It was a long walk to the gentlemen’s toilet. He felt the eyes of Willy on him in the mirror beyond the bar, the barman’s eyes on him as he swept the lounge floor, the eyes of the man who had shown the revolver on him as he sat in a recess by the door. When he entered the bathroom Jack spread both his hands – palm-outwards – across the tiled wall. “Jesus Christ,” he said. The tinnitus that he had not heard for so long rose menacingly inside his brain. He could not urinate, nor did he try. He washed his face, then he dried it carefully. He drank from the tap. Then he dried his mouth. He looked for a second at himself in the mirror. “Now,” he said. He closed his eyes. He tidied his hair. He stepped back into the lounge like a man without a care in the world. He saw that the barman was standing by the exit with the keys. He walked up beside the man with the glasses and drank the remaining whiskey down.

“I think I’ll be off now, Willy,” he said, proffering his hand. Willy, out of habit, took it. Jack, smiling madly, turned to go.

On the left he saw his other interrogator had been joined by a young man in blue denims who had just come in. “Hauld on,” Jack shouted to the barman by the door.

“Good luck, Bertie,” he said to Bertie with a great wave of friendliness. But Bertie looked away to catch Willy’s eye. The barman held the door open. His eyes were anxious. At that uncertain moment Jack fled out onto the street. There were two taxis parked outside. He immediately opened the back door and sat into one. “Take me,” he said, “to My Lady’s Road.” “Can’t boss. I’m booked,” said the driver. “I’m waiting for people inside.”

“Oh, sorry.” He got out.

“Try Norbert,” said the driver. He ran across to the next taxi. “I have ten pound here, Norbert,” said Jack, “if you’ll take me out the Hollywood road.”

“Eight will do.”

“Can you take me?”

“I can take ye, surely. Just take your time now.”

Jack climbed into the front seat beside him.

The driver looked at him.

“Hollywood, ye said?”

“Aye,” said Jack.

“Did you know that Hollywood is the only town in Ireland with a Maypole?” asked the driver pleasantly, as he turned the engine on.

“No. I didn’t know that,” said Jack trying to stifle his panic.

“There you are now.”

The driver eased into first gear, righted the mirror and looked behind him. Is this a fucking set up? thought Jack. In slow motion the driver turned the car round. As they swung out into the traffic Jack took a quick glance behind. No one. They moved slowly through East Belfast.

“You’d be a Free Stater then?” asked Norbert.

“Yes,” said Jack.