That same day Tom walked in South Main Street with Neck Daly and Deso Furphy, listening to Deso Furphy’s stories about his crazed aunt in Kanturk. Neck Daly went into Barry’s and asked Mrs Barry for a liquorice pipe on tick and Mrs Barry told him to go away before she called the Guards. Most of the other shops were closed because it was the half day. Deso Furphy and Neck Daly were on their way to the promenade to annoy people by throwing pebbles at them from behind the old billiard-hall. If they were caught the Brothers would give them the strap, they said. They were nonchalant, showing off a bit, but once Tom had seen Brother Crotty cuffing Deso Furphy outside the picture house because he’d been annoying Humpy Geehan, and Deso Furphy had cried. ‘Be seeing you,’ they said, one after the other, in the same nonchalant way, and Tom turned into Narrow Lane and went down to the quays. He had to wait for an hour before the ferryboat set off, the ferryman being delayed in the turf accountant’s, and then in Spillane’s.

On the island Tom left his schoolbag in the gate-lodge and took the path to the holy well, since he had nothing else to do before his mother came down from the house. Not far from the abbey ruins he heard voices.

‘God, you’d torment a man!’ Briscoe, the bank porter, was there with the girl from Renehan’s who’d told Tom she said prayers for him. They were lying on the grass by one of the tumbled-down walls, Briscoe with his jacket off. The girl had her arms around his neck, but now and again she pushed at him, telling him to get off. Tom stood where he was, staring at them. The bank porter’s striped brown jacket was lying on the grass. One of his hands had pulled her skirt’ up. ‘Stop that now,’ she said, but he took no notice. He pushed her further back on the grass, and Tom could see his face coming down close to hers and his mouth kissing her. All the time he was continuing to pull at her skirt and she was trying to stop him, even though she had one arm round his neck. As Tom watched, her underclothes were exposed, and then the flesh of her thighs. ‘Ah, go easy now, for God’s sake!’ she cried out.

Tom gasped. He wished Neck Daly and Deso Furphy had come over to the island so that they could see. The girl’s stockings were hanging down her legs, and Briscoe was clumsily undoing the buttons of her blouse, kneeling on her arms so that she couldn’t resist him. ‘God, you have the fine legs,’ he said, his voice thickly slurred, like Drunk Paddy’s when he was shouting at the seagulls. ‘God, you’re great!’