As Arm and Dympna got closer, Arm copped the smell coming off the second man, the eye-wateringly ripe stench of dried-in adult piss, which explained why Hector was leaning back on the rear legs of his seat. Hector’s arms were folded across the shelf of his stomach and the wings of his nose were drawn narrow, a crinkle of supressed disgust edging his smile.

‘Ah, these here are the ones I was waiting for,’ he said, cutting off the old man, who twisted round in his seat to take in Arm and Dympna.

‘Your young fellas?’ the man croaked.

‘The ginner’s the nephew, and his friend used box for the county. Fine stumps of men.’

‘They’re alright,’ the man said without enthusiasm.

‘Are we interrupting?’ Dympna said.

‘Not at all, Mick here was just telling me a fascinating theory he has about Jaysus.’

‘Jaysus?’ Dympna said.

‘Our Lord and Saviour,’ the man said.

‘His theory,’ Hector elaborated when the man did not go on, ‘is that Jaysus had a twin. A brother, and when they nailed the first one to the cross and buried him in that cave, his followers robbed the body and had the other lad show up three days later, claiming he was Jaysus come back.’

The old man watched Arm and Dympna as Hector talked. One eye was gummed near shut. He was wearing mud-caked, laceless Reebok runners, no socks, plum tracksuit bottoms shiny with filth, and a mustard sports jacket over a faded WORLD CUP ‘94 T-shirt. In his hand he clutched a plastic shopping bag with what appeared to be a bunch of other plastic bags folded up inside it.

‘Alright,’ Dympna said cautiously, ‘sounds okay. Sounds a lot more plausible, like, than coming back from the dead.’

‘It does,’ the man said curtly. He pressed his knuckles into the table and gingerly raised himself from his seat.

‘Nice talking to you, always good to meet a man with a cast of a brain in his head, always good.’ He turned and the skunky hum of piss turned in the air and departed with him.

‘What the fuck was that about?’ Dympna said, coughing and clearing his throat and taking the seat the man had vacated. Arm dragged a seat over from the next table along.

‘That wretched old boy’s harmless,’ Hector said. ‘His ilk aren’t what I’m worried about.’

‘And what is the worry now, Heck?’ Dympna said.

‘Don’t be sighing like a man who’s already got to the end of what he thinks I’m about to say. This one,’ Hector nodded at Arm, ‘understands the virtue of keeping his trap shut and letting a man get to the end of his own sentences.’

‘You sounded put out on the phone, Heck, that’s all,’ Dympna said, interlinking his stubby fingers and again clearing his throat.

‘I heard—’ Hector began, hauling himself upright in his seat, which caused his stomach to well against the lip of the table, ‘about this fella. What’s his name?’