‘Ken Booth … tell the smug fat man … Ken Booth.’

Annie pushed the intercom.

‘Dad says Ken Booth. Now please can we come in, I’m wetting myself.’

The gates didn’t open. Harry’s voice came through instead.

‘Tell your old man I want the original artist. His head’s been so full of politics and serious stuff, he’s losing his grip on pop trivia! It’s a bloody tragedy!’

Annie crossed her legs and Cormac took over.

‘Nice to see you’ve grown up after all these years, Harry!’

‘Thankfully, there was never any chance of that, my friend. Now stop stalling for time - who sang the original?’

‘I don’t know … some 70s bollocks shit crap.’

‘That’s a fine turn of phrase you possess there, Minister!’

Annie pushed the intercom. ‘Harry, could you open the bloody gates or the Minister’s daughter will be forced to have a pee on your drive!’

It came to Cormac in a flash.

‘Bread, it was Bread … have some of that, my chubby smug friend.’

The gates still didn’t open.

‘And the lead singer and songwriter was?’

‘For God’s sake, Harry … David Gates. It was David Gates. Now open the bloody gates, will you!’

‘You’ve still got it my friend, welcome to Harry’s place.’

As the giant gates swung open to slowly reveal their contents, Cormac and Annie’s mouths dropped in unison.

They climbed back into the car and began the journey along the perfectly straight, tree-lined drive to Harry’s house, which stood magnificently up ahead of them. Annie managed to close her mouth.

‘I feel like Dorothy entering the Emerald Kingdom! What did you say Harry does again, dad?’

Cormac smiled.

‘Do you know, pet, I don’t actually know, but whatever it is, it certainly pays better than politics!’

As the car came to a halt on the gravel drive, they got their first unobstructed view of the house. It reminded Cormac of an old plantation. There were several steps to the main entrance, which was fronted by four huge pillars. As they approached the front door, Cormac could see the edge of a lake shimmering at the side of the house. He felt enormous pride that Harry Crossan lived here. Growing up in Killane had not been easy for any of them but for Harry, it was torturous. His mother died when he was 10, and he was raised by his alcoholic and frequently violent father. Cormac had lost count of the many occasions Harry would arrive at school with a bruise on his cheek and much worse under his shirt. He often went without lunch - apart from the times when Cormac would pack enough for two. They sometimes skipped the bus home and instead spent the money on chips at the little takeaway at the bottom of the hill. Then they would race up to Killane, trying to get there before the bus returned the other kids from school.

The kids from Belfast were often cruel. Harry’s clothes were never clean and his face seldom washed. Harry was always too gentle to fight back. Liam did that for him. While Liam had dreams of revolution and Cormac was full of political ideals, Harry just wanted to make money, to get out of where he was and to move on.