After a starter of orange juice they were served turkey and ham. It had a comforting school-dinner flavour, with its scoops of mash and gelatinous gravy. There was a stampede to the bar before the speeches began. Gerry bought Cushla a drink. So did Harry and Joe. When they were all seated again, the father of the bride rose slowly and cleared his throat. He said how proud he was of his daughter, that she had been a busy, happy wee thing since the day she was born. He said her new husband had better look after her, or he’d be getting a visit. Cushla felt a tear form at the corner of her eye. She had no father. The only man she would ever want was married already. Then she had a vision of Gina as mother of the bride – as full as the Boyne and telling anyone who’d listen that her own wedding dress was three sizes smaller than Cushla’s – and the tear shrank back into the duct. The groom stood next. He said that when he was a child he asked God every night to make sure he married someone good, and that it was a bonus she was beautiful as well. The best man got to his feet and took a sheaf of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. As he began to speak, there was a whirring sound overhead that got louder and louder. Everyone’s head tilted back to look at the ceiling. Then the double doors burst open and boots stomped across the floor. It was the duck squad from earlier, a helicopter hovering over the building to guide their passage. The best man sat down and took a slug of his beer.

Another sound had started at the back that swelled as it travelled through the hall, a rushing hiss. The soldiers passed the top table, each of them stealing a look at the bride, who was resplendent with outrage at the intrusion. They moved between the guests, guns swinging left to right, sometimes knocking the backs of chairs. As he passed Cushla, the squaddie at the rear glanced at her. There was terror in his eyes. Cushla felt her mouth form the word hello, an impulse born of pulling pints for members of the security forces. She lowered her gaze, hoping to God no one had noticed.

A cheer went up as they left. They hadn’t stopped to ID anyone, hadn’t ordered anyone out.

Fucking harassment, so it is, said Joe.

Most of the guests had left their seats for the bar and it was fifteen minutes before the best man stood again and held aloft a crumpled piece of paper. I’ll read the telegrams first, he said. This one is from Derry; it came through the window wrapped round a brick.

Looking well, Lavery, Gerry said.

Ha ha.

He chuckled and offered her another drink, but she insisted on buying a round.