‘Cos I wouldn’t use my real name, if I were you. I’d deploy an alias, if I were you.’

‘An alias?’

‘Do you know what that is?’

She sighed.

‘I know what an alias is, you horse’s arse. Stop being predatory.’

‘Predatory?’

‘You’re initiating predatory behaviour. Don’t think I won’t bash your balls in with my camogie.’

‘Aaaay!’ her friends on the wall cheered derisively.

‘I’m ­not—­ OK. Jesus Christ. Can I just get my stuff?’

‘The usual?’

‘The usual.’

‘Big spender,’ she said as she palmed him the ­ten-­spot. ‘This is it, I think, Bob. This is the last time I’m serving you.’

‘Listen, if it’s about asking your real name, I’m sorry, I didn’t ­mean—’

She jerked her shoulder, indicated the lumpy appur­tenance of her camogie bag. Her helmet, with its white dome and ribbed face guard, rocked against her hip. It looked like the skull of a vanquished opponent she had taken as a war trophy.

‘The school got to the county quarters for the first time in twelve years or some bullshit. We’re doubling down on training sessions for the foreseeable future. And anyway. I been doing ­this –’ she indicated the car park ‘– like, two years now. It has a ­built-­in lifespan, Bob. Might be time to get out of the game.’

‘The game? But what about the money? Won’t you miss the money?’ Bobby asked.

‘I don’t do this for the money, Bob. I do it because it’s interesting. But now it’s time to, I dunno, grow up or whatever.’

Now Bobby grimaced. ‘Don’t do that, Becky.’

She looked at him again. She had a broad frame and dimpled knees, a clearwater complexion and streaked, ­tawny-­brown hair. Bobby considered ­her – considered her in a rigorously paternalistic ­way – very beautiful. For the first time he could recall, something in her expression softened.

‘There’s Mike Logan? You know him? He’s got the old school tattoos, naked ladies with their boobs out and every­­thing, all up his arms?’

‘Mike sounds like a character.’

‘That he is,’ Becky replied. ‘He’s sound. He hangs out in the bookie’s on Hyde Street, Bob. He can sort you out from now on. I’m happy to vouch as to the quality of his merchandise. And I can vouch on your behalf to him.’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Becky, but it’s you I’ll miss.’

‘Ah ah ah,’ she said, wagging an admonishing finger like a mother scolding an errant toddler. ‘Goodbye, Bob. And if you see me again, cross the fucking street, right?’

‘Goodbye, Becky,’ he said.