Maisie wasn’t used to drinking. She had stumbled to bed, stubbed her toe on the night-stand, and when she’d lain down the room had been spinning. She had felt fine when she woke but now, walking around the seventh circle of Hell, her head hurt, her toe pounded, sweat was emanating from every pore and she felt nauseous.

She stopped, sighed, and turned around slowly, taking in the shampoo and moisturizers on the shelves. ‘All I need is a fucking chicken.’

‘That’s another ten pence in the jar. So, with “arse”, “bleedin” and “fuckin” you’re thirty pence poorer and it’s not even midday,’ Valerie pointed out smugly.

‘I didn’t say “arse”,’ Maisie said, and set off in the direction of the deli counter.

‘You did so. You told me to get my skinny arse into the kitchen first thing this morning.’

Maisie remembered and sighed. Bollocks, she thought, as she reached the new butchery area, which was close to the deli. A boy in a white, slightly bloodied apron and a paper hat he’d pinned to the crown of his head stood leaning on the counter, one leg stretched in front of him. ‘Could you please tell me where on earth the frozen chickens are?’ She was trying not to sound aggravated but she was failing.

The young fella, with a faceful of spots and a thick fringe glued together with gel, eyed her. ‘They’re in the freezer.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘But where is the freezer?’

‘Behind me.’ He gestured over his shoulder.

She looked past him to a wall with a heavy stainless-steel door in its centre. ‘Why?’

‘Because this is the butcher’s.’

‘I know it is, but the frozen meat has always been on the aisle, not in the butcher part.’

‘Well, me ma says a change is as good as a rest.’ He shrugged.

‘Does she now?’ Maisie pictured herself wringing his neck. ‘Well, may I suggest that you put some signs up to direct customers around this ridiculous new system?’

The young fella looked from Maisie to Valerie and threw his eyes to Heaven. Valerie gave him the finger. ‘Making eyes about my ma! The state of ya.’

Valerie might indeed have been hard raring but she was loyal. Aside from the hand gesture, Maisie felt proud.

‘Am I talking to myself?’ Maisie asked.

‘Look, missus, do ya want a frozen chicken or do ya want to rant some more?’

Maisie parked her tongue in her right cheek. She leaned into the counter, ready to let him have it.

‘There ya are, Maisie! Happy New Year.’ Fred Brennan was holding out his hand to shake hers.

Oh, Jesus. She was caught rotten. The young fella grinned and walked away.

‘Garda Brennan, hello! What do you have to do to get a chicken around here?’ She pretended to laugh. Oh, God, I’m pathetic.