Cushla arranged the materials as she had found them and went looking for cigarettes. There was a box on the mantelpiece. She went back to the table and stood by the window, smoking. Ottilie was singing ‘Shipwreck Blues’, her voice heavy with portent. It was not yet dark, but the nearest working streetlamp was a few doors up and the dusk seemed impenetrable. Cushla drew the curtains, suddenly aware that looking at the illuminated window from outside was like watching television. The papers and books and whiskey, which had seemed like clutter, had taken on a menace. The record finished. She lit another cigarette and sat on his chair, sipping from his glass. The fridge shuddered, startling her, and she went to the turntable and lowered the needle again. His key turned in the lock. She rushed to him. There was a bomb, she said. Where were you?

A new play opened in the Lyric. We Do It for Love, it’s called. It was great, from the little I saw of it. A car exploded outside the theatre. He took the drink from her hand and threw it into himself. Look at you, he said.

Stop. I knew something had happened to you.

Nothing happened to me.

I passed hundreds of windows and yours is the only one with open curtains. You’re careless. You’ve just been in a bomb and you’re not even rattled.

Rattled? I’m fucking raging, he said; it was the first time she had heard him swear. I walked back from the theatre thinking how terrible things are here. That nothing is sacred. That I was walking into an empty flat. But here you are. Playing Ottilie and looking wanton.

Tell me you’ll be careful.

I went to see a play, Cushla. Not exactly living dangerously.

I’ve seen what you do for a living, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t.

He sat at the table and pulled her on to his knee. You’ve got a bony arse, he said, dandling her like an infant until he found a position that was comfortable. How was the wedding?

The army raided the reception, she said, smoothing his hair. She placed her hand under his chin and tilted his face to hers. As she prepared to kiss him he drew back.

Close your eyes, he said.

She lowered her lids, then remembered the eyeshadow and opened them wide. Oh yeah, she said. I’m asserting my identity. Fidel and the boys are going to love it.