He spoke with a slurred Yorkshire accent.

‘Sorry about that, chaps. It must’ve been something I ate. Can I help you, gentlemen? Oh fuck, you’re not the police, are you? I mean, not that there is a problem if you are the police. It’s just you look a bit old for the party, what with the matching trench coats and all that. Are you Mormons, then? I suppose you could be Mormons. You look a bit like the two blokes who used to come to our house and they were Mormons. Or were they Jehovah’s Witnesses? If you are Jehovah’s Witnesses, I wouldn’t be going in there it’ll scar you for life!’

He grimaced at Cormac.

‘No, you don’t look like a Jehovah’s Witness, but you’re definitely much too short to be a Mormon! Then you must be selling something and if you are, you can fuck right off! That is unless you are actually the police, in which case, I’m very sorry for swearing at you, officer.’

‘Dad, what are you doing here?’

She stood framed in the doorway. Her flowing red hair was gone and was replaced by a shorter style bob that framed her delicate pale face and made her look five years older than her eighteen years. She was wearing trainers, jeans and a sweat top, which matched the now blessedly quiet irritant that had momentarily disappeared from Cormac’s field of vision.

She hugged him before he could answer and poured the contents of what looked like a bottle of antifreeze she was holding down the inside of his coat. He wanted to jump with the shock of it, but he decided to hold on to her for a little longer instead. She pulled herself away from him and flung her arms around Harry. Then she pushed past them so she could reach the drunken hairy boy who was standing ashen-faced behind them.

‘There you are! I’ve been searching everywhere for you.’

She slipped her hand into his and walked him to Cormac.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t called at the flat at all.

‘Dad, this is Mark, my boyfriend I was telling you about on the phone.’

He suppressed the sigh that was fighting to get out and instead offered his hand.

‘Pleased to meet you, Mark, I’m Cormac.’

The boy looked him in the eye, slipped his hand from Annie’s, and shook Cormac’s hand warmly.

‘It’s very nice to finally meet you, Mr O’Reilly. Annie has told me a lot about you. In fact, she never shuts up about you.’

He quickly averted his gaze to focus on the bags on the top step.

‘Can I help you with your bags Mr O’Reilly? You and Annie will have a lot to catch up on, so if it’s alright with you, I’ll take these upstairs and be out of your way.’

Cormac looked at him as he frantically tried to scurry past them and up the narrow staircase. He was no more than eighteen years old, and if he’d half of his hair removed and several good dinners inside him, he could pass for very handsome. Annie had spoken incessantly about him in their recent telephone conversations. He thought of him throwing up in the garden and of the complete gibberish he and Harry had been subjected to and compared it to his own activities at a similar age. He shivered at the thought and quickly banished it. The boy was nearly past him when he caught his arm.