‘Do you want anything to eat, or will you wait till Mam gets back?’

‘Huh?’

‘You were asleep with your eyes open.’

‘Yes. Sort of asleep. Dreaming anyway.’

‘Some bread and jam? Something like that?’

‘No thanks. Tea. Just tea. That’d be great.’

Joe put two cups and their saucers on the table.

‘The same cups,’ said Brendan, surprised, pleased also.

Joe put the tea into the pot and then poured in the boiling water. The leaves swirled to the top as he poured.

‘They look like floating mouse droppings.’

‘What do?’ asked Brendan.

‘The tea leaves.’

‘Well, I hope they’re not.’

‘Do you take milk and sugar?’

‘Of course I do. Don’t you know that only Prods drink their tea without sugar.’

‘Is that a fact?’ Joe’s voice was disbelieving.

‘It’s always been said, for what it’s worth.’

‘I wouldn’t think it was worth much.’

‘As snotty as ever.’

‘I am not snotty.’

‘You certainly used to be. Little yellow ribbons hanging all the time from your nose. I used to complain to Mam about it.’

Joe laughed.

‘What did she say?’

‘Wipe the little brat’s nose yourself if you’re so fussy.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ The thought offended him slightly. He frowned. His hand trembled with a moment’s anger as he poured out the tea and pushed the cup across the table towards his brother.

‘Here.’

‘Thanks, kiddo.’ He yawned hugely, a yawn that showed Joe clearly all the complexities of the throat. ‘God, I’m knackered. I could sleep a week.’ He picked up his cup and blew ripples into it.

There was a fumbling at the door. They heard it open and then after a moment slam shut. There was a clink of bottles, a cough. Shuffling of feet as he pushed the bottles in behind the coats by the door.

‘Have you my tea made?’

‘Aye, I have.’

‘That’s a fella.’ His voice was benign. He appeared in the doorway, panting slightly from his walk up the hill.

‘A visitor.’ One hand went up to smooth at his hair.

‘Hardly,’ said Brendan, standing up and taking a step towards his father.

‘Ah now … look … Ah God, Brendan, welcome home … son.’

The man threw his hands out in front of him in an awkward gesture of welcome.

‘Son.’

Brendan took another step towards his father. They both stared at each other like dogs at a street corner, and were silent.

‘There’s your tea.’

Joe banged another cup down on the table. Tea slopped over the top on to the oil cloth.

‘Ah,’ said his father.

He moved warily past Brendan, putting a hand out to touch his shoulder just at the last moment before lurching into his chair.

‘You look … are you well? You’ve …’

He made a gesture with his hand that was a recognition of his son’s adulthood.

‘I mind so well the day you went.’

Joe saw quite clearly for a moment his brother’s figure leaning as he went down the hill.