I knew that in the centre of everything, he was brave, like a soldier at the war. And that it was only life that done him in and made a fool of him, like it does us all.

Me fucking husband. You know.

She gets up slowly.

Joe   (singing) ‘Open up the Pearly Gates …’

Country Joe and the Fish.

Gear ould song.

Janet comes towards him gradually.

So I’m lying here on me hospital bed, when who comes in but Janet. She comes creeping in, I seen her, like a kid afraid of its da, like it done something wrong, but she never did do wrong, did she? And I’m lying there, feeling like shit, like maggots was in me brain, and no doubt, friends, looking like the plague, with rats in me skull and the long dreepy shite coming out me nostrils, a holy show if ever there was one.

Fucking hell.

Like the last fucking sinner in the deep part of hell maybe.

She comes in, creeping, in a nice way, drifting in, Janet, all the whole lot of her, looking a bit belted about by life and all, but, you know, herself. And I reckon when she gets to ninety that will still be Janet, just as nice as ever, just as fucking gear. And I’m feeling like shite as I say, but when I seen her, she was like a drug, straight into the old veins like, and such a fucking great ease sank into me, just to see her, because I hadn’t even asked her to come, I was very content with the little letter. And she wasn’t saying a word for the first few moments, only standing there looking at me, like she was trying to get in her head what to say.

Fucking hell.

Janet just by him now.

And then when I hear her voice, it’s like ould music, the best of Thin Lizzy, or something as good as that.

‘Howaya, Joe,’ she says.

‘Howaya,’ I says.

‘Fucking hell,’ says she.

‘That’s just what I was thinking,’ I says. ‘But how and never, how are ya, seriously now?’

‘I never been better till I seen you, Joe. Jesus, Joe, what ha ya done to yourself?’

‘I don’t even fucking know,’ I says. ‘I done meself in, I fucked meself up. I suppose that’s what I done. How are them boys?’

‘The boys are grand, Joe.’

‘The boys are good?’ I says.

‘Oh, yeh,’ she says. ‘They’re grand, they’re only doing great.’

‘They’re not mitchin’ off a’ school or anything?’

‘No, they’re not, they’re good boys. Big boys.’

‘Ah, yeh, sure I knew that, big boys,’ I says.

‘Ah, yeh,’ she says, ‘sure Jack’s going out working next year.’

‘He should try the power station.’

‘What?’ she says.