Taking into account the mood his mother had been in in the morning, he decided it would be best to go straight home and not loiter around looking for Kathleen. He hoped, though, that he might see her on his way. There was no sign of her. The girls were all over the place, in their protective, nudging groups, seeing and yet not seeing the boys. She must have stayed behind to speak severely to someone, or have a word with the head, or, maybe, just to chat with a friend. He faintly disliked the thought of her having friends. He preferred the picture of her as a brooding solitary, alone, except for her moments with him. That made him feel good. His feet did a little shuffling dance on the pavement, and a girl from one of the groups whistled at him. He walked from then on with composure.

He was almost at the top of his road when he heard his name. He stopped and looked round. She was waving to him from outside the sweet shop.

‘Hey.’

He went back towards her.

‘Hello.’

A passing car suddenly put its lights on, like some sort of salute. It was that no man’s land time of evening, without colour.

‘I saw you pass.’

She waved a box of cigarettes in front of his face.

‘You never heard me. You looked asleep. Sleep-walking. Were you writing a poem?’

He smiled.

‘Here.’

He took the neatly folded paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. She opened her bag and put it inside, tucking it tidily into one of those narrow pockets that always seem to be in bags, useless pockets, unless people give you poems from time to time.

‘Thank you. I’m glad you remembered it.’

They started to walk back the way Joe had been going.

‘I hope you didn’t get into trouble on Saturday.’

‘Oh no … you see …’ he blushed. ‘… She thought I was with the school. So …’ He gestured his mother’s resignation with his hands.

‘I do believe you are a villain.’

He nodded, pleased at the word she used. At his corner they stopped.

‘I must get home,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll maybe see you tomorrow.’

She shook her head.

‘We have exams all this week. I’ll be frantic. I am frantic. Come round on Friday. Come and have tea, why don’t you?’

‘Aye. I’d like that.’

‘Good. See you then. How’s Brendan?’

‘He’s away.

He went down the hill. After a few yards he turned and looked back at her. She was standing where he had left her struggling to protect a flickering match. It went out. She dropped it on the ground and started again.

‘You’ll be dead before you’re forty,’ he called to her.

She straightened up and put the unlit cigarette back in the box, and the box back in her pocket.

‘Since when have you become the voice of my conscience. Go away and do your homework and leave me to my vices in peace.’