Did you hear me? I said you’ve got the warpaint on.

We’re on our way to a party.

Is your boyfriend on a promise?

No.

A few feet away, Gerry was facing a brick wall, his hands behind his ears, the scene lit by a streetlamp and the wink of his hazard lights. To his right and left, premises on the row were closed and caged by metal, apart from a chip shop a few doors up, THE RITZ in large red letters on its cracked sign. A length of loose guttering was drooling thick, rusty liquid on to his forehead. He lifted a hand to wipe it away and the soldier tapped his elbow with the butt of the gun.

You’re teasing him, then.

No.

You’re a prick-tease.

She remembered a recruitment advertisement she had seen in a magazine. If you’ve got it in you, the army will bring it out.

On the footpath, the first soldier nudged Gerry with the butt of the gun again and Cushla opened her mouth to object, but Gerry was walking towards the car, his gait jerky, mechanical, blinking rapidly. He sat in the driver’s seat wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Cushla took a tissue from her handbag and passed it to him. He blotted his face, hand trembling, and drove off slowly. What did he say to you? he said.

Nothing much. Shite talk.

The road climbed up towards the Cave Hill. He turned left and eventually parked outside a semi-detached house with a bay window. Music and laughter were coming from inside. A woman answered the door. She was pregnant, full milky breasts swelling from a lilac empire-line dress. There was a tray of sandwiches in her hand that were curled at the edges. What in God’s name happened you? she said.

Don’t ask.

She told Gerry to clean himself up and sent Cushla to the sitting room. There was a lava lamp on in a corner, red candles burning in the sort of brass candlesticks old people used when someone died. Carly Simon was playing on the stereo. There were girls draped over the arms of chairs, men standing about holding bottles of beer. A couple of people smiled at her. She stood at the edge of them, wishing Gerry would hurry up. After what felt like an hour, he reappeared, hair wet and combed forward. His attempt at removing the stain from his shirt had left an apricot-coloured blot. He looked as though he was coming towards her but made a detour to two men who were by the fireplace. He began talking animatedly, lifting the shirt off his skin with his thumbs and index fingers, looking down at himself. Cushla crossed the room to them.

Oh, he said, as if he had forgotten he had brought her. This is Cushla.

His friends were called Harry and Joe.

Youse got pulled over, Joe said.

Bastards, Harry said, in a Derry accent.

I teach in St Finbar’s, said Joe. The soldiers lie in front gardens training guns on the boys when they’re going home from school.