They were in Eileen’s car in the drive of her house. Murt had his head at an angle, cuffing himself under his ear, runnels of rain striping his cheek.

‘I will towel the head and then.’

‘Sure,’ Eileen said.

‘No offence.’

‘I know.’

Murt was always reluctant to come in. It didn’t matter who was around. They went through to the kitchen. Ashleigh was seated at the kitchen table with his ­half-­brother, Danny, in their ­different-­coloured school uniforms, Ashleigh’s a maroon jumper over a grey shirt, Danny’s a ­pastel-­blue shirt and navy tie. Ashleigh was six, Danny fourteen. Danny had a pistachio between his teeth. Ashleigh was watching him.

‘What’s this?’ Eileen said.

Danny bit down on the pistachio with just enough pressure to split the shell. There was a pair of bowls in front of him. He dropped the kernel into one bowl and deposited the fragments of the husk into the other. This perform­ance, Eileen figured, was for Ashleigh’s benefit. It was a habit of Ashleigh’s to set challenges for Danny, like popping the tab on a Coke can without letting the foam spurt, or completing the level of a video game. These challenges were always safely rudimentary, Ashleigh anxious only to see Danny demonstrate his worldly capability, and Danny always obliged.

‘Anyone here going to actually eat any pistachios?’ Eileen asked.

‘I’m demonstrating a technique,’ Danny said.

‘I see that.’

‘Da likes them,’ Ashleigh said.

‘Da likes to do that himself. They’ll go stale out like that,’ Eileen said.

‘That’s that, so,’ Danny said to Ashleigh, flashing the younger boy a regretful glance as he ran his fingers along the resealable top of the packet. Danny looked at Eileen and then looked away. Danny was as contained and as opaque as any teenage boy, she supposed. He generally spoke to Eileen only when prompted, but did so in a considered and even manner in which she could never decode any sarcasm or hostility. Danny would have been within his rights to hate Eileen. Danny’s mother was Eunice. Eunice had been Mark’s first wife, was actually, still, his only wife, because they were separated but not divorced. Eileen was the reason Mark had left Eunice. There had been drama, not least because Eileen had been only nineteen, and Mark Devaney almost twice that, when she’d fallen pregnant with Ashleigh, but in the end Eunice, the wronged woman, had been the one to leave town. Danny had gone with her initially, but had returned a couple of years ago for secondary school.

Murt cleared his throat and eased back out into the hall. ‘Will do the hair,’ he said, and went upstairs.

Ashleigh sucked in his cheeks, jabbed out his tongue, and crossed his eyes.

‘Stop,’ Eileen said.

‘How’s Murt?’ Danny said.

‘He’s good.’