Joshua waited patiently for his bride. His new suit looked and felt incongruous. He had never owned anything so fine in all his life. He was frightened of all this sitting down because he didn’t want to crease it. It had been provided by Briony, which he hated, but he consoled himself with the thought it would last him the next thirty years if he watched his weight. It was of good material and fully lined, a fact that had him swinging between pride and a kind of shocked wonderment. It was a suit you could take to Uncle’s and get a good price for, and as it was no shame to pawn things, he was actually looking forward to doing so. It would only get damp or smoke-damaged hanging up in the house, depending on what time of year it was, and where the hell would he wear it, except maybe to weddings and funerals.

He bit his thumbnail, and quickly chastised himself. No biting nails in church, no crossing of legs or arms in church, and never, ever was one to think a bad word or thought in church. He concentrated on the pink roses on the altar. The church looked lovely. His mother and Eileen had dressed it early that morning. It looked a picture.

He smiled nervously at his friend Harry Higgins, and Harry patted his pocket to let him know he had the ring safe. The news Joshua was marrying Eileen, one of the Cavanaghs, had spread through the East End like wild fire. For the first time in his life he was treated with the utmost respect. Yet he wasn’t sure he even wanted to be here. At first Briony getting the better of his mother had pleased him. He had been forced into this marriage, and being a weak man, there was a kind of pleasure in that fact. Always living by his mother’s lights, he had exchanged that for living by Briony Cavanagh’s. But Eileen now, she was a different kettle of fish. With Eileen he would rule the roost and she would let him. That fact pleased him enormously. He had a fleeting vision of her naked before him and squeezed his eyes closed. After this day, he could take her any time he wanted to. He would be master in his own house, and master of her.

Everyone looked towards the back of the church when Eileen began the walk down the aisle on Abel’s arm. Kerry began to sing, low at first, her voice rising as she picked up the organist’s tempo:

‘Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.
To save a wretch like me.’