‘No one would ever have had a party if me and Callum couldn’t run so fast,’ he’d said and told her of how they were behind all the shop deliveries which had gone missing, the minute the driver stepped into the shop and took a cup of tea. Jimmy wooed her, he impressed her, he stole her heart and, when he’d kissed her for the first time, she never wanted him to stop. In those six blissful weeks before Deirdre caught them kissing in the back-entry, Mary had fallen hopelessly in love with Jimmy O’Prey.

They managed one more meeting before Jimmy was sentenced. She had Malachi to thank for that too. ‘He wants to meet you at the back of the Anchor right now, he has summat to tell you,’ he’d whispered so no one could hear and then shouted, ‘Chase me, Mary, bet you can’t catch me!’ and then run out of the back gate. After a startled moment, Mary had set off after him. She didn’t care what happened next, or even if Deirdre came running after her – Jimmy had sent for her.

Callum had been standing with Jimmy, waiting for her, under Annie’s instructions. ‘I don’t want Deirdre Malone in here again, giving me hell, so don’t let him out of your sight,’ she had ordered Callum. ‘That woman makes me laugh, she does, never out of Cindy’s, all high and mighty – she’s Maura Doherty without the brains, that one, and her daughter is lucky that our Jimmy paid her a moment’s attention. The cut of the girl! She isn’t even pretty, a right plain Jane.’

Mary had been irritated that Callum remained with her and Jimmy and didn’t move into the Anchor. As if he could read her thoughts, Jimmy had said, ‘Would you look at him, he’s me bodyguard. Taking me for my last pint, or so he thinks.’

Jimmy had laughed and Callum respectfully turned away, but not before he apologised, saying, ‘Sorry, Mary. I’ll be waiting by the back door, Jimmy.’ True to his word he’d ambled across the backyard and stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else.

‘Callum thinks I’m going down tomorrow,’ Jimmy had told a stricken Mary, ‘but I’m not. I always manage to wind the jury around my little finger.’