Josephine didn’t answer. Instead she kissed her daughter on the cheek, and walked her to the front door. ‘Declan is dropping you off at the disco, and your dad or I will pick you up, OK?’

Jessie sighed theatrically, still ashamed about swearing at her nana, but at least her mum understood why she had done it. ‘I know, Mum. Why change the habits of a lifetime?’

‘Well, we worry about you, darling, that’s all.’

It was said easily, but the underlying warning was there. Jessie was well aware that her father would never let her out of the house if it wasn’t for her mother.

‘I’m sorry for shouting at Nana.’

Josephine smiled sadly. ‘I know that, lovely. She means well, try and remember that. She was the same with me.’

‘I know. But I hate having to fight for my freedom, Mum.’

Josephine laughed delightedly at her daughter’s dejected countenance. She was a real drama queen, a natural actress.

‘Look, darling, if it was left to your father you’d never leave the fucking house. I’ve told you before, the best way to manage him is to let him think he is in control.’

Jessie rolled her big blue eyes with annoyance. ‘I’m nearly fifteen, Mum, I’m not a child any more.’

Josephine pushed her away gently. ‘Well, the jury’s still out on that one, mate. Have a good night.’

She watched her daughter as she climbed into her uncle Declan’s Mercedes. As she waved her off she felt a stab of fear. Jessie looked eighteen even without any make-up on – she was her daughter all right. Done up she looked like a grown woman. But she wasn’t, that was the trouble. She was twenty-five in her body, but still a child in her mind. Older men looked at her with interest, and why wouldn’t they? She didn’t look like a schoolgirl; she had ripened far too early, bless her heart. It was a godsend that she was Michael Flynn’s daughter, that alone gave her the protection most girls of her age didn’t have. She was a beautiful girl, and that wasn’t a mother talking. Her Jessie was a true stunner, in every way that counted for this generation.