‘It’s fine,’ Laura said. ‘These things happen. I’ll get my period and it’ll be fine.’

‘What if it isn’t?’ Conor insisted.

They were having lunch in the café of the Quinn School. Laura was wearing pink tracksuit bottoms and a white Ralph Lauren top with the collar turned up. All the time they were arguing, Conor found himself looking at Laura’s tits in the white top.

‘Why are you so worried?’ Laura hissed.

‘I’m just a bit fucking young to be a father, you know what I mean, babes? I’m not keen on having my life ruined, like.’

‘It wouldn’t be your life,’ Laura said. ‘Just stop worrying.’

‘What would you do? If you were having it, like?’

‘I’m not “having it”, Conor.’

‘But what would you do if you were?’

‘You are freaking me out, Conor Harris. Just stop it.’

‘You wouldn’t, like, get the old boat to England?’

The muscles of Laura’s face were tense. She put her coffee cup back on its saucer and she put the saucer on her tray. She stood up and walked away from the table.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Conor said. He looked around to see if anyone he knew had witnessed Laura’s exit.

Richard Culhane was sitting by the window.

Conor went after Laura.

Until the end of the week – when Laura got her period – things were bad between them. Conor said he saw babies everywhere. When they went to the cinema in Dundrum, the movie was preceded by an advertisement for a crisis-pregnancy agency. They had been holding hands, but when they saw the ad they separated and sat subtly apart. When Laura told him her period had arrived, Conor crushed his face against hers in spontaneous relief. From then on, when they had sex, they were extra careful.

One day they went to the Dundrum Town Centre for lunch. Laura said she needed to buy some clothes. Conor tagged along as she drifted through the shops.

In BT2 Laura found a hoodie she liked. It was black and spangled with silver stars.

Conor said, ‘I’ll buy it for you.’

‘No,’ Laura said. ‘You’re like, broke.’

The hoodie cost two hundred and fifty euro.

Conor said, ‘Do you want it?’

‘It’s okay,’ Laura said. She tried it on. ‘It has this pouch thing,’ she complained. ‘It makes me look pregnant.’

‘God forbid,’ Conor said.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It clearly means something, Conor.’

‘I mean, God forbid anything should make you look pregnant. Then you might accidentally look like a normal person.’

They had been fighting about Laura’s weight. Conor never got over her mysterious intractability where this issue was concerned. He was bored by her endless shopping and by the way she vigilantly maintained her own appearance.

‘Fine,’ Laura said. ‘Just for that, I won’t fucking buy it.’

‘But you look good in it. It suits you.’

But Laura refused to buy the hoodie.

I don’t want to give the impression that they spent all their time fighting. Or that they didn’t have fun together. They did the usual relationship things. They went shopping in the Powerscourt Townhouse Centre. They went to rugby matches together. They sat in Stephen’s Green on sunny days. They went walking on the strand at Sandymount. They had dinner in Indian restaurants. They went to the movies.