Speaking of love, Ben did do a local sweep of the apps on the ­off-­chance Evie Vaughan was on there. It was awful sad what had happened to her, and she seemed sound, and she’d an arse on her Ben would eat like an apple if he got the chance. Not that he thought he’d have an actual chance; there’d be fellas lining up around the corner for Evie Vaughan if she was on the apps. In any case, he found no sign of her. Ben went back to Dublin that Sunday and did not get down to Ballina again until the end of September. He bumped into Shauna on the Dublin train as it arrived at Manulla Junction. She was with a couple of young lads and young ones Ben didn’t know and who didn’t get off with her, they carried on to Castlebar. Shauna had faint green rings under her eyes and a queasy hesitancy around the mouth. Freshers’ week, she explained. She’d been in Dublin a couple of weeks by then. Ben was a little cautious around her because he realised he wasn’t sure if she and Danny were still together, or in what capacity. Once Ben had left Ballina back in July, he and Danny’s communication had returned to its usual laconic pattern, amounting to little more than the occasional exchange of memes and videos, Ben a couple of times asking, but only as a formality, how Danny was and Danny shooting back a perfunctory ‘grand’ or a ­thumbs-­up emoji.

There was a match on that Saturday, Ballina at home against Foxford. Ben went in with JJ to watch. There was a crowd of maybe eighty people, and Shauna and Alice were there too. Alice was in college in Galway.

The weather could be beautiful in September in the west, but that afternoon was sombrely autumnal; above the pitch a ­sheet-­metal sky out of which descended a drizzle so fine it seemed less to fall than to hang in the air in an atomised mist, powdering your face with dampness.

Ballina were in their home kit of all white with black trim, Danny wearing ‘10’ on his back, the oddball Mc­­Allister watching from the touchline. It wasn’t a great game, though what could you expect? Danny, the only lad without a hint of a beer gut, was the best technician out there by a mile. Again and again he came into possession of the ball, feinted smooth as silk into space and threaded passes right on to the toes of his teammates, whereupon the ball was either miscontrolled, punted straight back to the opposition or blazed into touch.