What or who was it? It could have been anyone, anything, even a slumped scarecrow or a stuffed Lundy of the kind they burn on bonfires on the Twelfth. But a single orange point was moving up and down in the shadows: whatever it was, it was smoking a cigarette. The figure looked as though it was watching our house. I started to walk quickly towards it, my blood beginning to cool. It was better to find out now.

The face snapped towards me, into focus: a familiar, sharp little triangle, lit by the street lamp, and I almost laughed with relief. It was Marty.

‘What the hell are you doing here, Marty, you gave me the creeps,’ I said.

‘Nothing, sure. Just sitting here.’

There was something slightly strange about his manner, something I couldn’t place. He seemed almost sullen, his narrow eyes not quite meeting mine.

‘Why are you out at this time of night? Is your ma not looking for you?’

‘She’s sitting up with Vicky and Jeanette, watching a film. The back door’s open, so I can go in whenever I want,’ he said.

‘All the same, you don’t want to be hanging around out here half the night.’

‘Where’ve you been?’ he said.

‘Just staying with a friend.’

‘There was some fellas round here looking for you,’ he said.

I could feel my heart starting to sprint.

‘Is that so. What were they saying?’

‘They were just saying where were you and had I seen you because they wanted a word.’

‘When was this?’

‘Last Thursday and Friday.’

That wasn’t so bad. Maybe they thought I’d left Belfast by now.

‘Were they giving Phyllis any bother?’

‘I don’t think so. They just asked me had I seen you.’

I started to think.

‘Marty, if anybody asks you again, you didn’t see me tonight, all right? Remember that.’

He just stared back at me, with that strange look on his face.

‘I’ve got to go inside now. You should be off to your bed.’

I took a few quid out of my pocket, and slipped it into his chilled hand. ‘Here. Buy yourself some chips tomorrow. And an ice lolly, for your dessert.’

He didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t lift his hand to take the money.

I moved to unlock my front door. He was standing on the grass verge now, not moving.

‘Goodnight, Marty,’ I said. He was beginning to infuriate me. God knows I didn’t want to be hanging around outside the house for too long. I might as well do a tap dance there on the pavement with a ‘Here I Am, Boys’ sign round my neck.

But he seemed reluctant to leave, dragging his shoes along the grass in circles.

‘Are you going away?’ he said. He had lost all his cockiness: he seemed like a very young child again.