Pleasantries over, Clive turned away and took out his newspaper, a pen, a ball of string and a silver whistle. Imelda resumed her interrogation.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Baltimore. A little place near Roaringwater Bay in County Cork.’

‘It sounds wonderful.’

‘It is. Baltimore has a beautiful little harbour full of boats and there’s a white beacon on the headland that we used to race to when we were kids and then we’d lie flat on the grass, puffing and panting, and stare up at the sky.’

‘So why did you leave?’

‘I wanted a bigger life. More excitement.’

‘And danger.’ It wasn’t a question.

Cillian twisted the skull ring on his finger. ‘It’s how I am, Imelda.’ For once he sounded serious, his tone a curious mixture of fatalism and defiance.

‘So how did you end up riding the Wall of Death?’

Cillian’s grin returned. ‘I ran away and joined a fair. I know, I know! It’s the worst cliché but it’s true! An uncle of mine ran a Waltzer, and one year, when I was fifteen, his fair came to Cork. I hitched a ride up to see him and he offered me a job. When the fair left Cork, I went with it.’

As he told her how he had learned to ride and fix bikes at the fairground, every word he spoke was innervated by his passion for what had become not just his work, but his life. And Imelda understood, because it was the same for her. What she did and who she was were inseparable. She knew that the stink of exhaust fumes and the throb of an engine were as intoxicating and addictive for him as the silky chill of a crystal ball and the fall of cards like beating wings through her hands was for her.

She checked her watch. Reluctantly. ‘I’d better get back. My mother can be trouble when left to her own devices for too long.’

Cillian stood up. ‘Well at least that’s something we have in common. But I haven’t had a chance to ask you anything yet, and I was particularly keen to find out how you pulled off that stunt with the high and mighty Mr Mount.’

Imelda laughed. ‘That can wait until next time.’

‘So, there will be a next time? After all, I am now officially your gentleman friend.’

They were already back outside the booth.

‘We’ll see, Cillian.’

He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes in a way that she found both exciting and disconcerting.

‘Tell me, Imelda – honestly. Has he ever laid a finger on you?’