He won the egg and spoon race. Cushla told him his centre of gravity had been lowered by the bionic running. He almost won the sack race too, but lost his footing a yard from the finish, pitching sideways. He tried to stand, his face contorted in pain. Cushla helped him up, kneeling to lift his foot out of the pillowcase. The ankle was already beginning to swell. That’s a pity, she said. I think you were in line for another medal.

I’m happy enough, miss, he said.

The bell rang. The dinner ladies had made a picnic. She left Davy on the grass surrounded by the rest of the class, who were talking across him. His face hadn’t completely lost its worried look. He knew how temporary their approval was.

She was sorry to see him in pain, but glad of the excuse to drive him home. He held his medals in his hand all the way up the road and through the estate. A man was scrubbing at last year’s paint with a wire brush, dusting the tarmac with dull red, white and blue confetti, in preparation for a fresh coat. On the McGeowns’ wall, TAIGS OUT had been retouched. Another triumphal summer was beginning.

She helped Davy out of the car and linked his arm up the path.

Betty opened the door as they reached the step.

Do you want the good news or the bad news? said Davy.

Give me all of it at once, said Betty.

The bad news is I busted myself in the sack race. The good news is I won two medals. He shook them at her face and hopped into the hall.

Betty asked Cushla in. A draught was coming from an open window. Davy climbed on to the arm of the settee, leaning over his father, the brass in his open palm. I put my head down and ran like the clappers, he was saying. Cushla was so happy to be back in favour she did not mind standing in front of Seamie. The swelling had gone down and one side of his face had fallen, where the eye socket had been cracked. He reminded her of one of those Picassos, where a face had been disassembled and its features redistributed.

Davy played a blinder today, she said.

He’s a good lad, said Seamie.

Cushla congratulated Davy again and said she should leave. At the door she asked Betty how everything was.

The younger two are all right. Our Tommy’s another story. We hardly see him. When we do, he’s swaggering about with a few bob in his pocket, acting the big fella.

Maybe it’s just a phase.

I hope so, said Betty.