Back in 1977, five weeks after that fateful date with Danny, Maisie had complained of feeling ill, and after losing Arthur so tragically Bridie was not about to take any chances with her daughter. She had marched Maisie straight to the doctor. Even though Maisie was eighteen it hadn’t occurred to anyone in the room that Bridie should wait outside – after all, Dr Brown had been Bridie’s GP since before Maisie was born. By the time he’d grasped that a totally clueless Maisie was pregnant, it was too late to ask her mother to step outside.

Bridie had needed a chair, a glass of water and a Disprin to thin her blood and prevent a stroke. Forgotten, Maisie was left standing there, head spinning, with a terrible urge to vomit on Dr Brown’s pale green rug. Following what would later be referred to as ‘the incident in Doc Brown’s’, it wasn’t so much decided as expected that Maisie would marry Danny, especially after her mother had spoken to Father Benton: he had made clear to her that neither she nor her daughter would be welcome in his church if the matter wasn’t handled one way or the other. Maisie would marry Danny and raise the child or go to the nuns and give it up. It was that simple.

In the years that had followed, her mother, along with the rest of the country, had become a little more educated and the Church had slowly lost control of people’s sex and family lives. Since then, Bridie had often apologized to her for the ‘great mistake’, starting when Maisie had had brain surgery – Danny’s final beating had left her with extensive injuries, including a major blood clot. She’d opened her eyes to find Bridie holding her hand and smiling through tears. ‘There she is. Do you know who I am? I’m your mammy,’ she had said slowly and loudly.

Maisie knew who her mammy was but she couldn’t answer as her jaw was wired shut.

‘I love ya, Maisie, and I’m sorry I made ya marry that man. You and the kids are coming home with me. If God’s mean-spirited enough to send us to Hell, well, we’ll go together, love, you and me and a bottle of rum.’