Brendon dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of notes. ‘We Reillys pay our debts,’ he muttered.

Gloria stuffed the money into her bra. She stood tall and imposing, her arm as straight and stiff as an arrow, pointing towards the door. ‘Out. Now,’ she ordered.

Ron returned the rabbits to his pocket and decided the only way to appease her was to use a charm offensive. ‘Ach, come on, Gloria,’ he wheedled. ‘Brendon’s leaving tomorrow and—’

‘I don’t care,’ she retorted. ‘And if you don’t leave right this minute, I’ll throw you out.’

Ron felt the tension rising amongst the interested audience and drew himself up to his full six feet three inches and tried to dazzle her with his smile. ‘Oh, Gloria,’ he crooned with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘I know you find me irresistible, and to be sure I’m flattered that one so lovely can’t keep her hands off me – but should we not go somewhere more private so we can discuss this further?’

Gloria’s lips twitched momentarily, and there was a speculative gleam in her eyes until she remembered their audience. ‘Don’t flatter yerself. I got my standards – unlike some – and if I’d wanted yer body, I’d’ve ’ad it. But only after a good scrub-down with soap and water.’

Ron met her challenging gaze as a chorus of cheers and ribald remarks followed this statement. Gloria was now playing to her audience, the town gossip Olive Grayson was lapping up every word, and it was time he beat a retreat. He only hoped he had the chance to explain this situation to Rosie before Olive got in first, for she’d take great pleasure in exaggerating, stirring and twisting his actions into something unsavoury. He caught sight of Frank and Brendon, who were now emerging from the private bar laden with the bottles they’d already paid for, and jerked his head towards the back door.

‘’Tis sorry I am it has come to this,’ he muttered, edging towards escape. ‘We’ll not be darkening your door again, Gloria.’

The three of them silently left the Crown with as much dignity as they could muster in the light of the amount of alcohol they’d already consumed. Emerging from the side alley, they staggered up the hill to the allotments where Ron’s old pal Stan had a nice shed and some comfy deckchairs.

Ron knew where Stan hid his key, and within minutes they were sitting in the sunshine out of the wind, and drinking whiskey from Stan’s none-too-clean chipped mugs while Harvey went off to see if anyone might be kind enough to feed him a biscuit or three.