Not much good at relationships, either. For various reasons. They might be drawn in by the aquamarine eyes, the boyishness and generosity – Matty would always buy the drinks, down to the last penny. But it never lasted, partly due to all the moving around, sofa to sofa, bedsit to bedsit, the holiday work. And what would have been the point, when they might take off on you? There’d only really been Al, soft-eyed and dreamy, announcing three years ago that he was off to Australia for a bit, and never returning.

The car park was at the end of a stone-walled road, with an out-of-season campsite and a toilet. No one else here. It was dark, and hard to tell how far the water stretched. Matty got the generator going outside and fiddled with the TV aerial, moving it from worktop to bed and back to the worktop, the sound and screen ashy. Raging Bull was on, Jake LaMotta in his peak. A proper Italian, a proper boxer. His lines weren’t quite as good as on Taxi Driver, but they were usable. I’m gonna make him suffer.

One more J. Ronan. Further into the wet heart of Ireland.

The TV screen seemed to be consuming itself. Matty rolled up under the blankets, falling asleep before it had finished, Jake LaMotta’s words getting mixed up with others.

Faith is the suffering of things hoped for. Faith. Not seen.

Chapter 4

25/11/99

LOUGH ____, Air 11°C, Water 10°C, 3.5km

Matty woke up scratching. The patch of eczema on the right side of the ribs came and went – the skin flaring red or shimmering like fish-scales – depending on how tight everything was. You weren’t supposed to restrict yourself for too many hours at a time, but needs must. It had been trial and error, this. The experiment with cling film and masking tape as a teenager hadn’t lasted long. Bee, whose own tits were much bigger, had seen the discarded bandages on Al’s mattress in the squat and brought back two sports bras from town, one to be worn backwards and on top of the other, with shoulders turned inwards in a way that would probably cause old-man’s-walk at some point. Talcum power to soak up the sweat. Occasionally, Matty would look in the mirror after a bath and feel OK, and just put one on.

The wetsuit sorted everything. Smoothing everything down but not too restrictive, making you neither one nor the other. Simply a swimmer. After a set of bicep curls and lifts with the dumbbells, Matty hefted it on, and walked down to the water.