‘How could I stop them?’

‘Eat up your chips.’

‘I hate runny egg.’

‘Eat your chips, I tell you. There’s many have nothing to eat. Be thankful.’

‘I met a nice girl today.’

As a conversation-changer it got him nowhere.

Joe sighed.

‘She’s a teacher.’

Silence. Indifference.

‘She is smoking herself to death. So she says.’

‘Death can’t come quick enough for me.’

‘Ah, Mam.’

‘Ah, Mam what?’

‘You shouldn’t say things like that.’

She stretched out a hand towards him. It was her tired left hand, even the weight of the thin gold ring seemed too much for it.

‘Cherish your youth, son. It’s the only good time.’

‘It has its ups and downs,’ he said, thinking of the equilateral triangle.

She smiled for the first time.

‘Have you homework?’

‘Mmmm.’

‘Get on with it so and don’t be sitting there wasting time.’

The two men came in as he was collecting up his books to go to bed. They seemed wrapped in a web of warmth and companionship, the smell of beer and cigarette smoke clinging around them, the tail end of spoken words and other men’s laughter was still with them. His mother, who had sat, motionless, at the table while Joe worked, got to her feet as they came in the door.

‘Hello, son.’ Her voice was unwelcoming. Brendan edged slightly towards his father for some sort of protection.

‘Great to see you, Mam. Great to be back. Fantastic …’

There was a long silence.

‘Great.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve been away too long. Look at the size of the child, for God’s sake.’

‘Your tea is ruined.’

‘That’s all right, Mam. It’ll be … great. I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry nothing,’ growled the father. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, that’s all she wants you to say. Sorry for this, sorry for that, sorry I was born. That’s no way to greet your son, woman.’

She turned away from them and bent over the oven.

‘Go to bed, Joe, there’s a good lad. It’s getting late.’

Joe finished packing his books into his schoolbag.

His father turned towards the stairs.

‘I want no tea anyway.’

There was no reaction from his wife. She lifted a plate out of the oven and set it down on the top of the stove. She wiped carefully round the rim with the cloth in her hand.

He hauled himself on to the bottom step.

‘Did you hear? No food. I have no appetite.’

She slammed the oven door shut with her knee.

‘I’m away to my bed.’ He coughed. ‘I want nothing.’

‘I’ll give you a hand up the stairs, Dad.’ Brendan moved towards him.

‘Sit down.’ Her voice was sharp. Brendan hesitated. ‘Now. Sit down.’ She put his plate on the table and pointed to a chair.

‘He’s well able to drag himself up the stairs.’

Brendan looked briefly at his father and then sat down. His egg was hard with a shining hard skin covering it like, Joe thought, as if you’d bought it just like that in a supermarket.