Peggy made a noise that resembled a deep growl more animal than human, but they both stopped dead as they heard a small voice behind them.

‘I’ll make yer tea, will I, Da? I’ll wet the old tea leaves from yesterday if there’s none, shall I, Ma?’

They turned, startled to see their son, little Paddy, in the doorway, his dog Scamp by his side, ears and tail down. There was no smile to match little Paddy’s words, just a worried, furrowed brow. This morning the raised voices made his heart race with anxiety and his bladder weak. Before, whenever she heard raised voices, Auntie Maura would be straight in through the back door and either usher little Paddy and the others into her kitchen, or reprimand Peggy and Paddy until they stopped shouting; little Paddy no longer felt safe, now Maura wasn’t there.

Peggy fixed a smile on her face. ‘We’ve milk,’ she said. ‘Eric has left four steri on the step and isn’t that just great? You fetch it in quick and I’ll make everyone pobs, eh, how does that sound? We’ve got bread left over from yesterday to make it with, and a little bit of sugar.’

Little Paddy felt relief wash over him. He would do anything for his mother, but he hated it when she asked him to go out and steal milk from Malcolm at the Seaman’s Stop on the Dock Road, while he still had his curtains closed. He felt physically sick lifting the gold top from the crate and would run as fast as his legs would carry him back to the house, with the milk precariously swinging in his hands.

‘Go on, off with you,’ she would say when she woke him early, extracting him from the tangled limbs of the brothers he shared his bed with. ‘The greedy git gets eight pints and he only has six rooms, so he can’t be using all of them. Hang around on the corner and when you see Eric cross over to the pub, you slip out, take one and leg it.’