It seems casual the way she drops Jerome’s name there, in the forecourt as she blows on her hot coffee. Jerome, it seems, has asked her out to have a drink with him. An image of Jenny and Jerome cosy as fuck in some bar causes me to start the car at an entirely unsuitable speed. The kids talk about whiplash and I tell them in an angry voice that whiplash only applies in a situation when you stop very suddenly, not take off. I don’t know if I’m correct with this theory as I’ve never really done any research on the topic but I’m in no mood now for doubting myself. I begin to drive at speed and Jenny asks me to slow down as I’m frightening the children. I know that she is right but something in my physical makeup prevents me from being sensible. It’s almost as if the car is driving itself and the control that I normally have has vanished. I am a navigational dummy. Jenny is shouting at me now and I sense that the kids are becoming a bit uneasy so I attempt to distract them.

St Kevin is a very significant saint. I drown out Jenny’s voice. My voice has a frantic level that I’m not partial to, it’s verging on the hysterical. I begin to direct my audience using my teacher’s tone. It’s never too early for small ears to be filled with knowledge. I have gained many an interesting fact from my father and I want to pass this information on to my offspring. I believe in early intervention, that it may in fact help them to become better people when they outgrow their childhood innocence.

St Kevin is boring, they say as a chorus.

He’s not boring, he’s a saint.