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the few bob she earned at Myrtle’s. He wanted her at home. If he could, he’d have stopped her going to the shops. He raised his hand and struck her across the face, so hard that she stumbled and almost fell. She screamed, then stopped the scream abruptly, her hand over her mouth, worried the children would hear. The cheque dropped to the floor and he grabbed it.
    ‘Are you all right, Mam?’ Orla called.
    ‘I’m fine, luv. Just knocked meself on the kitchen cupboard, that’s all.’ She looked at her husband. ‘If you tear that up,’ she said in a grating voice, ‘I’ll only ask Cora for another. You’re not me keeper. And as from tonight, I’ll not think of you as me husband either. Go on, hit me again,’ she said tauntingly when he raised his fist a second time. ‘Hit me all night long, but you won’t stop me from having Myrtle’s.’
    It was the first time she had answered back and, staring at her flushed, angry face, John Lacey realised that he’d lost her. With a groan that seemed to come from the furthest depths of his being, for the second time that night he buried his face in his hands. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me, Alice,’ he whispered.
    Had Alice’s cheek not been hurting so badly she mighthave felt sorry for him, but for ten months she’d been treading on eggshells, trying to get through to him, putting up with his rages, his moods and, worst of all, his insults, all because she loved him. Perhaps she still loved him, she didn’t know, but he had gone too far. Hitting her had been the last straw. He had frightened her girls away so they were hardly ever in. Only Cormac had been spared his bitter anger. She took the cheque and left the room.
    Seconds later she was back. She felt extremely powerful, as if it was her, not him, who was in control. ‘I’d sooner sleep on me own from now on,’ she said curtly. ‘I’ll kip in the parlour. You can have the bed to yourself.’

Chapter 3
    On Sunday, after early Mass, Alice and the children changed into their oldest clothes. Armed with several paintbrushes, a large tin of mauve distemper, a smaller tin of white, silver polish, rags, and various cleaning fluids and powders, and leaving behind a silent, brooding John, they made their way to Myrtle’s.
    Even Orla, not usually willing to lend a hand, found it very exciting. ‘The girls at school will be dead envious when I tell them we own a hairdresser’s,’ she said boastfully.
    ‘We don’t exactly own it, luv. I only lease the place,’ Alice told her.
    ‘Oh, Mam, it’s just the same.’
    Bernadette Moynihan arrived just as Alice was unlocking the door. She wore old slacks and her long fair hair was tucked inside a georgette scarf. She grinned. ‘Just in time.’
    Alice grinned back. ‘Thanks for helping, Bernie.’
    ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds. What shall I do first?’
    ‘Can I start painting the walls, Mam?’ Fionnuala pleaded.
    ‘Not yet, luv. Let’s get the place cleaned first including the kitchen. There’s years of dirt out there and I daren’t look at the lavvy in the yard. I used to feel ashamedwhen customers asked if they could use it. Meself, I went home and used ours whenever I felt the urge.’
    Bernadette offered to clean the lavatory. ‘You can’t very well ask one of the girls and you need to stay here and keep an eye on things.’
    ‘Ta, Bernie. You’re a mate. There’s bleach somewhere.’ Alice handed out various tasks. ‘Fion and Orla, you wash the walls, Maeve, clean the sinks, there’s a luv. Cormac . . .’ She tried to think of something suitable for a five-year-old to do. Cormac looked at her expectantly, his small face puckered earnestly, his blue eyes very large. He was such an adorable little boy. Unable to resist, she picked him up and gave him a hug. ‘You can wipe the leather chairs for your mammy.’ The chairs weren’t leather but leatherette and she was going to make enquiries about having them re-covered.
    Everyone