She lived in fear that something would happen to him. In total silence they would watch the evening news. At certain items she would snort in derision. Then, having established her fear, and his vulnerability, they went down to the off-licence, skirting the lads who always stood in the doorway drinking cider. They bought gin and wine.

“What do you see out there?” she asked him.

“People stare straight into your eyes here,” he said. “Women especially. As if to see which side you’re on.”

“I do it myself.”

“And so do the soldiers. A soldier winked at me the other day. On the Lower Falls.”

“And what were you doing up there?”

“Walking about.”

“Yes, indiscriminately.”

“And then I always go through the barriers a few times.”

“Why?”

“I love being searched.”

“So that’s how you get your thrills.” She tapped her cigarette onto the windowsill. “I’m sure your Sinn Fein friends would not be enamoured to hear about your perverse nature. All you Civil Rights marchers are just old hippies, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” said Jack.

“Did you ever take LSD?” she asked him.

“Oh, once upon a time, for breakfast.”

“I thought so,” she said, “I couldn’t. I don’t want to know what is going on inside me,” and she shivered and bit her tongue.

Sometimes at work she’d imagine herself arriving back at the house unannounced. She’d come in through the bedroom door and find him in bed with some woman who would be sitting astride him, riding him with passion. She’d grow weak at the thought. She’d ring. “Jack,” she’d say, “is that you?”

“I just rang to see if you were OK,” she’d bluster.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“What are you doing right now?” she’d ask.

“Oh, wait till I see . . . What would you like me to be doing?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Jealousy was driving her astray.

One evening she came home with a set of new locks. Into the front door they screwed three extra bolts. “I’m afraid for you,” she said. “I think you’re trying to keep me in,” he said. But Jack knew that that was not the way they would come. The kitchen door which led into the yard was made of glass. Steps led up to it from the garden. The garden itself was entered from a lane via a rotten door. That, he thought to himself, is the way they’d come if they ever wanted to.

One morning after she was gone he woke to find himself on the floor. It seemed the wrench of a dream had thrown him out of bed. He climbed back in. And slept till the phone rang.

“Are you all right?” asked Catherine.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Is the house all right?”

“Yes, the house is fine, too.”

“Well, you seem to be taking it quite calmly.”