Chapter Ten
RAFFERTY OPENED HIS Ma’s front door with his own key and slammed into the living room without bothering to shout, ‘It’s only me,’ as he usually did.
He had startled her, he realised as her dyed and permed dark head shot up. But any guilt was quickly squashed by a feeling of irritation. What did he have to feel guilty about? It was Ma who should be feeling guilt-ridden. But did she? Not her. She looked as innocent and butter-wouldn’t melt as the mythical white-haired granny she in no way resembled. Obviously untroubled by the Catholic conscience that gave him so much trouble, her plump body was surrounded by a halo of pure white as she knitted a romper suit for the expected great-grandchild.
‘I suppose you’ve heard the news?’ he demanded. ‘That Llewellyn and Maureen have set
