‘Good morning, my dear man. It’s very nice to meet you again. Well, that is as long as you are not going to threaten me again.’

Cormac felt his cheeks redden.

‘Yeah … sorry about last night … it was a misunderstanding. I don’t make a habit of hitting strangers in pubs!’

‘Oh nonsense, dear boy, to tell you the truth, it’s the most excitement this old boy has had in years. Besides, after what this one’s been telling me, we have something in common.’

He nodded towards Bernadette, whose eyes were flicking between his throbbing ear and his frayed jacket.

‘You look like you have been at it again this morning!’

He tucked the loose flap into the gap Poppet had created.

‘It’s nothing really … I was just rescuing a jogger and….’ he thought of how the story ended. ‘Never mind.’

She pointed to his ear.

‘Your ear is pouring with blood. Here, let me see.’

She moved in close beside him, put her hand on his shoulder, and tilted his head. He hoped it would take her some time to find the cause of the bleeding.

‘I think maybe you should go to the hospital.’

He knew he was not spending his day in Dublin in the Accident and Emergency Department of any hospital.

‘Its fine, if you have a handkerchief or something, I’m sure it will stop in a minute. It doesn’t hurt or anything.’

Peter passed him an initialled one from inside his jacket.

‘There’s a present for you. You can keep it if you promise not to hit me or run off with my wife!’

He laughed loudly at his own joke and Cormac knew they could never be friends. Peter turned to Bernadette.

‘Well, my dear. Now that Romeo here has arrived, I shall be off. I bid you both a good day.’

He held Bernadette’s arms, and kissed her on the cheek. He patted Cormac’s back and strode purposely off the bridge in the direction from which Cormac had come.

He watched him leave. She was leaning over the bridge. Arms folded. Standing on one leg. Watching the flow of the river as it passed her by.

Cormac moved towards her. He leaned against the railings beside her. He was instantly annoyed with himself because it meant he couldn’t look at her. Instead, they stood for a moment alone in their thoughts, side by side. He wasn’t sure where to start. He hoped she would help him by saying something, anything. She didn’t. She kept on staring into the gentle flow of the water. He felt the tension build inside him. The same tension he felt when he used to rise to his feet in front of a hushed courtroom. The fear he felt in the pit of his stomach and in the tremble in his legs when he rose in Parliament with hostile eyes fixed upon him from the benches across the chamber. No, she was in no mood to help him in any way. He was going to have to start. He did what he always did in the courtroom and in Parliament. He spread his legs slightly, fixed his knees against the metal in front of him, and focused on a point in the distance. He placed his hands firmly against the railings. The familiarity of the ritual released the knot in his stomach and steadied his legs.