He gave a big groan and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Jesus, I’m pissed. How do you take the hooch, little thing like you?’

Not little. Shorter than a lot of guys, taller than a lot of girls. Just smaller than him. Matty shrugged and turned towards the door. ‘See you.’

‘Hey, where’re you going?’

‘Back to my van.’ He didn’t need to know that a room had already been reserved a couple of doors down.

‘Don’t be a martyr. Come on, crackerjack, stay here with me. It’ll be nice. I’ll read to you.’

‘You’re all right. See you.’

Well, don’t look at me. I’m not saying anything.

Matty lay in bed, looking at the soft peach walls, the tiny TV in the corner on mute. The sting still there at the back of the throat, just. They tasted different, every one. Starchy or acidic, like bleach or chlorine or mushrooms. But always, underneath it all, salt.

It didn’t matter if the guy was forceful, got into it as Trevor had done. A weird mix of servant and master, the wetness between Matty’s legs at the possibility of biting down, hard. It tended to be better on the giving end of things.

None of my business. Bit of a twat, though.

The stippled ceiling paint in the room was the same as in the Finchley flat where they’d moved after Golders Green. Matty would stare up at it, listen to Rosa in the kitchen that was next door now, not downstairs. Imagine the ceiling being the clouds that went into heaven, try and use X-ray specs to see if he was there.

What was all that shite about Swift?

Crackerjack. Joe had used that nickname. Crackerjack and scout and tiger and little gobshite, once or twice. Names that didn’t stop when he’d gone. He’d been there all this time. A version of him, wry quiet voice curling in an ear, taking the piss, calming Matty down sometimes, commenting on things he’d never have seen.

I’d like to see him go on about all that stuff in the North Dublin estates.

It was impossible to shut him up, even now.

Tomorrow. It had been put off long enough. Matty could picture it, the first handwritten line on the notepaper tucked into the guidebook.

J. RONAN GARAGE AND MECHANICS

***