Michael, in fairness, had allowed her free rein with Jessie’s upbringing. He had never forced his own opinions on her where the child was concerned, even when she had known he had every right to call the shots. Michael loved her too much – he always conceded to her and her wants. He adored her, and she loved him all the more for that, because she knew that her problems would have made a lesser man run away as fast as his legs would carry him. But her Michael had never once made her feel anything other than cared for and cherished.

She watched as her grandson looked around her cluttered bedroom, and she waited for what she knew was coming.

‘It’s very dark in here, Nana. Why don’t you come into the garden with me? You could push me on my swing if you liked.’ The hope was in his voice, as always.

Josephine smiled sadly. ‘That’s what we have Dana for, Jake. She’s much younger than Nana and she can run after you. How about after your swing, we have dinner with Granddad, and then we can all play a game together?’

Jake Flynn shrugged; it was no more than he had expected. ‘OK. Will my mummy be coming to see me soon?’

It was a loaded question, and one he asked occasionally when he remembered he had a mummy. Josephine swallowed down the sadness inside her as she answered him brightly, ‘You’ll see her soon. You know that she is very busy. But as soon as she gets some time off from work, she will come straight here to see you.’

Dana O’Carroll was a good nanny – she knew when to intervene and, grabbing the child’s hand, she said loudly in her thick Irish brogue, ‘Come on now, Jake, let’s go and play, shall we? Your nana needs to sort out a few things.’

Josephine watched them as they left the room, and she closed her eyes in distress. Pulling herself from her chair, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror that Michael had bought for her all the way from France. It was very old, and had cost a small fortune. She loved it. She saw a very beautiful woman, well dressed with perfect make-up, and sad green eyes. She didn’t look her age, and her figure was still to be envied. Her thick blond hair had to be coloured now; a girl came every month and saw to that, her nails, and her waxing. She had always been a woman who had looked after herself in that respect. She suspected she could still turn a few heads – that’s if she ever left the house, of course – and she knew that Michael was proud of her. He had always made her feel like the only woman in the world, and he still treated her like a queen.