The first time Dave had laid eyes on Rave he was on his back, fighting off punches from Bush Farrelly and her best mate Josie. He had just turned eleven. Bush was fourteen and the hairiest girl Dave had ever seen. She had wild curly hair that was so thick it came out as far as her shoulders. How does she even carry that weight on her head? She even had a hint of a moustache over her top lip. Her given name was Hayley but Dave thought it was funny to call her Bush. He had been sitting on his wall listening to music on his Walkman when the two girls passed. Bush was bouncing a basketball and they were laughing about something Dave wasn’t a party to.

He was new to the area and didn’t have any friends, although he hadn’t had friends back in Finglas either. He didn’t really understand why. His mother Marie said it was because he’d never learned to share properly. Ray, his father, maintained it was because he was a smartarse. ‘Nobody likes a smartarse, son,’ his dad would say, and ruffle Dave’s hair, but when they were at the dinner table and his father was giving out about someone he didn’t like (and Ray hated everyone), Dave would say something smart and his da would guffaw and hold his stomach with laughter. ‘Did you hear that Marie? That’s hilarious. Good boy, good boy,’ his father would say, wiping tears away. ‘Ah, Jesus, the lads will love that one.’

Dave received a lot of mixed messages when he was a kid. One second he was heralded as a little star, the next he was in the doghouse.

‘What on earth made you think it was funny to paint the word “bomb” on the fuckin’ dog?’ his father had roared at him. The dog was an American White Shepherd called Barry, after Barry McGuigan, Ray’s favourite boxer, and the animal was his pride and joy. No matter what his mother did she couldn’t remove what Dave later discovered was permanent marker. They had to shave the dog, and because it snowed, and they couldn’t afford a fancy dog coat, he was forced to go around Tallaght with an old furry purple car-seat cover taped around him.

‘It’s humiliating, and not just for me, for the fuckin’ dog. Look at him! He’s traumatized. Ya little bastard,’ were Ray’s final words on the matter.

Dave was called names a lot. He pretended it didn’t hurt but it did. I just thought it would be funny. His da didn’t speak to him for a long time after that particular incident.

‘He’ll get over it, son,’ his ma promised. ‘But you know what he’s like.’