So, yes, he could understand why they didn’t want him to leave. The night before, he’d done his best to explain that he wasn’t emigrating, he was travelling. That was what young people did now; they saw how the rest of the world lived, and came home again. His parents chose not to listen, his mam lapsing into a sulk, his dad putting on the martyr act. ‘I can see why people used to have such big families,’ he said. ‘That way they didn’t grow old on their own.’ Tom had no intention of giving in to their pressure. The thought of staying in Dublin without Nina didn’t appeal to him, and he’d rather have his wisdom teeth removed without anaesthetic than return to Kilmitten. At the best of times, the village was cloying. The locals might have sympathy for him now, but in short order he’d be a figure of fun, the punchline of every joke.

Poor Tom Crossan.

That was how he found himself, on Saturday afternoon, in the kitchen, surrounded by a muddle of tea chests and boxes, helping his father to pack. This was likely to be his last weekend in the old house. He had to convince his dad that he was making the right decision. His mother, a lost cause, was at the petrol pumps. His father was reluctant to engage, choosing instead to reel off anecdotes about his childhood: ‘Did I ever tell you about the time Frankie Stack brought a calf to school?’ or ‘Did you know your mother was so clever she was allowed to skip third class?’ Tom continued his work, carefully wrapping glasses in newspaper. His mam insisted that every task be carried out like they were going to Australia rather than to a house barely five minutes’ walk away.

In the end, he intervened: ‘So,’ he said, ‘have you any more questions about what I told you last night? About my travelling plans, I mean.’

‘I do, but it sounds to me like your mind’s made up. Am I right?’

‘You are.’

‘You’ll have to go easy on your mam. You know what she’s like. She tries to block out bad news. Give her time, and she’ll get to grips with it.’

‘Fine, only she doesn’t have for ever. I’ve given Val my notice. I don’t want to hang about.’

His father finished wrapping a plate and placed it in a box. ‘You will meet someone else, you know. And maybe next time she’ll be more like you.’

‘More of a waster, you mean?’ said Tom.

‘Ah, now, that wasn’t what I meant at all. Don’t be getting maudlin on me. What I meant was, Nina sounds like a woman in a hurry, but we all move at different speeds. The two of you were very young when you started doing a line. Too young, if you ask me.’