And the girls made no attempt to separate during the last few tunes. Indeed they grew happier, and more indifferent. Jack sat out tangos, twists, jives. He watched the Adams girls. Then the dance ended and the young traditionalists gathered across the floor. In the make-shift toilet he stood along with the other older men and could not piss onto the sodden grass where buckets of sawdust had been thrown. “That was a fucking good night,” someone said to him. He marched out into the darkness in a cold sweat, hearing the wind, the quiet lisp of bicycle tyres, the moan of engines, the voices of couples.

Inside, the new generation were screaming for Planxty. The musicians must have come on because a great roar arose. Over the speakers came the bodhran and the mandolin, the bazooki and the Uilleann pipes. Then Andy Irvine began singing “A Blacksmith Courted Me”.

The rocking beam of the torch in Catherine’s hand skirted the road and Sara laughed.

“Catherine,” he shouted.

“Who’s that?” she said, startled.

“It’s me, Jack.”

“How are you going home?”

“I was going in the minibus.”

“We can give him a lift home, can’t we?” said Catherine.

“Oh, of course we can,” said Lizzie Summers.

“Well, he taught me how to drive,” said Sara. He climbed into the back of the Adams’ car alongside Lizzie and a man. They drove off in silence through the crowds of celebrators making their way up the lane. Lizzie Summers fell across Jack’s knee. Gently he lifted her back up onto her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Thanks awfully,” said Lizzie. “So what are you doing now?” he asked Catherine. “Well, Sara is going to be in a small, low-budget film and I’m working in community theatre and studying at Queens. And you?”

“Salmon fishing,” said Jack.

“Will you stop here for a moment?” asked the man. “I have to take a leak.”

He stood on the edge of the road.

“We should drive off and leave the fucker there,” said Lizzie, “I don’t know what came over me to go with yon.”

They watched the man from behind, give a little shake, do a bow and draw his buttocks in. Then he turned, and patted his groin.

“Why do men do that?” asked Catherine.

“For pleasure,” said Jack.

“To see if it’s still there,” shrieked Lizzie. She moved over to let her boyfriend in, and slapped a hand on his knee. “You’re lucky, Fintan,” she said to him, “that I’m here to protect ya. They were going to drive off and leave you.”