‘Come aboard the hull, boy. You’d make a good sailor. I can see it in your face.’

‘Joe.’

Hulls and sea gulls, pecking, burrowing away with their beaks, deep under their wings. Mean-eyed gulls.

‘Joe.’

He wiped the tears off his face with the sleeve of his jersey.

‘How many times do I have to call you? Your tea’s waiting.’

He got up and went across the room.

‘Coming.’

She was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

‘What didn’t you change your trousers?’

‘I forgot.’

‘God, give me patience.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll do it now.’

He went back into the room again.

‘Be quick.’

He was quick. He let no thoughts come between himself and his dry trousers.

‘Pneumonia you’ll get,’ was all she said when he went down again.

Shepherds pie.

‘You have the whole place looking great.’

‘I’ve cleaned up.’

‘Where’s Dada?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

She took a long suck of tea and held it in her mouth, savouring its sweetness, before swallowing it.

‘When he realised I wasn’t going to work, he was up and dressed and away out. Limping and spitting.’

‘You didn’t go to work?’

‘No.’

‘Will they mind?’

‘They wouldn’t need to. I’ve never let them down before.’

The wind threw a handful of rain against the window. She looked round, with sudden fright.

‘It’s only rain,’ he said.

‘My nerves are getting bad again.’

‘The rain’s been bad all day. Is Brendan home yet?’ He asked the question casually.

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

He was beginning to feel warm and comfortable.

‘This is nice.’

‘I’m glad you like it, son.’

She smiled at him. Suddenly it was quite like old times again, before Brendan had come back.

‘Can I have some more?’

‘I’d better keep some for Brendan.’

He banged his knife and fork down on his plate.

‘There’s plenty of bread.’

‘Maybe he won’t come home.’

‘Of course he’ll come home. What makes you say a silly thing like that?’

I know something you don’t know about precious Brendan.

‘He might be meeting his friends.’

‘He might, but you’re not eating his supper just the same.’

‘Nothing,’ he said, with dignity, ‘was further from my mind.’

‘Some jam?’ She pushed the pot towards him, appeasingly.

The door opened.

‘Brendan?’

‘I’ll have jam,’ said Joe.

‘I’ll be right down.’

Joe listened to his feet on the stairs and the sound of him moving round the room above. He buttered a slice of bread and then spread it with jam. It was the thick, gluey strawberry jam again. Why could she never buy anything else for a change?

‘Cut it,’ said his mother. ‘Cut it. Don’t be eating like a savage.’

The steps came slowly down the stairs. Brendan came into the kitchen.

‘I have your tea waiting …’

‘Were they here?’

His mother got up and went over to the oven, Joe cut the bread in half and stuck the two pieces together to make a sandwich.

‘Who?’ asked Mam.