The interview board had been careful not to mention Kilmitten, and in his answers, Conor had been equally reserved. He liked to think he’d given honest reasons for his application. He wanted to be a guard because he reckoned it was something he could do. His ambitions lay in tackling serious crime, he told them, not arresting lads for broken headlights or women for stealing a loaf of bread. He’d have to begin with the basics, they warned, and he might never get any further. He said he’d take his chances. He was, of course, nervous about letting people know that he’d be following his father into the police. It seemed so unimaginative. Still, he was confident that his career would be different.

‘You know you can’t be stationed around here,’ said his dad, as he poured them another measure of whiskey. ‘There are rules about that class of thing.’

‘So I gather.’

‘They’ll probably send you to Dublin. The city’s crying out for guards. Or the border. They’re always looking for men there.’

‘True, but I might get somewhere closer. There’s Limerick. Limerick’s busy.’

‘That wouldn’t be too bad.’

For the first time, it occurred to Conor that his father might miss him. Although his old man had gone out with a couple of women, he remained unattached. As it was, the two of them rattled around the bungalow. There was definitely too much space for a man on his own. ‘Who’d have me now?’ he’d say, when Paula nagged him about being single.

‘Plenty, Dad,’ she’d reply. ‘Plenty.’

He was forty-five. Old, certainly. But not decrepit. Not beyond all hope.

‘Your mam would have been pleased,’ he said.

Conor swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. He was more of a beer drinker, and the spirit burned and tickled all the way down. His eyes watered. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘That’s a good thought.’

‘Have you been talking to them at work?’

‘Not yet. They’ll let me go straight away, I’d say. There’ll be no shortage of lads looking for the job.’

‘What’ll you do with yourself between now and September?’

‘I was thinking of heading over to London for a few days, to see Tom. And Liverpool are playing at Arsenal next month, so …’

‘Aren’t you the crafty lad? You have it all figured out.’

‘I wish.’

His father ran a finger down the side of his glass. ‘The reason you were reluctant to tell me about the application … would it have anything to do with the Father Galvin business? With you thinking that, maybe, it’s jaundiced my view of the job?’