Sometimes now he’d lie awake, look back to that time and wonder why he’d lied, why he hadn’t told Mr Bond that he had nightmares about his da coming to get him, that his arm ached and he felt sick all the time. He guessed it might be because he was so desperate to be normal because, even at nine years old, he’d known he never would be. So what was the point? It didn’t matter why he had lied so successfully, hiding his pain and fear. What mattered was that he could. Whenever Jeremy doubted himself, he recalled that experience because it told him he could pretend to be whatever he wanted to be. He certainly didn’t have to be his real self.

Still, it was getting harder to be the good boy, the one who could be relied upon, and harder still to please everyone: his ma, Grammy, Rave, the lads and Deirdre – especially Deirdre. He was trying his best with her but his mickey and his gag reflex were letting him down.

‘Rave looks thin,’ Deirdre said, and as they walked she leaned into him.

He put his arm around her and held her close, like Rave did with Casey. ‘He’s all right.’

‘Is he?’

‘Yeah, he’s grand – you know Rave.’

‘My ma says she saw his da the other day. He was on the street making a show of himself.’

‘What’s new?’ Jeremy said.

‘It’s terrible. He used to be such a nice man.’

‘Well, not any more,’ he said, with a hint of bitterness. Rave’s predicament worried his best friend – Jeremy worried about him all the time.

‘Don’t give out to me,’ she said. ‘Promise?’

‘Go on, I promise.’

‘I know you don’t like talking about it but my ma said Rave’s ma’s been in the nuthouse all this time.’

‘For four years! They wouldn’t keep that auld dragon in for longer than four minutes,’ Jeremy said. Jeremy didn’t hate many people but he hated that woman as much if not more than his own dad. She’d never been warm, loving or kind like his own mother. She’d never even pretended to be. She was removed, strict and obessed with rules – ironic, seeing as she couldn’t seem to follow the most basic natural law. Take care of your young!

‘So where is she, then?’

‘I’m telling you, Deirdre, I don’t know. She ran off, is all.’

‘It’s weird. Who does that?’

‘Well, Da did.’

‘That’s different.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yeah, your ma left him and, anyways, mothers are different.’

‘I suppose they are.’

They walked on for a short while. Deirdre was humming to Pearl Jam’s ‘Jeremy’ – she liked to sing that song to him, mostly because it annoyed him and she said he was cute when he was annoyed.