Maeve sipped at the strong coffee and lit herself a Benson & Hedges Light. Drawing deep on the smoke she began to read the story, her eyes darting continually to the photo of the young man and his pretty, plump wife. Tragedy was always a decent seller of newspapers and Maeve lapped it up, getting her excitement in the comfort and security of her own home. When the doorbell rang she sighed and heaved herself out of her seat, and lumbered down the steep staircase. Recognising her daughter-in-law’s outline, she smiled gently. Her heavily-lined face lit up at the prospect of a visit from Donna. Maeve pulled the door open clumsily, banging it against the wall.

‘Come away in, darlin’. Let’s see you. Jaysus, you’re looking terrible! What’s wrong?’

Donna silently followed her mother-in-law up the stairs, listening to her talk.

‘Is that bugger playing up, eh? He might be a grown man, but a slap across the arse wouldn’t do him any harm . . .’ Then followed the usual ritual of Maeve’s pretending her son was a nuisance to be put up with, when everyone knew she worshipped Georgio, as she did all her children.

‘Maeve . . . sit down. I have to talk to you.’

But Maeve slapped a cup of coffee on to the small, scratched drop-leaf table and carried on talking as if Donna had not even spoken.

‘Did you see the newspaper, about the robbery? What a crying shame. His wife was on Thames News last night, a pretty little girl, crying and bawling over her husband’s murder. What’s the world coming to, I ask meself? A young man shot down in his prime. For what, eh? Money. Always money. Have these people never heard of working for a living? Christ, I hope they hang the bastards by the balls, I do. Those tiny children left without a father . . .’

Donna closed her eyes as Maeve carried on, knowing in her heart that conversations similar to this one were going on all over the country at this very moment. It was a death to shock the nation, like that of PC Blakelock, the policeman from Muswell Hill who was killed in a riot on a North London housing estate. The papers were having a field day, and the case would undoubtedly be dragged up time and again whenever something similar happened. It was political. Law and Order. Death and Destruction. Everyone calling for the reintroduction of hanging, birching, and anything else they could think of - everyone including the mother of the man who was likely to be charged with the murder.

‘MAEVE! Will you listen to me, please?’

Donna’s loud, agitated voice halted Maeve in mid-sentence.

‘What’s the matter, child? What’s happened?’

Donna hung her head, unable to look into the faded blue eyes of the woman in front of her. ‘It’s Georgio, Maeve. He’s been arrested.’