‘I think,’ said Joe, ‘we should go home. Mam will be wondering where we are.’

Kathleen put out a hand and felt his jersey.

‘Your clothes won’t be nearly dry yet.’

‘No matter. I think …’ He got up from the floor, holding that coat carefully round him.

‘Ah, sit down, kiddo, and stop fussing.’

Kathleen got up and began to gather his clothes together.

‘Yes. You’d better go. I wouldn’t want your mother to be upset.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Brendan. ‘Everyone’s fussing.’

She handed Joe his clothes.

‘Do you want to take them down to the bathroom.’

‘Someone’s in there. Having a bath.’

‘They’ll be out by now. Our bathroom’s not a place to linger.’

‘I’ll stay here, just the same.’

‘Suit yourself.’

His clothes were still damp, but warm rather than cold damp. He knew that the moment he went out into the wind they would chill him as they had before. He wriggled into them under the long coat. He’d seen his mother once on the beach wriggling into her clothes under a long striped towel, desperately clutching at the corners with her fingers.

‘Fuss, fuss.’ Brendan stretched his legs out towards the fire, not wanting to go.

‘Leave him be,’ said Kathleen.

‘Would you come out with me one evening? Have a jar or go to a dance or something? Somewhere decent, you know?’

She thought about it.

‘Would you?’

‘That would be nice.’

Joe had his pants and trousers on. He slowly unbuttoned the coat and dropped it on to the back of a chair. He pulled his vest over his head, tugging it down as far as he could over his white body. His vest, at least, was dry, and smelt companionably of his own body.

‘I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I could drop round here and we’ll fix something.’

‘You could do that.’

‘You wouldn’t mind?’

She laughed.

‘Why would I mind?’

‘Well …’

‘Don’t be silly. You sound as if you’d never asked a girl out before.’

He reddened and grinned.

‘Maybe I haven’t.’

‘Don’t give me that one.’

She’s my friend. That’s what she is. He buttoned up his shirt with clumsy fingers. Not girl friend. Friend. Just that … and he has to go and stick his nose in. Oh hahahaha. And I can’t even write a poem down on a piece of paper. Oh hahahaha. He pulled his jersey over his head. He had to struggle to get his head through the tight neck. As always, there was the thought of suffocation, a panic, over when the eyes and nose got free.

‘You’re still soaking.’ She felt his arm anxiously. ‘You’d better get home as quickly as you can and change out of those clothes.’

The landing was cold. The bathroom was still occupied as they passed it. He pointed out the thin line of light under the door to Kathleen.

‘Saturday’s bath day,’ she said. ‘They’re all queucing up with their flannels and soap.’

‘We don’t have a bath at home.’