A bit of uncertainty entered her expression. “It ain’t a four-liner job.”

He squeezed her fingers. “If it’s made you happy, that alone makes it important, no matter what others might say.”

Her smile returned. “Few people hearing you would have the least suspicion you understand South London and East End talk.”

He shrugged. “I am, essentially, multilingual.”

She sat on the sofa, keeping hold of his hand so he sat beside her. “Are you ever tempted to return to your East End speaking?”

“Tempted? Not really. Though I do dream in East End speech.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I’ve not really thought about it before, but it makes sense; East End was in all the voices I heard growing up, other than my mother. She spoke like someone from the country. She never told me where, though.” His heart grew heavy, as it often did when he thought of her. “I wish she had. There are so many things about her I never knew.”

Gemma slipped her arm around his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “What did she tell you?”

He took a breath, not a strained one or a tense one but almost a cleansing one. Gemma had asked him about his mother before, and somehow talking with her about his sorrows was easier than with anyone else. She was a cheerful person and brought excitement and energy to any room, but she could also be peaceful and calming. “I think my most cherished memory of my mother is that she told me every day that she loved me.”

“How could she not love you? I can’t imagine anyone being a better son than you.”

He slipped his arm free and wrapped it around her shoulder, tucking her up close to him. “You always did say rather flattering things about me.”

“I don’t merely say them, Baz. I mean them. That’s an important difference.”

“Oi. I always was your chuckaboo, weren’t I?”

The breathtaking joy in her smile filled him. “I do love when you let your East End shine a bit. I know you think you’ve got to keep it tucked away, but it’s part of who you were. And who you were is part of who you are, and you oughta be proud of the man you are.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, something he’d done often in the past but not once since she’d returned. “I’ll try to remember that, Gemma.”

“I hope you do.”

He leaned back on the sofa, his arm still around his wife, feeling more at ease than he had in some time. “I’m glad Móirín found you a job so quickly.”

“So am I.” She pulled in an excited breath. “Oh, and I met Brogan’s wife.”

“How is Vera?”