It was cold outside the blankets and he had to search through all the mess on the floor for his clothes. She had done a lot of clearing downstairs and the kitchen looked the same as usual. The stove was lighting and porridge steamed on the table.

‘Eat up quickly now, you’ve not much time.’

‘You’ve tidied up.’

‘Someone had to.’

He had the bag on his knee, crushed between his chest and the table. He wondered what they would do to him if they found the gun tucked in under his English grammar. The great thing was to get rid of it quickly. After school. It’d be all right in school. Afterwards though. The heat of the porridge slipping down his throat made him feel a bit better.

The street was littered with debris from the night before. People picked their way with distaste and resignation through the mess. In every house Joe knew that women were shaking out the clothes and packing them back into drawers again, brushing out the corners now exposed, where cupboards had hidden the dust, repairing damage. Sick of it all. They had been lucky. Sometimes floorboards were ripped up and pictures thrown from the walls. Men were lifted, and young fellas too. Mam had that to be thankful for.

During break-time he stood by the wall in the playground, the bag under his right arm.

‘I have toothache,’ he said, when they called him to come and play.

‘What’s up?’

Peter slid up beside him.

‘I have a toothache.’

‘Bad?’

‘Aye. Bad enough.’

‘Hard luck. Hard cheese. Come and play. Take your mind off it.’

Joe shook his head.

‘Right.’

Peter was off. Joe felt the beginning of an ache creep along his bottom jaw and stretch up towards his right ear. Oh, damn. Oh, odd. It would be the last straw to have a toothache, as well as a gun in your school bag. No toothache, please, God. Oh, Queen of Heaven, overlook my white lie. My toothpaste lie. You must realise the situation. This is no time for truth. He felt she might be more sympathetic towards his problem than the Almighty himself. Oh, Blessed Mother, forgive me all my sins, my lies. I’ll never, ever, sin again if you get me through this. Try never to sin, he corrected himself. No point in sticking your neck out.

‘How is it?’

‘What?’

He was startled by Peter’s reappearance.

‘The tooth.’

‘Oh … awful. Awful.’ He rubbed his jaw.

‘Maybe you’ll have to have it out.’

‘Maybe I will.’

‘Scrrruuunch.’

Peter performed a cork-pulling operation with his hands.

‘Fuck off, can’t you.’

‘Oooh, bad. What would your Mammy say?’

‘You heard.’

He balled his fist. His free fist.

‘Temper.’

Peter moved away.

‘Perhaps he’ll pull them all out.’

Rain had set in by the time that school was over. That was a good thing really as it meant that most people set off quickly for home and there wasn’t too much mucking around.