‘I suppose I don’t know what I’m at … and mind. Lots of people don’t know and they don’t mind. I mind. I’d like to know where … be sure of something. Even how to cook onions.’

‘You’re going to get married.’

She sighed.

‘I suppose so. That’s not purpose though. It’s sort of routine really. The birth, marriage, death routine.’

‘Why are you doing it then?’

‘It’s hard to explain about love, even to yourself. And then … I hate living on my own … you need someone … I just wish I’d never come to Derry.’

‘I’m glad you did.’

‘Thank you, Joe.’

She held the pan under the tap and let a stream of hot water run on to it.

Steam enveloped her for a moment.

‘You’ll have to come and stay with us. You know, when all this is over. When you’re older.’

‘All what?’ he asked, and then remembered. ‘Oh, Yes.’

‘We’re going to live in Germany for the first while. That’ll be nice, won’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

He wished she’d stop talking. She shouldn’t be unhappy. The safe people should never be unhappy. It was too shattering. The bitterness of his mother and father he could manage. Some confidence inside himself told him that he would never be like that. But that life should gnaw at her in this way made him feel uneasy. As she had said, she bothered him. It was all most unfair. Suddenly she began to sing. Her movements by the cooker were neat and organised, in spite of what she said about herself. Her hands moved with composure, unlike his mother’s heavy movements as she cooked.

Now we have time to kill,

Kill the shadows on our skin.

Kill the fire that burns within

Killing time, my friend.

‘That’s the song you liked, isn’t it?’

He nodded.

‘I’m afraid I don’t sing as well as Brendan.’

‘My Dad’s the one.’

‘A singer as well as a hero.’

‘Hero.’ Joe’s voice was bitter. ‘Mauryah.’

She laughed.

‘We all hate our parents some time in our lives. And sometimes we’re sad about it later on and sometimes we’re not. I don’t suppose it matters much. It’s all just part of the routine too.’

She went on singing. He wondered if she realised that it eased his thoughts.

The strange rhythm of the song broke the clotted sadness in his head.

‘Would you kill anyone? Any … you know … person?’

‘How can you ever tell the answer to that one? I wouldn’t want to kill anyone, and I think if I ever did kill anyone, for whatever reason, it would probably be the wrong thing to do.’

There was a long silence. Only the sight of the gas fire whispering through the room.