The owner of the Long Lounge, Gerard Hickey, had hidden some IRA men one night after they made a hit on the barracks in Strabane and getting his pub burnt down was the payback. I was sad I hadn’t got to see it in its heyday. Auntie Eileen says the craic was mighty when the band struck up and the tables were pushed back to give people space to shake a leg.

Mammy’s battle for us over them bangs around The Hill all day; her dream of a united Ireland has been with me for as long as I’ve had ears. Joe Loughrey can be like that when it comes to politics and I don’t like it one bit that he reminds me of her in any way. He knows all about our side, why we all had to be on it and why it mattered – boys always did. We’ve stopped talking about the ‘incidents’ because otherwise we could get huffy with each other. Without Mammy to scare me, I’d argue that one of the sides had to stop their nonsense first and he’d just say, aye, aye, as long as it’s the Loyalists. It always had to be them not us that got sense.

I smile and change the subject when Joe squares his Republican shoulders. I shut his mouth with kisses and don’t bite his lip even though I dearly want to. Talking things out wasn’t an option for either side; from the top to the bottom of both crews, some eejit would always rather plant a bomb or pull a trigger. It was the same for Joe and me: I held his tongue with mine to keep the peace.

I always got a packet of cherry drops as soon as we landed at Crawford’s. I ran the sweets around and around my mouth when no one was looking. Lizzie knew what I did and she thought I really needed to catch myself on. I sucked in my lips and bit and licked them to make sure the cherry juice stained them perfect confectionery pink. I thought it made me look nice and that maybe Joe would think I always tasted like cherries.

The Long Lounge, wrecked as it was, was a top-notch kissing place and Joe and me had been using it for months. It’s hidden from the main street and keeps the wind and the rain off us. Joe stands to one side to let me through the blackened frame like he’s opening a door to a ballroom and I smile and bow as I go through and he grabs and tickles me from behind. I squeal and shout at him to stop but we both know I don’t mean it for a second. It worries me how little I mean it.