Barry Riordan came home from The Cotton Ball just after three o’clock. He was drunk, and when he drove his Mercedes into the driveway in front of his semi-detached house in Boherboy Road, he collided with the garage doors. He clambered unsteadily out of the driving seat and weaved his way to the front door, jabbing his key at the lock six or seven times before he managed to push it in.

He hadn’t even turned the key, though, when the door opened and there was Megan.

‘Why didn’t you let me in as soon as you heard me come home?’ he demanded.

‘I was in the back yard, darling, pegging up the washing, that’s why.’

‘You still could have fecking heard me. Are you deaf or something? Jesus!’

He pushed her roughly out of the way and stumbled into the hall, grabbing hold of the newel post at the bottom of the stairs to keep himself upright.

‘Do you want a cup of tea in your hand?’ Megan asked him.

‘What? No, I’ll have a Satz. And you can make me a fecking ham sangwidge while you’re at it.’

‘You didn’t give me the money for the messages yet, Barry. We don’t have any ham in the house.’

‘What you mean is you’ve hounded it all, as usual. No wonder your arse is getting so fecking fat!’

He staggered into the kitchen, seizing the back of a chair and tipping it over. He managed to pick it up and sit down on it, searching through the pockets of his jacket for his cigarettes.

‘Oh, shite. I’ve left my fags behind in the boozer. Go up to O’Donovan’s, will you, and get me forty Carroll’s. And you might as well get another six-pack of Satz while you’re up there. And some fecking ham.’

He tugged his wad of euros out of his back trouser pocket, stripped off a €50 note and slammed it on to the tabletop. Megan stood on the other side of the kitchen and looked down at it, but made no move to come over and pick it up.

‘Well,’ said Barry. ‘What are you waiting for? I’m gasping here.’

‘I don’t have the time to go up to the shopping centre, Barry. I’ve arranged to meet Ethna and the rest of the girls. We’re taking all the kids swimming.’

‘You’ll have to be late then, won’t you? Just feck off and fetch me my fags.’

‘No, Barry. Ethna’s giving me a lift to the sports complex. I promised to be round her house by half past at the latest.’

‘I don’t give a shite, Megan. What’s more important – me getting my fags or some scratty kids getting themselves half-drownded? Now here – here’s the grade – be off with you and fetch my fags and my Satz before I lose my rag altogether.’