She hated when they talked like this. It had begun a couple of years earlier, when the papers carried a story about the ritual killing of sheep on Copeland Island. Then the burnt, dismembered body of a boy had been pulled from the Lagan, and there were whispers of witchcraft and satanism. There was even a rumour that blonde, blue-eyed girls were at risk of being abducted and sacrificed. It was hard to convince the children the stories were nonsense when murder was so commonplace.

What’s that white thing? said Lucia, pointing a toe at the condom.

Jesus, said Cushla, pulling her back.

Gerry clapped his hands. Picnic time, he said. He did another headcount before joining Cushla and Davy on the rug. Davy finished his lunch fast and ran to the swings, taking advantage of the fact that the others were still cross-legged on the grass, eating.

How’s lover boy? said Gerry.

Shut you up.

We live here, Lavery. There are things we can’t do.

That’s intriguing, she said. What kind of stuff does Gerry Devlin want to do that he can’t?

He laughed, a short sarcastic laugh that didn’t sound like him. You’d be surprised.

She took more photographs. A class photo, all the children crowded on the roundabout, limbs thrown wide. Gerry sitting on the blanket. She showed Davy how to take a picture and he walked around the park, snapping at the other children, before replacing the camera in her basket.

They walked back up High Street and mobbed Fidel’s ma’s shop. Cones were doled out as they were ready, and Gerry whistled slowly when Cushla handed over the money. It was many times more than the price of a few Creme Eggs.

I hardly spend my salary, said Cushla, and I owe him.

Davy refused a lift home again – he had made his own way since the social worker visited – but lurked by his desk until the others had left. I hope the bluebell works out for you, miss, he said.

He had seen her pick a flower. She felt herself go red. Thanks, Davy, she said. So do I.

Gina hadn’t dressed again. There was a sharp smell from her. Old urine and stomach acid. Eamonn was in, she said. He had Marian with him.

How is she?

Making a meal of it, complaining of a bad back.

Any wonder. Looking after the girls and doing all that cleaning when she’s pregnant.

Are you saying it’s my fault?

Cushla could almost taste the misery. It was repulsive. She took a cigarette from Gina’s packet and went out to the back garden. She heard the squeak of a door, laboured footsteps along a path. Mr Reid’s face appeared over the fence.

Isn’t it glorious? he said.