We take the DART and we talk on the way to Blackrock. I tell Jenny that she looks good because she does. Her dress is a cobalt blue and she wears it cinched into her waist with a leather belt that I bought her in Top Shop about ten years ago. Jenny looks after her stuff well. She wants to know about the party. It’s Dean’s party I tell her and that it’s in his new house he has recently moved into with his girlfriend. She wants to know who’ll be there. I don’t like to give too much away because I’ve noticed lately that she has become a little introverted and she doesn’t find it as easy to socialize as she once did. This is a development that in itself pleases me because I don’t really see the need for her to be so involved with other people. I believe that her family should be enough so I just tell her the usual crowd, Dean and the lads. Dean is my oldest friend from childhood. We did everything together in the early days, smoke and drank and sniffed out girls. He was adept on the girl front and he taught me a trick or two over the years. I was a quick learner.

It’s a good idea for us to get out. You look good, Jen.

I flex my fingers and think for a moment that things aren’t so bad. I’ve a lot to be thankful for in this life really, my children, Jenny.

Jenny doesn’t look at me on the DART, instead she watches the familiar floating by. Even though it’s a typical Irish June the evening has developed that unexpected build-up of heat you’d get in Spain. The Irish are always caught out around this time of year. Young men struggle in their grey flannel suits, sweat from the morning and the afternoon lying dried out in the armholes of their shirts. Some of them take a sniff when they think that they cannot be seen. I don’t risk this type of behaviour myself although I am tempted to at times.