he owned the place. Francie had spent most of his youth in and out of that house, rehearsing in the garage. The Hayes household was home to many back then.

‘Fine,’ Molly said.

Marjorie smiled.

Francie appeared at the bottom of the stairs and looked upwards. ‘What are we doin’?’

‘You’re coming with me,’ Marjorie said.

‘All right, but no touching.’ He winked at Molly. ‘You hanging in there, Mrs H?’ he asked.

‘Just about, Francie.’

‘Where’s DB?’ he said, because in the past, and before Davey had grown into himself, his close friends and bandmates christened him Dead Bird due to his oversized nose and skinny body. It had been shortened to DB over the years.

‘I’m up here – me da’s wedged himself in a bleedin’ beanbag,’ Davey said from the attic.

‘Any chance of a hand, Francie, I think my back’s in spasm,’ Jack said.

‘Everything changes. Everything stays the same,’ Francie said. ‘Give us a minute, Marjorie.’