‘Well, just be glad I wasn’t in charge,’ said Brigid, putting her head into the living room. ‘Hello, you.’ She glanced at the TV.

Not turning it off. There were only fifteen minutes to go. ‘Hey.’

‘Matty, are you having a drink with us?’ Cormac shouted from the kitchen.

‘I’m good. Thanks.’ Cutting down. More exercise, less booze.

Brigid had said he came to the panto every year. Tradition.

‘Ah Jesus, you have got to be kidding me.’ Cormac came in with a glass of wine. ‘Are you telling me I just sat through Annie-meets-Little Shop of Horrors or whatever that was when I could have been watching this?’ He sat down on the sofa next to Matty with a dramatic sigh. ‘You’ve got to love Eddie Murphy. The man’s a genius. Beverly Hills Cop and Coming to America are my all-time bloody favourite films.’

Matty grinned, a lightening of the soul not felt in weeks. ‘Yeah?’

‘Even Beverly Hills Two is bang on.’

Matty saw Cormac as Judge Reinhold, the earnest do-gooder, the bright eyes. ‘Yeah, it’s all right.’

‘You seen it?’

‘Course.’

‘“My name is Johnny Wishbone, and I’m a psychic from the Isle of St Croy”,’ he said, in a very odd accent.

‘“I’m a psychic extraordinaire”.’

‘“Phenomenon”, isn’t it?’

‘He says both.’

Cormac looked pleased. ‘Points to you, then.’ He held his glass up and Matty picked up the water glass. Clink.

Brigid had come in and was standing by the sofa, watching them. ‘You’ll have to stay over,’ she said.

They looked at her. Cormac glanced at Matty with a trace of guilt. ‘It’s fine, Bridge.’

‘It’s not and you know it.’ She addressed Matty. ‘He gets hammered after one.’

Cormac’s cheeks reddened. ‘Fine,’ he said, his tone hard and mildly petulant, and drained his glass. ‘I’ll have another, then.’

‘Hardly anyone knows.’

Matty was lying next to Brigid in bed. Cormac was in the single room – his old room, he’d said – so there was no chance of slipping out in the night. Brigid kept her voice low and Matty watched the candle’s shadows on the wall, the sweet, peachy smell almost overpowering.

‘He was just a boy. Got drunk with his pals and they all crammed into one of their cars. Took turns driving. He was at the wheel when they crashed. One of the boys didn’t ever recover properly.’ She put her hand in Matty’s hair and there was a strong urge to shake her off. ‘He wasn’t yet eighteen, so he escaped charges. I think he became a guard to pay penance, partly. He didn’t drink for ages, and now that he’s back on it, it doesn’t take much. He wouldn’t normally have a drop before driving anywhere.’

‘Wow.’

‘He was just – I don’t know – trying to impress you, I think.’

‘Impress me?’