MAISIE WOKE AT three a.m. to the sound of heavy rain pounding on the roof and Bridie shuffling along the corridor, singing to herself, ‘She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes …’ She stopped and continued to shuffle. A lot of Bridie’s thoughts, feelings, ideas and sentences just fell off proverbial cliffs. It had driven Maisie mad in the beginning, but she was used to it now. She lay still, listening to her mother’s slippers dragging along the floor, reliving the night she’d just spent with Fred Brennan.

It had been the perfect date. He was a gentleman who had treated her like a lady but, more than that, he had made her feel like a real woman for the first time in years, possibly ever. They had been to an expensive steak house, but even wearing her mother’s best dress Maisie had felt uneasy. A young man in a black suit and white tie had been playing a black baby grand piano in the corner, and when they were seated the waiter had handed them each a large menu, leather-bound and heavier than a brick. She had forgotten to eat that day so she was starving. She feared her stomach would rumble – and it was quiet enough in the restaurant for him to hear it if it did. Stupid woman, you could have made yourself a slice of toast at least. She scanned the menu, her eyes catching on the prices. Twenty pounds for a steak! At least he’s ordered the house red. Thank God for that.

‘Best steaks in town, Maisie,’ Fred said.

‘Great.’ They’d bleedin’ want to be.

She ordered the cheapest, smallest steak on the menu and a side salad.

‘Are you sure that’s all, Maisie?’

‘Ah, yes, thanks, Fred.’

‘God, that’s very little.’

‘I don’t have a big appetite.’ If me stomach rumbles now I’ll die.

‘Whatever you want.’

I could feed the kids for a week on the price of that piece of meat alone. Yis are a bunch of well-dressed bandits in this place. She smiled and handed back the menu to the waiter, whose mind was clearly somewhere else. His eyes kept drifting towards the man playing the piano, even as he answered Fred’s question about what dauphinoise potatoes and julienned mixed vegetables were.

‘Garlic potatoes and vegetables cut into strips?’ Fred repeated.

The waiter nodded, still eyeing the pianist, who was laughing with another young waiter. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘The spuds are good, though, not too garlicky, real light, and the chef glazes the veg. It’s so skinny it melts in your mouth.’

‘Sounds good.’ Fred handed the waiter his menu, but the lad was rooted to the spot and didn’t notice. ‘Hello?’ Fred said. ‘Earth calling Orson, come in, Orson.’

Maisie smiled. She’d been a fan of Mork and Mindy back in the day. Something in common, maybe?