‘And we’ll help, if he comes anywhere near you.’

‘I’ll call.’

‘That’s all I wanted to hear.’

Bridie brought in the coffee and some cake. ‘It’s me own. I made it fresh this morning.’ She waited for him to take a bite.

‘Delicious.’ It was clear that he meant it.

‘That’s me special ingredient.’

‘Love?’ He gave a light laugh.

‘Booze.’ She winked. ‘I’ll leave you two alone.’

‘She’s great,’ he’d said, when she’d walked out of the door.

‘I’m lucky.’ Despite everything she felt that was true.

‘Look, I want to give you this.’ He handed her a flyer for a battered-wives group.

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t just thank me. I want you to go.’

‘You and everyone else.’ She was dribbling and pressed a tissue to her lips.

‘It’d be good for you to talk to those other women.’

‘Not really in the form for chat.’

‘So listen. It’s important.’

‘I’m not going back,’ she said. ‘He broke my son’s arm.’

Fred nodded. ‘They have cake,’ he raised Bridie’s, ‘maybe not as good as this one but it’s free.’

She pulled out some forms and handed them to him. ‘I asked Ma to pick them up.’

He ran his eyes over them. ‘Deed poll.’

‘I’m dropping the Fox from our names.’ She attempted another crooked smile. ‘I’m not going back.’

Fred put the flyer into her hand and held it there. ‘All the more reason.’

In the end, after many sleepless nights and a lecture from Lynn, Maisie had done as she was told.

The thing about most battered women was that they loved their husbands, she learned that first night. It was a strange revelation. How? The group was made up of five and a counsellor, who happened to have been battered too. Maisie didn’t talk but everyone could tell that she was still recovering. A woman called Beatrice spoke about her husband, Paul. She was short, a little pudgy, and wore her red hair in a high ponytail on top of her head, even though she was forty-seven and a little too old for it, in Maisie’s opinion. Then again, who am I to judge? The back of my head looks like I’ve been through a bush backwards. Beatrice talked about their courtship and how he used to make her laugh. He was handsome, accomplished, a bank manager with a number of degrees in things Maisie had never heard of. She talked about him as if he was something special to be proud of instead of the man who had broken her nose, eye socket and three teeth.