“I’m going home,” she threatened.

“I’ll follow you,” he said, and left her.

“Please, Jack,” she called, “these are bad times.”

“Just one,” he said.

“We should be together.”

“Well then, come with me.”

“No.”

Alone and disorientated, Catherine headed off into the night.

Immediately Jack broke into a conversation between two men on his right.

“Did you ever do something stupid?” he asked.

“Whadya mean?”

“That’s my photo there in the paper,” said Jack and he shoved across the Irish Press for them to see.

“I don’t read that paper,” the second man said and he pushed the paper back.

“I wouldn’t either,” replied Jack, “except you see my photo is in it.”

Again he showed the photograph. But without looking at the newspaper the man nearest him said: “What for?”

“I was stupid enough to say I was writing a new play about Belfast, but the truth is I haven’t a word written,” said Jack. He looked behind him at the people seated round the small tables, their shopping bags at their feet. It was dole day. He wondered what to say. “I know nothing about Belfast” he said.

“Aye,” said the first man.

“But we’re at home here,” said the second.

“Where do you live?” asked the other.

“Up on My Lady’s Road,” lied Jack.

“Good on ya,” the nearest man said, softening. “I’m Bertie.”

Both men included Jack in their rounds. They talked of the sports centres in Belfast, of the wave machine in the Shankhill Baths. How Jack loved Belfast a sight better than Dublin. “How long have you been in My Lady’s?” they asked him. “A few years,” he lied. “Well, you know your way around.” They toasted each other. “Do you take any interest in religion?” the nearest man asked.

“No,” said Jack.

“Well, you’re better off maybe,” replied Bertie.

They drank. They would not let him buy. He told them he was from Leitrim.

“You just missed being in Ulster,” said Bertie. He turned to the second man, who wore glasses, and shook his head. “We should never have given them back Cavan, either, Willy. The Free State should never have been given Cavan. It was a mistake.” He turned back to Jack as Willy went off and joined some others. “Leitrim is a different case entirely,” he continued, “there’s not many of us left there.”

“Why don’t you let me get this one?” asked Jack.

“No, wee lad,” Bertie replied, “We are all friends here. I’ll look after you.” He called two balls of Malt Bush.

“I’m feeling high,” said Jack.

“Good on ya.” They talked of the quality of life in the North. “And you’ve been a good few years in My Lady’s?” the man asked.

“Aye,” said Jack.

“So you’d know your way around?” he repeated ominously.

“I would.”

“Who’s your local commander there?”