‘Yeah, well, no more from you, madam,’ Maisie said, tears stinging her eyes. That was too harsh. I’m sorry, love. She would have never said that to Jeremy. Valerie had a way of bringing out the worst in her. I’ll make her a cup of hot chocolate later. Two marshmallows and extra love. She pulled herself together, glanced at her watch and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. Five hours to the date and her hair was a mess. When she frowned, her eyebrows met in the middle, and she had a small strawberry blotch on her left cheek. I look like seven shades of shite. Was she making a huge mistake?

An hour later, Maisie was hovering in front of a boiling kettle. It was the third time she’d boiled it. Each time she’d walked off to wash dishes, wipe cupboards or sweep a floor. Each time she’d forgotten to make herself the cup of tea she told herself she needed. She was filled with guilt about her handling of Valerie’s outburst, and dreaded eating a meal with a lovely man only to let him down, when Jeremy appeared behind her.

‘Ma?’

‘Yeah, son?’ She turned to greet him just as the kettle reached the boil.

‘You should go out. Everything’s going to be all right.’

‘Ya think?’ He’d shocked her.

‘I know.’

He wasn’t going to give her a hard time. It made her both happy and sad. ‘When did you get so grown-up?’

He smiled at her. ‘It crept up on me, Ma.’

As he walked away she could feel the tiniest pain dart across her heart.

Chapter Two

‘Sunday Sunday’
Blur, 1993

Maisie

BRIDIE SPENT THE afternoon watching Blockbusters on TV. She loved all game shows but she described Blockbusters as her ‘very, very favourite’. When Maisie asked her mother if she wanted anything, Bridie thought for a second and said, ‘I’ll have a T, please, Bob,’ just like one of the contestants on the show, ‘and make that T with two sugars.’ They laughed. The sleep had done her good.

Maisie laid her hand on her mother’s head. ‘A T with two esses comin’ up.’

‘Yeah.’ Bridie giggled. ‘Two esses.’

Jeremy had gone out with his friends to play soccer and Valerie was in her room, listening to music and sulking. It was raining, and as Maisie made her way into the kitchen she lamented that her son hadn’t put on a coat.

‘He’s a big boy now,’ Bridie said.

‘I know, Ma, but he’ll be a big boy dyin’ of pneumonia if he’s out in a bleedin’ hurricane in a tracksuit top.’ She heard her mother tutting at the TV.

‘If you don’t know that the MS that accompanies a lamb dinner is mint sauce, you’ve no bleedin’ business being there, son.’