Washing my hair in cold water if at all, having a small bowl of hot from the kettle for my face every day and a stand-up wash at the Belfast sink that Bridie called the jaw-box every week. The bump liked to do a few auld somersaults when I rubbed my belly with the facecloth. Would it be very forward to ask Bridie if the bump was supposed to be covered in blue veins? In the end, I didn’t ask in case she would need to see it all sticking out and terrible.

I always washed during the day because I felt more at ease when John Johns was out. I knew his routine and made sure I was away to my bed before he came in, exhausted and quiet. He never asked where I was because I couldn’t be anywhere else when the rain was pounding down. Bridie never tried to get me to stay put. We both of us hurried through the last chats and chores of the day, wordlessly going our separate ways before the half-door opened. He was out all day, only coming back about seven o’clock for his dinner which Bridie always had ready and half-burnt in the oven. He never complained, just sat down and ate, trying to soothe Bridie who he handled with care at all turns.

–  Is that alright, son?

–  It’s fine, Ma, fine.

–  I burnt it a bit; I forgot the oven was on too high for bread on the other side.

–  It’s fine, fine.

–  These spuds are grand …

–  Those are Podgie McCourt’s spuds, they’re very good again this year.

I smiled from my perch in the Lower Room. Irish people the world over must have the same conversation a hundred times a week. To me spuds were spuds; I didn’t know how to decide between the degrees of flouriness that made one crop better than the last. All I knew was I’d love some chipped. Having a lovely big deep-fat fryer was something I really missed.

I was getting through the stack of romantic rubbish that Eileen had given me to pass the time. I read a few pages before my eyes started to droop. All the women were letting on they were looking for love but they never fell for anyone who wasn’t rich. There was a lot of ‘heaving bosoms’ and ‘velvety hardnesses’ which made me all pink even though I knew there was a bit more to making love by that stage. I wondered very often how I’d ever manage to do it again. Longing to be touched like that made me more desolate by the minute.