‘Peggy, stop, would you!’ Maura would exclaim in mock condemnation, and in order to outrage Maura even more, a sport in itself, Shelagh would chip in, ‘She got that wrong there, didn’t you, Peggy? She means between her legs, Maura, not her sheets.’

And that would make the tea spray from Maura’s mouth and the laughter would be so loud the children would run in from the backyard to see what all the noise was about, then someone would shoo them back out with a broken biscuit in hand and put the kettle back on. When the women ran out of others to gossip about, or times were hard and problems tough, as they often were, they always had the tales of Cindy to cheer them up. There was only one woman on the Dock Road who didn’t experience a tinge of jealousy in the company of Cindy, or spend hours discussing her audacity, and that was Eric’s wife, Gladys.

‘She’s not normal,’ Gladys, with her sallow skin and curled thin lips, would often say to Eric. ‘With all that muck on her face. If it wasn’t for the fact that Reginald is a well-respected businessman and desperate to make an honest woman out of her, she would have a name for herself, that one would. That man saves her with his intentions alone. She’s very lucky indeed that she has him – half the girls around here would love to be in her shoes. He could have anyone he wants, so God alone knows why he bothers with her. Brazen as you like she is, her skirt near up to her knickers. It’s a disgrace. Brazen.’

Eric fought not to frown. He had often thought that Cindy was a delight to look at, a feast for the eyes and a free and independent spirit, someone to be admired because, as Maggie Trott had often said, ‘No one leaves Cindy’s company without feeling all the better for having been in it – and it’s not just the hairdo that does it.’

As Gladys agitated, Eric had often thought how much more civil life would be if every man were lucky enough to be married to women like Maggie Trott or Cindy.

‘How do you collect that one’s money?’ Gladys had barked at him during her last rant about Cindy, squinting and looking sideways at him. Until recently, that look would have made Eric feel quite unwell. His mouth would dry, his bowels turn to water and his heart would race, but no more. Her bite had lost its sting of late and Eric had no idea how or why. It was as if her words now ran over him, rather than piercing him with their malice as they once had.