‘He’s a borzoi!’ he had declared. ‘A fellow Russian!’

‘It’s a dog,’ Shunty-Mae had objected. ‘It’s probably got fleas.’

Imelda rarely crossed her mother, but when Shunty-Mae had told her to get rid of the puppy, she had been adamant.

‘If he goes – I go with him!’

Shunty-Mae had eventually yielded, fearful of losing her daughter and knowing that this was a battle she would not win. But she attempted to dignify her capitulation by disguising it as oblivion. She simply refused to acknowledge Grisha’s existence and completely ignored him. Shunty-Mae had given birth to four sons before her longed-for and only daughter eventually arrived, and it was clear from the start that Imelda had inherited her mother’s independent spirit and stubborn streak. The first word she had spoken was ‘no’.

Imelda hurried downstairs followed closely by the now wide-awake puppy who skittered into the kitchen and immediately sat down at the feet of Alexei, who was frying eggs for Imelda’s breakfast.

‘You need a good meal inside you, Melda. It’s a big day.’

Imelda poured herself a mug of tea and sat down at the table.

‘Why’s Mum in the vardo?’

Alexi served her two eggs on toast and smiled.

‘I told her not to go to the booth today. To let you have your first day as the queen bee in peace.’

Grisha had squeezed underneath the table and was nudging Imelda’s knee with his nose. She slipped him a small piece of toast.

‘I take it she didn’t welcome your advice, Papa?’

Alexei sat down opposite her and took a deep draught from his mug of tea.

‘She said that I obviously thought she was an ugly, interfering old woman of no more use to anyone, and that next I’d be plotting to have her put in a home and then I’d run off with some gorger floozy.’

‘I said cheap gorger floozy!’

Shunty-Mae was at the back door, listening. She walked over to her husband and looped her arms lovingly around his neck before planting a kiss on the top of his head.

‘But now I forgive you. If you cook me some eggs.’

Imelda glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was eight o’clock and time for her to leave. She wanted to be at the booth early and savour every moment of her first day of sovereignty. She fed a final piece of toast to Grisha whilst her mother struggled valiantly not to notice, and then grabbed her bag, coat and puppy and swept off down the hallway. Madame Burova was on her way.

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