Ricky, on the other hand, was a wonderful little boy, who enjoyed life, and understood the word ‘no’. As he looked at the gravestone, he said sweetly, ‘Great-Granddad Jack’s down there.’

They smiled at his words. ‘That he is, my little lovely. He’s with your great-nana Mary – she would have loved you!’ Gabby wished her grandparents could see them now.

Vincent held Gabby’s hand, and he squeezed it affectionately as she looked down at the grave of the only two people who had ever cared about her when she was growing up.

Cherie watched them both warily; she hated the way they were always hanging off each other. And how could her dad hold her mother’s hands? They were awful – all scarred and deformed. If she had those hands she would wear gloves all the time.

She glanced across the cemetery at her uncle James’s grave. They put flowers there as well, though why they would acknowledge a nutter like that she didn’t know. She would never understand her family, not if she lived for a thousand years. Since her nanny Cynthia had gone on the trot they had all acted like it was Christmas every day. Well, she missed her nanny and she couldn’t understand why she not taken her with her. She said to her mum then, ‘I wonder if we’ll hear from Nanny Cynthia this year?’

Gabby shrugged. ‘You never know, she could turn up out of the blue. I wouldn’t put it past her.’

Vincent O’Casey looked at his family and felt that, after everything, they were finally getting on track. He had bought his garage back now, courtesy of Derek and Bertie. He tuned up certain motors for certain people for certain jobs; it was very lucrative, but nothing that could put him back in the nick. He loved his freedom too much to do anything to jeopardise it, and he loved his family too much to leave them ever again. As he looked at his wife, because they were married now, and saw the little bump under her coat he felt a great wave of happiness. He hoped this baby was a girl. They were still young and they had their whole lives ahead of them.

Cynthia Callahan was dead and gone, buried all alone and far away from the people she was supposed to love. Her days of dictating other people’s lives were past. It was just them now, and they were happy, really happy. Unlike Cynthia Callahan, they knew the value of love, and they knew the value of loyalty. And they were determined that they would be happy despite everything and everyone who had tried to destroy them. After all, as Mary Callahan had always said, what can’t kill you can only make you stronger. They had faith in each other and in their ability to live a happy life, and that wasn’t bad for starters, was it?