‘It seems Mrs O’Malley was cleaning out St Vincent’s Presbytery when who should come in but Jean Barlow. The woman’s got a tongue like an adder! Well, poor Father McNamara was nearly shitting himself at the two of them in the same place. I mean, their hatred of one another goes back years! Barlow was knocking off O’Malley’s man just before he died. Well, this is the rub. Barlow asks the priest if he could set the banns up for her next weddin’, looking at O’Malley all the time like, trying to annoy the life out of her. So O’Malley says all innocent like, “Aren’t you a bit long in the tooth for getting married, Mrs Barlow?” And that mare turns on her and says: “There’s no set age for getting married, or indeed falling in love. Why, Mr O‘Malley could have told you that, dear.”’

Molly gaped. ‘She didn’t mention O’Malley’s man?’

Mother Jones roared with laughter.

‘She did! Well, the priest, God love him and keep him, had to separate them. Mrs McAnulty his housekeeper threw a bucket of water over them in the end. Like alley cats, she said they were, and the language! The priest was red-faced for days after!’

‘Well, good for Barlow, I say. It’s about time someone gave that bitch one in the eye. No one split on her old man because they were glad to see someone getting one over on the old cow.’

As she said that Eileen walked through the front door with the woman in question and her son, and Molly, being Molly and a mother who wanted her girl wed, held out her arms and said: ‘Come away inside, Mrs O’Malley. This is indeed a pleasure!’

Tommy Lane and his close friend and minder Jimmy Reynard walked into the lunch-time crush of The Two Puddings in Stratford. They pushed their way through to the bar and Tommy ordered two pints of best bitter. He noticed he was being observed by a huge bald-headed man called Boris Jackobitz. Tommy looked the man in the face and, raising his pint, motioned with his head to the back bar. Boris nodded almost imperceptibly and five minutes later slipped through the curtained doorway at the back of the pub. Tommy and Jimmy followed.

Their disappearance went unnoticed by the clientele who were waiting for the result of a horse race. This was the place for betting. It was crowded out day and night with punters. From well-to-do middle-class shopkeepers to run of the mill petty criminals and local hard men, all had one thing in common: a love of the horses. It was the main topic of conversation and the only interest of most of the clientele.