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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 …’

    23

    them 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.’
    Maeve’s eyes opened to their utmost. ‘What’s he done now?’ This was said in a flat voice and Donna felt a moment’s anger, but it flickered and died. Maeve had loved her children wholeheartedly but she had never harboured any illusions about them.
    ‘He hasn’t done anything, Maeve.’
    Mrs Brunos pushed her lank grey hair away from her face in a gesture of defeat. Then why has he been arrested?’
    Donna looked up into the older woman’s face. She pointed at the newspaper on the table and whispered, ‘He’s been accused of being behind all this.’
    Maeve blinked a few times in consternation, then taking a deep breath, she said quietly, ‘I don’t think I grasp what you’re saying, child. Behind all what?’
    ‘Behind the robbery in Essex. The robbery yesterday where the security man died.’
    Maeve sank down into her chair, her face pale and tightly closed like a nun’s prayerbook.
    ‘He’s what?’
    Her mouth was open and a thin line of spittle was hanging from her top lip. Then Donna heard a loud keening, a thin high-pitched wail that gradually became louder as the seconds wore on. Putting an arm around her mother-in-law’s shoulder, Donna pulled her head to her own breast, glad of the warmth of Maeve’s body against hers, glad to be doing something for someone else instead of waiting, waiting, and knowing that nothing she could do would change the situation.
    Donna heard Pa Brunos’s steps coming heavily up the stairs and a minute later she relinquished the hysterical woman to her husband.

    24

    Then, sitting back at the table she watched them both, dry-eyed. Unable to cry any more. Because the shock had worn