‘Well, if it isn’t the banshee,’ he says.

How dare he, and in front of my son?

He leans over the counter. ‘And is this your poor little fecker?’

I look around the room. Only two other teenagers, waiting on their garlic dough balls, heads lost inside cyberspace. What is it they’re looking at? Porn – of course it’s porn. I walk over to one of them, peer over his shoulder, but can’t see anything, the light is glaring. The boy glances at me distractedly, walks away, doesn’t disconnect from his sordid fantasy. Probably one of those games where they go around in white vans, picking up prostitutes and murdering them. The thoughts start building up, crowding me, each one darker and more extreme than the last. Shake my head. The boy behind the counter is studying me with interest.

‘What can I get you?’ he says to Tommy, kindly, I think.

‘Anything vegetawian,’ says Tommy, my brilliant boy.

‘Coming right up,’ the boy continues. ‘What do you like? Evwything?’

Did I just imagine that?

‘Just cheese and tomato, please.’

‘Lovely manners, young lad. Did your ma teach you those?’

Do not lose it in front of this impudent little pup. Do not give him the pleasure a second time.

‘Does your boss know your story?’ I say.

‘What story’s that, then?’ He speaks very loudly to alert the others in the room.

‘He might be interested in hearing it from me…’ I continue, knowing I should stop but in the grip of something much more powerful than myself. What is it about this boy—?

‘He already warned me about you, but I didn’t know it was you,’ the pup continues, his smile catapulting me right back to that awful moment in rehab. The flapping sound, creatures already in flight, already on their course. White mist is rising. No, please, not that. Not now, not in front of Tommy. Please help. And I do what I have to: I summon Jimmy’s face, Sister Anne’s, the words of the rosary, and invoke them over and over, over and over, Hail Mary, full of grace, Mary, Mother of God, giver of life, Divine Mother with the bleeding lips and the flaking smile, the mother’s smile, the mother’s sacrifice, blessed art thou. I allow myself to be filled. This is it. I feel her. Arms around me, holding me steady.

‘Yaya?’ Tommy’s voice cuts through.

‘Is your ma ok?’ the boy asks.

I feel the pressure of Tommy’s little hand squeezing mine.

‘Perfectly fine. Now can you get us two Margheritas, please.’

I think of meeting David in here for the first time all those months ago, how sober, how safe, how in control, how kind he seemed, and I can’t square any of it with the man I now know or don’t know or don’t want to know. I lean down to kiss Tommy on the forehead.

The boy looks spooked.

‘Get a move on, will you?’ I say.

‘The boss told me to make sure you paid before serving you,’ he says.