Maggie nodded, and without another word he slipped the coat up her arms as she scanned the bar. No one had noticed them, all eyes were on the front; and with a glance between them which conveyed a lifetime of everything both needed to know, she walked towards the back door, holding her breath and hoping and praying that he had no last-minute fears or hesitation.

*

It was Harry who noticed the woman acting suspiciously in the entry ahead of them and both boys pressed themselves into the wall so that they could see what was happening.

‘Who is it?’ whispered Harry.

‘I don’t know,’ said Paddy and they watched as a man turned into the entry and crept around the corner after her, but not until he had looked up and down the street and all around. ‘It’s Mrs Trott,’ said little Paddy then, ‘but she never goes out anywhere. No, it can’t be. There’s a mister with her and Mrs Trott doesn’t have a Mr Trott, that’s why I get all the biscuits she makes.’ And then, to his total surprise, the couple stopped at Mrs Trott’s back gate. Paddy gasped and couldn’t help himself as he said out loud, ‘Harry! It is Mrs Trott, and she’s with Eric, the milky!’

*

‘Come here,’ said Eric as they reached the back gate and, reaching out, took hold of Maggie’s hand, relieved to find it was shaking as much as his own. ‘Maggie, are you sure about this?’ he asked.

Maggie made to answer then frowned and said, ‘Did you hear something then?’

Eric looked down the entry. ‘No. There’s no one there, it’s just the river rats come up the steps to the street because it’s getting cold down there.’

For a fleeting moment the diversion had dragged his thoughts to the dairy, to Gladys, to his marriage. Was there something? Was it Gladys? A cat howled and Maggie, looking up at Eric, smiled.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘It’ll be that cat – and I’m as nervous as a kitten myself.’

His hand left hers and stroked her arm. ‘Are you sure you are sure?’

Maggie didn’t hesitate; hadn’t she been dreaming about this possibility for longer than she cared to remember? Wasn’t it this thought that kept driving her to confession? Her wicked thoughts were all here as one, standing before her in the form of this married man she had known for more than half of her life.

‘I’m sure, Eric. By tomorrow I’ll be another day older. I do think I need another drink though, do you? I’ve got a bottle of sherry in, no stout though, I’m afraid.’