Alice, her daughter-in-law, had taken a different approach when she had been Cindy’s age and, a woman of few words, she would smile at Cindy, approvingly.

‘If I had my time again, I wish I’d told our Paddy to stick his ring up his arse too,’ Peggy had once said.

‘Really?’ Deirdre had replied. ‘And where is that ring Paddy hooked you with, then, Peggy?’

Once again Peggy had found herself on the wrong end of the laughter, until Maura had patted her hand and chipped in, ‘Who needs a ring when you have a heart as big as and better than any diamond, like our Peggy has, eh?’ And the laughter had stopped dead.

Cindy matched her disdain for marriage with an equal degree of kindness towards others and there were plenty who were in need of it. She was admired by the women who would sometimes call into the shop, not to have their hair done, but to while away the time and natter, because a natter with Cindy made them feel better – and whether Cindy had a customer in the chair or not made no difference. On the rare occasion when Maura had had her hair cut, Cindy would tell her, ‘Come in on Wednesday morning when I’m quiet and I’ll do Peggy for free – just check her hair for nits the night before for me with your toothcomb,’ and no more needed to be said.

Cindy was a phenomenon. She was on birth control, had faced down the priest and come to no harm. She still lived and breathed, had not been struck down by lightning, and the priest, despite frequent references from the pulpit to the evils of vanity, fumed in vain. Cindy was a walking miracle and, what was more, she and Reg went out at night together – he never went to the pub alone. He bought her presents, obviously adored her – and not one woman could quite work out how it was she did it.

Now she popped the Vim tin on the shelf at the back of the shop, as the spin dryer came to the end of its cycle and she began to remove the washed and bleach-stained towels from the day before, just as the shop bell rang.

‘Eric, love,’ Cindy exclaimed as he walked in, the coins in his leather bag clinking, the collection book in his hand with the pencil wedged in a thick brown rubber band to keep the page open. ‘I thought you were a customer and I was thinking, please God, no, I can’t be doing with anyone arriving early today – it’s me washing and cleaning day and if I don’t get these hung up now, they won’t be dry for the morning. How are you?’