One night stands she could cope with, they were more or less an occupational hazard with Marcus’s job. But a permanent woman was a different kettle of fish. That meant commitment of some sort, it meant he was having regular conversations with her, maybe about Bernie herself and the children. It meant that Marcus was enamoured enough to see the same girl again and again. Maybe fancy himself in love with her. It meant a threat to Bernadette, her children, and their idyllic homelife.

It meant big trouble.

She put the shirt into the washing basket and sat on the bed. The house was exceptionally quiet. The girls were both round at friends’ houses, her cook and cleaner had the day off. Alone and troubled, she sat on the bed observing herself in the large gilt mirror opposite, finding herself sadly lacking in any attractions that might snare a wandering husband. The tears came then. Seeing her face in the mirror, screwed up with misery, only made her feel worse.

But the Cavanaghs were fighters. All the Cavanagh women were, and by Christ she had more to fight for than most.

She wiped her eyes, dragging at the lids with her fingers, enjoying the pain she caused herself.

She would fight all right.

Molly was cooking a small capon, braising it in a thick gravy so Mother Jones could just suck at it, when she heard the car pull up outside the house. She smiled to herself. So the buggers had come at last. She’d resigned herself to waiting out Christmas and maybe New Year until she saw her family. She put in a small shake of salt and tasted the bubbling gravy before she deigned to answer the knock on her front door.

Rosalee, sitting by the fire, saw her nephews and made a snorting noise with delight. Boysie and Daniel, striding past their granny, went straight to her, talking loudly as they always did, even though she wasn’t in the least deaf, and making a big fuss of her.

‘Hello, Auntie Rosalee, how are you, darlin’?’

Briony stepped in at the front door and nodded at her mother.

‘Mum.’

Then walking to Rosalee she too made a fuss of her. Only unlike the boys she stared at her sister for a long while first.

Molly pursed her lips and went back to her cooking. Well, she mused, at least they came, even if it was just to see Rosalee.

‘That smells handsome, Gran.’ Boysie as always was the first to make a friendly overture.

Molly suppressed a grin and said sternly, ‘Well, sit yourself down then! There’s plenty to go round.’

Daniel and Boysie sat at the scrubbed table and Briony sat with her sister on the fireside chairs. She lit herself a cigarette.

‘How’s Mother Jones?’ Her voice was neutral.