‘Bury, Rochdale, Bolton,’ Orla said briskly. She wore a smart black costume and was thrusting the new leaflets Cormac had brought the night before into a briefcase, checking she had enough samples. ‘I’ll probably be home dead late, Mam, so don’t wait up.’ ‘I wouldn’t dream of waiting up, luv, considering the hours you keep. I don’t know how you keep going to be frank.’ ‘Enthusiasm keeps me going, Mam: commitment, ambition. The things you felt when you started Lacey’s.’ ‘I didn’t feel any of them things, Orla. I just wanted to get out the house away from your dad.’ Alice smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re happy, though. I thought you’d be dead miserable, breaking up with Micky, though you never stopped complaining about the poor lad since the day you married him – and before, if I remember right.’ Orla closed the briefcase with a snap. ‘I miss the kids,’ she said soberly. ‘I miss them coming in for their tea, making cocoa at bedtime. I even miss – only a bit –doing their washing.
