At this stage I don’t believe a word I say. When you phone me or pick me up or come into the bar, I know you want me. The rest of the time I don’t know what to think. Who were the others, out of interest? Marjorie, of course.

Please don’t.

Am I the first Taig? I bet you I am. Does it make you feel better about yourself? That you’re doing it for the sake of community relations. And why do your friends not care? How little they must think of your wife that they scarcely bat an eyelid when you parade me about.

Do you really want to have this conversation? he said, slamming his glass on the table.

Yeah. I do. She could feel her throat closing.

Are you sure? Because I would counter that this attack of conscience has been triggered by the realisation that you are not the only woman I’ve been with outside of my marriage, rather than any concern for my wife’s dignity.

Fuck off, she said, rising from the chair.

He passed a hand over his face. That was out of order, he said. I’m sorry. Please sit down.

She stayed on her feet. He seemed diminished, like he had in the hotel. It was true, what he’d said. She hadn’t cared that he was married. If anything, it had begun to turn her on.

Do you want to stop seeing me? he said.

No, God help me. I don’t.

It will be hell unless you can overlook my circumstances.

This is going to end really badly, isn’t it?

It doesn’t have to.

He poured the tea and told her she could stay more often, move in if she wanted. That there were lots of things they could do. There was a cottage in Donegal he took sometimes; they could go at the end of the summer, when you could see God in the skies. They could go to Amsterdam or Barcelona. She thought of all the things they wouldn’t do. Remember this, she told herself. Remember that you made plans.

At first she thought she was the butt of some joke and looked sharply along the counter, but the others were watching the television. Why are you smiling? she asked Eamonn.

I’m pleased to see you.

Aye right. You’re still feeling guilty about Sunday. What do you need done? said Cushla.

Just throw out a few pints and keep me company.

Minty was doing an impression of Frank Spencer. Fidel said he was actually doing an impression of Mike Yarwood doing an impression of Frank Spencer. Leslie, clearly on his fourth pint, was saying ‘very good’ (it sounded like ‘farry’ good).

I’m missing my daughters growing up because of these eejits, said Eamonn.

You love it.

They’re a good laugh, he said.