‘Nothing.’ For a moment she thought about going to the gym one day when she was old enough, but if she did, she’d have to work out and Valerie didn’t like doing anything that involved vigorous movement, all sweating and aching. Life is hard enough. He walked out of the room, leaving her to flex her skinny arms and look at her reflection in the door of the microwave. She often thought about the day Jeremy would leave home. He had only two years left of school. She couldn’t imagine the house or her life without him. He was the buffer between her and her mother. He was the one who knew how to handle Bridie, and he was good company when he wasn’t being bossy. She hoped he’d go to university: then he’d have to live at home and maybe she’d get to leave first. There was no way she could cope alone with their mother and grandmother. She finished her sketch, made a paper aeroplane with it, opened the window and sailed it high into the air, watching it drift into the middle of the road and land on the Ryans’ car.

It was Jeremy’s turn to make dinner: omelette and chips night. Maisie often worked late – the dentist offered late-evening appointments from Monday to Thursday so that he could take Fridays off to play golf. After Bridie had nearly burned down the house for the second time in a month, Maisie had spent a long weekend teaching them how to make an omelette, spaghetti bolognese, chicken casserole and fish pie. It was a short menu but the techniques they had learned through making bolognese and fish pie extended to shepherd’s and cottage pie and they varied the omelette fillings. Valerie liked ham and mushroom, while Jeremy was a spinach and cheese man.

When Jeremy returned, she asked what he was intending to cook.

‘Spinach and cheese.’

‘Ah, come on, Jeremy.’

‘It’s my night.’

‘But I don’t like spinach and cheese.’ Valerie opened the drawer to get out the knives and forks.

‘Better than ham and poxy mushrooms.’

‘Matter of opinion, shitebag.’

He grinned at her, then told her to grow up.

‘Me ma threatened to pack me bags if I called Flintstone a tosser again,’ she said, hoping for his guidance on the matter.

‘Look, it was bound to happen sometime. She’s still young – well, youngish – and the lads, well, they say she’s a good-looking woman.’

‘Me ma’s good-looking? No way, the back of her head gets so fluffy it looks like the neighbours’ cat’s arse most of the time.’

‘Rave says she’s the best-looking ma out there.’

‘And what would he know, the state of him?’

‘Rave’s cool,’ he said, a little too defensively.

‘Rave’s cool!’ she said, mimicking him. ‘You sound like a girl.’

Jeremy turned away from her to focus on his omelette.