‘Beggars can’t be choosers, Miss … um … Doherty.’

‘Kathleen.’

‘Twist my arm, Kathleen.’

Joe stamped suddenly in a large muddy puddle and dirty water splashed them all.

‘Hey,’ said Brendan.

‘Sorry,’ said Joe.

‘Oh, Joe, you are careless. Lucky I’m soaking already,’ said Kathleen.

‘Sorry,’ said Joe.

‘Look where you’re putting your big feet, kiddo.’

‘I said sorry, didn’t I?’

‘What do you teach Joe?’

She laughed.

‘I don’t teach Joe anything. I teach sweet little girls.’

‘Oh, I …’

‘Joe and I picked each other up in the street. Didn’t we, Joe?’

‘He has good taste for a kid.’

She looked pleased.

Joe considered stamping in another puddle but decided that only anger and misunderstanding would be achieved by such a gesture. He thought instead of the pale fingers of water and how distant rain seemed to form a pillar between the land and sky holding up the turbulent clouds.

They turned a corner and the wind hurled rain and grit into their faces and the heavy smell of wet smoke. The road was littered with stones and broken bottles and some fragments of window glass. A couple of houses had rags stuffed in their tattered windows which struggled furiously in the wind trying to escape. Kathleen took Joe’s hand and they ran across the road, picking their way through the debris. Brendan’s feet shuffled behind. If only the wind would blow him away. Whoosh, no more shuffling feet, no more Brendan. How I would love you, wind.

The hall in Kathleen’s house seemed slightly warmer than the street. The mutter of a television set came from behind one of the closed doors. Kathleen ran up the stairs in front of them.

‘You’ll have to wait on the landing while I change out of my wet clothes. I’ll only be a tick.’

She went into her room and shut the door. Joe could hear her moving inside the room, pulling the curtains, the click of the electric switch, the scrape of a chair along the floor. Two scenery paintings in gold frames and four grey doors were the only things to stare at, unless he stared at Brendan. Joe moved to one of the pictures. Some sheep browsed through some very purple heather and blue mountains made patterns in the background. He could see from where he stood that the other picture was much the same. There was no sound from behind any of the other doors, presumably the occupants of the rooms were either dead or out. The carpet had triangular blue patterns on a red background, most of which had been walked off by years of feet, leaving just naked string.

He tried to will his eyes to see through the door in front of him, see the tables and chairs, the divan, the gas fire, the personal belongings that lay around.

‘You’ll catch a cold.’ Brendan’s voice interfered with his concentration.

‘What?’

‘You’ll catch a cold standing around in those wet clothes.’

Joe began to dance. He toed and heeled around the landing like a prize winner. He waved his arms above his head like a puppet on a string. The floor trembled under him.