Mary Callahan grinned suddenly. ‘You’re pregnant again, aren’t you?’

Cynthia closed her eyes slowly and nodded. ‘Yeah, I think so. Just my fucking luck.’

Mary hugged her, even though the hug wasn’t returned. ‘That’s what life is about, Cynthia! It’s about having babies, and living your life as best you can. Millions of women do it every day.’ She laughed then and said gently, ‘And you, Cynth, have it easier than most, love.’

Cynthia shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Well, that’s as may be, but I want a bit more than this, Mum. I never signed on for cheap and cheerful, and I’m not settling for anything less.’

Her daughter’s words wounded Mary, as she knew they were directed at her and the life she lived. The inference was that she had failed somehow, because the Callahans weren’t rich or important enough for her elder child. Oh, she was itching to slap that beautiful face, but she wouldn’t because she knew it would be pointless. She’d have a fleeting feeling of satisfaction, but it would also mean she wouldn’t see her beloved grandchild until her daughter felt she needed to get away from the poor child once again. So Mary took a deep breath and said matter-of-factly, ‘You got more than most women. Your trouble is you want the fucking earth on a plate. Well, as my mother used to say, you’ve made your bed, you better get used to lying in it.’

Looking around the kitchen as if it was the local dump, Cynthia replied, ‘Well, you would know more about that than I would.’

Mary wanted to punch her daughter’s lights out so badly she could almost taste it. Instead she said as coolly as she could, ‘Do you know something, Cynth, one of these days you are going to push me too far, and when you do . . .’ She was poking a finger into her daughter’s face now, the anger rising inside her like a tide.

‘Nana Mary, Granddad’s here!’

Gabby, having run into the kitchen, was beside herself with excitement. After her nana Mary, her granddad Jack was the next best thing in her world.

Mary took a deep breath to calm her anger before she turned to Gabby, saying with forced joviality, ‘Ah, sure, he’ll be thrilled to see you, young lady!’

But Gabby could feel the tension in the small kitchen and, as always, it frightened her. She hated it when her mummy was like this, grim-faced and hard-mouthed. She wished her mummy would laugh more; she had a lovely laugh, like she had a lovely face.

‘You better run, Mum, your better half just got home from the pub early. That must be a fucking first for you, eh?’ Cynthia couldn’t resist another jibe.