Brendan watched him for a couple of minutes.

‘What do you think you’re at?’ His face was lined with irritation.

‘I’m warming my blood.’ He sang the words to the dancing tune that was running in his head.

‘War … arm … ing my blooood.’

‘For God’s sake, Joe. Sometimes I think you’re a bit thick. Wanting.’

‘Well, I’m not. If anyone’s thick it’s you. You … ou … ou.’

‘You’ll have someone up.’

Kathleen opened her door. She was dressed in a long, red woolly dressing-gown. She had rubbed at her hair with a towel and it was sticking out round her head in mad tangles. She laughed when she saw Joe.

‘Poor boy. Is it that bad? Come on in quick.’

They followed her into the room. The fire was glowing and already the kettle was making its first stirring noises. She handed Joe a dark brown coat.

‘Here. Take this down to the bathroom and get out of all your wet clothes. All.’

‘I’ll be all right.’

‘Do what you’re told.’ Her voice was surprisingly sharp. The schoolteacher. Joe went out again on to the cold landing. He stamped his way down four steps to the bathroom and turned the handle. The door was locked. Someone was in there. He could hear the slight splash and slither of water in the bath.

‘Hump.’

He went back up to the landing again. He could hear her laughing through the door. Brendan must have said something funny. Mind you, she laughed easily. Maybe it was one of her own jokes she was laughing at. Brendan’s low voice broke into her laughter. Joe took off his anorak and dropped it on the floor. Then his jersey and his shirt. Even his vest was wet. It had holes all round the bottom where he kept pulling it down and his fingers had worn their way through the woolly material. It was cold. The person in the bathroom turned on the tap again. Joe put on the coat, its lining was slithery and made him shiver. It reached almost down to his ankles.

Kathleen laughed again.

‘Women,’ he grunted aloud, as he bent down to remove his sodden shoes, ‘are all the same.’

He didn’t quite know what he meant by the remark, but it gave him a small satisfaction to say the words. After the shoe, his socks went on to the pile. Then his jeans came off and, in the one operation, his pants hidden inside them. He was now naked under the coat, which he buttoned carefully from neck to knee. A right eejit. He picked up his clothes and opened the door.

‘That was quick,’ said Kathleen. ‘Shut the door and don’t let the heat out.’

She took his clothes from him and festooned them like Christmas decorations round the fire. Steam began to rise from them, and the smell of wet wool. Brendan was sitting in the armchair, his legs stretched out in front of him, as if he owned the place. The kettle whistled cheerfully.