Maisie had been in the back garden, hanging clothes out to dry and only discovered what her son had done when Matt phoned later that evening. She was terribly apologetic and he was very understanding, but although he’d promised to call again before he left for home, he hadn’t attempted a second visit.

Valerie was spot on. Five years had passed since Matt’s arrival but Maisie was more worried about Jeremy’s reaction to the idea of her on a date than she was about Valerie’s. Jeremy had terrible memories of what they had gone through with his father. That night, when an ambulance had collected his mother, with head injuries, and his sister had been carried out of the house in her nightdress, Jeremy had also been in hospital, having his arm plastered, because his dad had flung him across the room. He had dared to stand in front of his mammy, crying and begging his dad to stop banging her head against a wall. Jeremy’s broken arm and tortured screams had distracted his father from killing his mother, and those screams had been the last straw for Maisie. After that there was no going back. From that night they were on their own: no one really gets over that level of violence and betrayal.

Jeremy’s not going to like this. I can’t just spring it on him. And who in hell asks a woman out in a supermarket? When did I last shave my legs? Do I even have a razor? Maisie’s stomach filled with butterflies as they pulled into the driveway. Valerie’s seatbelt was unbuckled and she was out of the car, barging through the front door and calling her brother before Maisie had parked and switched off the engine.

She took a moment to gather herself, gripping the steering-wheel. Then she got out, grabbed the shopping bags from the boot, slammed it shut and went into the house.

Valerie was hollering her brother’s name as he emerged from the toilet.

‘Keep it down, Shortstuff. Grammy’s still sleeping.’ He always called her Shortstuff, even though she was taller than most of the girls in her class.