‘You’ll never change, Briony Cavanagh, not while there’s a hole in your arse! Them boys are grown men, big grown men, they don’t need you looking out for them, they’re quite capable of looking out for themselves. And stop seeing bloody slights everywhere. It’s getting harder and harder to talk to you lately! It’s your bleeding age catching up with you!’

Briony shook her head and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Mariah.’

‘So you blinking well should be. Now let’s change the subject. How’s all the other houses going along?’

Tommy launched into a long conversation with Mariah about the different houses and Briony sat quietly, watching the two of them talking, her mind troubled.

The boys were once more getting too big for themselves and it worried her. She had had word off the street that the Cavanaghs’ days were numbered. They were being watched, being monitored by the tax man, and they still were flying dangerously close to the wind. They thought they were indestructible. Well, she knew from experience that no one was indestructible. No one.

The worst of it was there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Tommy’s voice brought her back to the present. ‘What? sorry, Tommy love, I was miles away.’

‘We’d better make a move if we’re to get to Kerry’s in time for tea.’

‘Oh, yes, I forgot we were due there.’

As they said their goodbyes and walked out to their car, Briony saw as if for the first time the stooping of Tommy’s shoulders and the hair that was now all grey. As he held the car door open for her she wondered when he had got so old-looking, and why she hadn’t noticed it before.

Doreen Rankins was beside herself with pleasure at having Boysie Cavanagh inside her house. Every time she thought of his Rolls-Royce outside her front door she felt a thrill inside her eighteen-hour girdle.

‘Have another sandwich, Boysie.’ She said his name timidly, shyly.

He took another cucumber sandwich and bit into it. ‘Best sandwiches I’ve had in yonks, Mrs Rankins.’

Doreen patted her newly permed and treated hair and giggled like a schoolgirl.

‘Oh, call me Doreen. We don’t stand on ceremony in this house.’

Suzy raised disbelieving eyebrows at her mother’s complete change of character. But Boysie had that effect on people.

‘We’re over the moon at your news, Boysie. Our little girl has made us very happy, hasn’t she, Frank?’

Doreen looked at her large silent husband with an expression of desperation on her face.

Frank nodded. ‘Oh, yes, son. We’re over the moon.’

Boysie grinned and winked at Doreen saucily before taking another slice of walnut cake.

‘May I be so bold as to ask for another cup of your excellent tea, Mrs ... I mean, Doreen?’