“Maybe don’t say to your da or your brother about it just yet. No point in saying anything till you’ve got a deal, is there?”

“Aye, I think you’re right,” he said. “I’ll say nothing. Not yet, anyway.”

“Aye,” she said. “Not yet.”

As she drew the blade down his rounded cheek, he reached up and took her wrist. The blade left bright red beads on his skin.

“Listen,” he said, “if it works out. If I can make a deal and I get it all sorted.”

“Aye?”

“You’ll come with me, won’t you? You and the child?”

“Aye,” Joy said, smiling, her voice gentle. “We’ll come with you.”

Joy ironed his good Sunday shirt for him, and his tie, and she brushed the hairs and dandruff from his suit jacket. Ivan watched from the kitchen table as she did so, drawing on his pipe, the smoke billowing around him. Noreen watched too, flitting between her tasks. When the clothes were presentable, Joy brought them upstairs to George, and she helped him dress, making sure the shirt was properly tucked in, his tie straight, his jacket smooth. Then she polished his good shoes at the kitchen table, a decent pair of brown leather brogues. Ivan remained watchful, shrouded in pipe smoke.

When George came downstairs, his sock soles padding on the floor, his father eyed him up and down.

“What’s all this?” Ivan asked.

“Nothing,” George said, his cheeks turning a brighter pink. “I’m just heading out for a wee while. I’ve a few messages to do.”

“What messages?”

George fingered the seams of his trousers. “Just some messages. I’ll be heading to Portadown, so I’ll take the car.”

“Will you, now?” Ivan sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “What if I need the car?”

“Do you?” George asked, alarm on his face.

“No, not that I know of. Have you got your work done?”

“I’ll be back by one. I’ll get everything done this afternoon, don’t worry.”

“You’d better. Tam’s got enough to do without having your share.”

George’s voice hardened, his shoulders rising. “I’ll get it done, I said.”

“Aye, well, just see you do.”

George sat down, and Joy knelt at his feet, slipped his shoes on, tied the laces. He stood and flexed his hands, shuffled his feet.

“I’m away, then,” he said.

“Righto,” Ivan said.

George stood for another moment, shifting his balance onto his toes then back onto his heels, then he headed to the front door. Joy remained on her knees as she listened to the key in the lock, the door opening and closing, locking again.

She looked up from the floor and saw Ivan staring back at her.

“Have you work to do down there?” he asked, smoke puffing between his lips.