‘I think he’ll go. It would be better. You know, I think I’m going to give it up.’

‘That’s good.’

She threw the box into the middle of the road.

‘There.’

‘How many were in it?’

‘Cheeky.’

She began to run, dragging him along with her.

‘Quick, sticky buns.’

At her steps she stopped.

‘I really mean it. I’ve had my last stick of poison.’

‘I give you twenty-four hours.’

‘Your windows are dirty.’

She was lighting matches in an abstracted way and the gas kept popping.

‘There must be air in the pipes,’ he said.

She put the matches down and came over to the window.

‘I don’t really look out much, so it doesn’t worry me if they’re clean or dirty. There’s not much to see anyway.’

‘No.’

‘I suppose when those houses fall down they’ll put up a huge tower block and I wouldn’t want to look at that either.’

‘You won’t be here.’

She sighed and went back to the gas. This time it lit at once. He watched her quick neat fingers as she cut the buns and laid them on the griller and wondered if, in his life, he would ever meet anyone like her again.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked him.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘You don’t look well.’

‘I’m tired, I suppose.’

‘All the kids are tired. It’s been long.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, the winter perhaps.’

‘What makes you think that Brendan will go?’

‘Just a feeling I have. I don’t know anything.’ She looked rather fiercely at him. ‘Nothing. It’s best to know nothing. All or nothing. Otherwise you start making idiotic moral judgements. So I know nothing. I think he’ll go away. He’s not very strong. I don’t mean Tarzan-strong. No strength inside. His mind is too open to suggestion. He needs a good friend.’

‘You?’

She took one of the buns from under the grill and began to butter it.

‘There’s a lovely shop in Dublin makes the best sticky buns in the world. Bewleys. A great dark place. They sell coffee beans …’ She lost the thread of her own words.

‘Bewleys …?’

She arranged the buns in a circle on a plate.

‘Here.’

He took one from her. She stood looking down at him.

‘Joe …’

The door behind her opened and Brendan came in, as if, thought Joe, he owned the place.

‘The door below was open, so I came up.’

‘You’re just in time for a bun.’

‘Hello, Joe.’

‘Hello,’ said Joe, his voice ungracious.

Brendan took a bun from the plate and the three of them stared at each other in silence.

‘Tea anyone?’ asked Kathleen eventually.

‘Yes, please.’ Both boys answered simultaneously.

‘Are you glad to see me?’ He put his head back like Dad did sometimes and laughed.

‘Of course we’re glad to see you.’ She was pouring tea as she spoke. Without waiting to be asked Brendan took another bun from the plate. Like he owned the place. Joe chewed. Kathleen put two spoonfuls of sugar into a cup and handed it to Brendan. He didn’t even say thanks.