‘Don’t, June,’ said Dora, half laughing. June didn’t understand these things like she did. She’d had a man touch her, she knew how wonderful it could be. Her only surprise at Lil’s pregnancy news was that Alec was up to it at all. According to Dad, Alec didn’t have a single good fuck in him. ‘That’s private, between them.’

‘I’m happy for it to be private,’ said June. ‘Some afternoons I’ve come in and it’s like someone’s hanging a picture up, the way that ruddy headboard keeps hitting the wall.’

‘Well, they’ll have to ease off if there’s a baby,’ said Dora.

‘You heard the news about William Maguire?’ asked June.

‘No. What about him?’ Dora tensed. She’d put all that out of her mind, and it hadn’t been easy. Now June was bringing it all up again.

‘He’s out of hospital. But they say he won’t walk again. They say the breaks were too bad to mend proper. The bones were shattered.’

Christ.

But of course Dickie’d had nothing to do with that. Dora was sure of it. No, she wouldn’t think about it. Damn June for reminding her. All she lived for these days was the visits to his mate’s prefab after the pictures, when he would touch her and kiss her. That was all. She was not going to think, ever again, about what had happened to William Maguire.

7

Donny Maguire brooded about that wedding reception for Lil O’Brien, when something had definitely blown up between his little brother and that git Dickie Cole. He’d caught up with Cole and questioned him about it, but got no answers.

Now William was home, recuperating. He’d lost his apprenticeship at the foundry, which upset him, and he spent long hours sitting in a chair, dejected, miserable. The Red Cross got him a wheelchair, and Donny took him out around the park in that when he was off duty, pushing him for hours, chatting to him, trying to yank him out of the depression he seemed to be sinking into.

‘I’m gonna be like this forever,’ he said once, while Donny sat on a park bench and William’s chair was parked up alongside. They’d brought bread; they were feeding the ducks.

Donny looked at him. ‘No you’re not. Things’ll get better.’

‘They won’t,’ said William. ‘I won’t be able to walk again. Not ever. You know what the doctors said.’

Donny stayed silent. Given that sort of news, how would he himself react? But he knew the answer to that. William was softer than him. A goalless dreamer by nature. Whereas Donny was stonier, colder. Tell him he couldn’t walk again and he’d fucking-well crawl if he had to. And he’d crawl to wherever the rotten bastards who did this were, and he’d get them. Donny had been looking after Wills all his life. And it angered and frustrated him that Wills had a problem that he couldn’t solve.

‘What really happened between you and that waster Dickie Cole at the wedding reception last year? What did he say to you?’ he asked, flinging bread. Swans arrived, elbowing the ducks out of the way, forging their way to the front of the bread queue.