‘That’s my affair.’

‘Not really. It is my view that we have to keep ourselves reasonably fit and well in order to fulfil our obligations to the rest of the world – well, to the people who love and trust us, anyway.’

He picked up his spoon and stirred his coffee. She looked disapproving.

‘You shouldn’t stir cappuccino,’ she said.

He went on stirring.

‘It’s a very Protestant point of view,’ he said after a long silence.

‘I don’t think so. It’s a common-sense point of view. I am a very common-sense sort of person as I am sure Clara will have told you. We have obligations, you know, to the people who love us, if not to society. Even the most underprivileged people have obligations, loyalties.’

He wondered about that. His mother used to talk about ‘obligements’; he had never really understood the meaning of that word.

He removed his hand from under hers and sipped at his coffee. She was right – you shouldn’t stir cappuccino. He made a slight grimace. She smiled suddenly. Her smile was very sweet.

‘They were blown up.’ He spoke very fast because he hated to say the words. He shut his eyes so that he couldn’t see what he supposed was going to be sympathy in her face. He spoke faster and faster so that she couldn’t possibly get a word in edgeways, and so that he could finish the recitation in double-quick time.

‘I couldn’t go with her that day. I couldn’t even keep the child. I was invigilating. I’m a teacher. I really was invigilating. It wasn’t an excuse to get out of minding the child. We all had to do our stint, you know. I wasn’t even there to wave them goodbye. I would have been sitting up at that desk correcting papers and taking the odd turn round the room just to make sure that no hanky panky was going on. That wasn’t likely, but you never know, you have to keep your eyes peeled.

‘She used to drive quite fast. She had this little red VW – nippy, the child strapped into the back. She always strapped the child into her wee seat and played tapes for her. Moya was good in the car. Happy. She liked the movement and stuff flashing past the windows. I like to believe she was asleep, what with the motion of the car and the music. Anyway, Caitlin must have zipped past this army truck and got to the bridge just as they blew it up. That’s all. A little humpy bridge over a mountain stream. This stony hill, just here.’ He pushed his cup to the left and drew the pattern of the stream with a finger on the cloth. He laid his spoon over the invisible stream to indicate the bridge. A few drops of milky coffee splattered on the cloth.

‘The truck was blown off the road, just sideways, into the ditch. Not overturned or anything like that. None of the men were hurt and they ran … they said they didn’t even think of snipers or anything. They ran, but there wasn’t anything they could do. One man said the tape was still playing. “Old Macdonald had a farm.” ’