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as “Maura Ryan, East End businesswoman’. She was originally from Notting Hill, and she now lived in Essex. The least they could do was get it right. She switched the TV off and stood up as her niece walked into the room.
    “Rubbish! It’s all rubbish! They don’t know me … they don’t know anything about me.”
    Carla rolled her eyes and said jokily, “Thank God.”
    Maura laughed with her.
    “I didn’t think I had a laugh in me, to be honest.”
    Carla put her arms around her aunt and hugged her tightly.
    “I am so sorry, Maws, so very, very sorry. Terry was a good bloke.”
    It was the first time she had directly mentioned anything about what had happened. Maura hugged her back as if she was frightened to let her go.
    “Are you sure you’re OK to come home with me?”
    Maura swallowed down the tears.
    “You bet. I am back, Carla, and I will hunt the scum who killed Terry into the ground. And when I get my hands on them…”
    “And I’m right beside you, remember that.”
    Maura smiled shakily.
    “I appreciate you saying that, Carla. It means a lot to me. But you just concentrate on Joey, OK?”
    Suddenly the door burst open and Marge Dawson stomped into the room.
    “Bleeding cheek! That black git on the door wasn’t going to let me in!”
    Tony Dooley’s eldest son, Tony Junior, stood behind Marge, a surprised expression on his handsome face. The Dooleys were a well-known family of minders. Tony Senior had looked after Maura for years before handing the job over to one of his boys.
    “Sorry, Maura, she was very insistent.”
    “Right and all, you cheeky little fucker!”
    Marge was incensed and it showed.
    “I knew her before you were even born, mate, and you tell your father he should have beaten some manners into you by now, young man.”
    Tony Dooley Junior shook his head in disbelief and shut the door gently as he left the room. He was six foot six inches and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. To see her tiny friend Marge shouting at him made Maura really start to laugh. It was just what she needed. The three women all began roaring. Marge’s distinctive guffaw made Maura laugh harder. Her eyes were watering and she could feel the snot running from her nose. As she grabbed a tissue she felt the enormity of what had happened to Terry bearing down on her. The simple act of laughing had unleashed every trapped emotion and she started to cry. Tears became heart-wrenching sobs and as she sank down into the chair by the window, both Carla and Marge patted her back, murmuring endearments to her.
    It was what she needed, Marge and Carla tacitly agreed.
    “You cry it out, girl. Get it off your chest.”
    As she cried she saw Terry smiling at her for the last time. It was so wrong, so very wrong. It was she who should have died and then she would not have to face a life lived without him.
    Maura cried for what seemed an age and then when she quietened Marge ordered a large pot of strong tea.
    “Get that down your throat, girl, and we can get you packed and home, eh?”
    Maura nodded.
    “Thanks. I don’t know what I would do without you both.”
    Marge had not aged well; she looked much older than her forty-four years. She was still overweight with a bad perm and a bad home dye job. Her make-up was still startling to the uninitiated and she complained about her feet constantly. But Maura loved her with a passion only thinly disguised by the offhand way they talked to each other. They had been friends since kids and had shared each other’s grief and happiness over the years.
    With both Carla and Marge beside her, for a few minutes Maura could forget the danger that threatened her and get her thoughts in order.
    Terry was dead because of her and that knowledge was hard to bear. If only they had never argued. That last bitter exchange was the hardest thing of all to remember. He had loved her, she knew that, and she had loved him. Always had, always would, it was as simple as that.
    But her