I’ll hang out the flags and order the band.

‘It’s not right she should leave me like that.’

The eyes opened to cunning slits, gauging, biding, then a little more they parted to show misty pupils surrounded by a web of red streaks. Mucus pulled at the corners.

‘I’m parched,’ he whined again.

‘Mammy’ll be in soon. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

‘I could do better with a couple of bottles of stout.’

He groped under his pillows and pulled out a pound note. He held it out towards Joe.

‘Here.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Don’t you know bloody well what it is? Here. Take it and get on away round to McMonagles and get me a couple of Guinness and a packet of fags.’

‘Ah, Dad …’

‘Ah, Dad yourself to hell out of here.’

‘They’re shooting.’

‘What’s that to do with you if they’re shooting. They’re not going to be wasting their bullets on you. Here.’

He waved the note with remarkable vigour for one so ill.

‘Where did you get that money anyway?’

‘That’s none of your bloody business. Here. Here. Take the money and get out of this before she comes in.’

Joe took the money from his father’s thin fingers and stood looking at it. The man on the bed looked relieved. He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and shoved his head down deeper into the pillows.

‘That’s a good lad, and look it, before you go, I’m perished, shove on the other bar of the fire.’

Joe went over to the fire and pressed down the metal switch.

Crackle went the end of the element. A star sparked and went out. There was a smell of burning dust. Joe ran out of the room and down the stairs. Behind him the lung rattling coughs began once more.

‘And get a move on.’ The voice that followed him down the stairs wasn’t too feeble.

The wind had brought sleet, which danced in and out of the lamplight. The curtains were all pulled now and through occasional cracks you could see the sparkle of the tellies. The shooting seemed quite near suddenly, and from round the corner came the sound of glass breaking. Joe hesitated and then his mother appeared, her head bent forward against the sleet, her legs pumping her up the hill.

Ructions. He stood back into a doorway, hoping that she would pass by without seeing him. Down at the bottom of the hill a crowd of boys were shouting.

‘I see you,’ her voice said. ‘Skulking, that’s what you’re doing. Skulking.’

He stepped out into the light.

‘It’s only ostriches put their heads in the sand and think they can’t be seen. It’s no kind of a night to be out, son. I bet I know the nature of your business.’

She held her hand out towards him. With a certain guilt and a certain pleasure he took the pound from his pocket and gave it to her. She snapped it angrily into her bag.