Her customer made her wait as he took a long sip on his drink and she pretended she wasn’t waiting for his reply as she swung the mop back and forth, imagining his face on the end of it. He smacked his lips. ‘Well, because Liam hasn’t increased his herd and he was managing very well before. Maybe it is that your man was feeling a bit sorry for Tommy now; like, he wanted to help him out so, because sure, that would be the nature of Liam. He wouldn’t hesitate to help out someone who was in need, so he wouldn’t.’

‘Unlike yourself then,’ muttered Maura as she kicked the metal bucket back towards the bar. She guided it expertly through the hatch, behind the counter and into the back as she looked up at the clock. It was gone four. The children would soon be home from school. Having walked the two miles, they would be soaked through by the time they reached the Talk of the no flamin’ Town, as Maura now called it. Very different from the ten-minute march from school gate to home in Liverpool with their lifelong friends. No longer did little Paddy, Peggy and Paddy’s son, run into her kitchen with Scamp the dog at his heels and she missed him and his impish ways as much as she missed her friends. She’d fed him, looked out for him and guided his mother, simple Peggy. How she wished she could have banged that mop on the wall and called in Peggy from next door for gossip about the antics of the O’Prey boys.

Certainly, gone were the days of worrying about what she would make for tea on a Wednesday night if the money had run out before payday on Thursday, but with that had gone everything else too. Her friends, her life, her sparkle and, most importantly, her status. Here, Maura was an outsider. She heard the side door open and the rumble of feet up the half-stairs to their generous living quarters at the back, and she smiled, a rare occurrence these days: the children, safely home.

‘Well, hello you lot. Yes, I’m fine thank you for asking.’ She tutted and smiled again as she turned to walk into the bar – and almost jumped out of her skin as Harry, the eldest from both sets of twins, appeared before her. ‘Jesus wept, Harry. You near frightened me to death! What are you doing stood there? Why are you not away up the stairs? I’ve left the Cidona on the table and the biscuits; did you think I’d forgotten? They will have eaten the flamin’ lot if you don’t hurry.’

She lifted up her son’s cap and ruffled his hair, then stopped, as she saw a tear run down his cheek.