They saw Arm with Dympna and said nothing at all.

It was their only real fault, this enduring inability to ever think the worst of their son.

When Arm came to the next morning he could hear them downstairs in the kitchen, making breakfast. The noise of their domestic routine got Arm to dwelling on Fannigan’s mother, old and frail and alone in this world for good now, though she did not yet know it. He pulled a naggin of Jameson’s from the foot of his bed and took a few scouring hits, looking to snap himself out of such useless, malign sentiments.

Arm showered, put on a white vest, his good denim shirt, and made his way down to the Dorys. The low sky was slabbed with rifts of cloud the colour and texture of raw animal fat. Ursula’s mother was out front, unloading groceries from the back seat of the family Vauxhall.

‘Can I help?’ Arm asked, hovering at the foot of the driveway with his hands in his pockets. He had the stone flecked with Fannigan’s blood with him. He had not yet decided where or how best to dispose of it, and figured in the interim he should keep it close.

Margaret Dory regarded Arm. She had a narrow, taut face and pale blue eyes that made no bones about boring right through him.

‘Douglas. Urs and Jack aren’t here. No, I’m fine,’ she said.

‘Where they gone?’

‘Over to the town farm.’

‘Guess I’ll drop down so. You think that’d be alright?’

Margaret considered Arm’s question. He could see she was thrown by his requesting permission.

‘Well, Douglas, well I’m sure it’d be okay.’

Arm pulled his hand from the weighted pocket and offered a brisk polite wave. Margaret Dory looked at Arm like he wasn’t there.

The cottage was abandoned. The noise of the radio drifted from inside, and the browned flower-husks on the sill shivered dryly in the breeze. Fresh deposits of shit stubbled the trampled track to the main field. Ursula and Jack were by the gate, their backs to Arm. Jack was in his Spider-Man jacket, standing on the bottom rung of the three-beam fence and baying elatedly as the horse and rider completed a stately lap of the field. Arm came up quietly behind him and grabbed at his shoulders, but Jack didn’t so much as flinch. It was as if he was expecting Arm’s touch at exactly that moment, and perhaps he was. The kid was a mystery from every angle of approach.

Arm chucked him on the cheek, very lightly, attempted the same on Ursula. She slapped at his hand and scowled.

‘No offense meant,’ he said.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

‘Your mam told me where you were.’

The rider and her horse were coming over. The rider stepped down from the saddle and approached the fence.

‘Hiiiiii Jack,’ she said, and turned to Arm, ‘the boxer.’

‘How do.’

‘Hi,’ she said to Ursula. ‘You’re Jack’s mom?’