‘I might go back to England.’

‘Oh.’

‘Anyway, you keep your mouth shut.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good night.’

‘Good night.’

‘And thanks.’

She was waiting for him the next afternoon, puffing away as usual. Her hair hung down her back like one of the young ones. She waved when she saw him coming. That made him feel good.

‘How lovely.’

‘What’s lovely? To see you is lovely.’

He laughed.

‘Come and have tea. Toasted sticky buns.’

‘Yes.’

‘I love toasted sticky buns.’

They crossed the road and he kept his feet pacing along beside hers, stretching his stride to keep her rhythm.

‘Did you have a terrible time the other night?’

‘They made an awful mess.’

‘Your poor mother.’

‘The whole street really … a terrible mess.’

‘Were you scared?’

He thought of the gun.

‘Oh, no. Not really … well …’

She laughed.

‘I would have been. We must have another day at the sea. I enjoyed that, didn’t you?’

‘Or Grianan.’

‘Or Grianan. Somewhere.’

‘How’s Fred Burgess?’

She looked surprised at the question.

‘He’s all right.’

‘Does he write to you all the time?’

‘He’s not too bad.’

‘And do you write to him?’

‘Curiosity killed the cat.’

‘But, do you?’

‘I do.’

‘Every day?’

‘Don’t be silly. Only Victorian ladies with nothing else to do were able to write letters every day to their gentlemen friends.’

‘What would you say?’

‘Dear sir, when I got up this morning at eight-fifteen it was, as usual, raining. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth thirty-seven times …’

‘What sort of toothpaste do you use?’

‘He would know. I’d have told him that already.’

‘But you should do it. Then he would know everything about you.’

‘Imagine how bored you’d get reading a letter like that, on and on. As long as a day itself and then knowing that another one would be coming tomorrow.’

‘Your thoughts then. You could write him your thoughts.’

‘Dear Joe, my thoughts are as boring as buying toothpaste.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You’re one of the nice people in the world.’

‘Do I bore you?’

‘Never.’

‘Does Brendan bore you?’

She threw the remains of her cigarette into the gutter.

‘What a strange thing to ask. No, I suppose. I hardly know him. He’s in a state of great confusion. That always appeals to me.’

‘Confusion?’

‘Tangled up somehow. A lot of the wrong ideas pushing the right ideas rather hard. You don’t like him much, do you?’

Joe blushed.

‘He’s OK.’

She laughed.

‘In ten years you’ll feel differently. Confusion is hard for people of your age to understand.’

‘Is Fred Burgess confused?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Oh.’ She took his arm and squeezed it tight up close to her side.

‘Brendan might go away soon … I think … I hope … he ought to go … really.’

From far away there was a burst of gunfire.

‘Oh dear,’ she said. She took a cigarette packet out of her pocket and looked at it.