Below, the vacuum cleaner roared to life. Gina was permanently sozzled, but she wasn’t stupid. As for Eamonn … if he got even an inkling that Cushla was sleeping with a customer, let alone a married one, there would be hell to pay. She stripped to her underwear and got into bed. As Gina bashed the Hoover against the skirting boards, Cushla thought of all the mornings that had led to this one: waking alone, making her mother’s breakfast, going to school in her dowdy clothes. The way Michael had looked at her earlier when she took him in; as if he might devour her. She drew back the covers and examined her body, to see what he had seen. The slight dip of her belly, the breasts that were neither big nor small. She put her hand inside her knickers and pushed her pelvis into the mattress, using her thumb like he had. She came quickly and lay looking at the ceiling, feeling as if she had woken somewhere very far away.

9

9

The body of a man was found off the Shore Road by a woman out walking her dog.

I wouldn’t thank you for a dog, said Gina. You’d be odds-on to find a corpse.

Sporting fixtures around the island have been postponed due to inclement weather, including tomorrow’s Irish Grand National.

Cushla switched off the radio. Her earliest memory was of looking through the railings at Fairyhouse Races on Easter Monday. They were so close to the post that clods of earth flew up as the horses passed, flaying her cheeks and new blue coat. Her father carried her into the bar on his shoulders, proclaiming her the winner. She glanced at Gina, who was blinking as though trying not to cry.

Are you ready? said Cushla.

Aye. But I’m not a hundred per cent today, said Gina. She was a hundred per cent hungover, eyeballs juicy, the skin around them puckered. They had been avoiding each other since the fight the previous morning, Cushla discomfited by the knowing way with which her mother now regarded her, Gina furious not to have received an explanation.

There was a line of blue on the horizon weighed down by dirty cloud. A biting wind had come up. Gina teetered down the driveway and arranged herself haughtily in the passenger seat. Cushla’s father had driven cars with slippy leather seats and walnut dashboards. They suited Gina better than Cushla’s did.

Cushla put the Easter eggs they had bought for the McGeowns on the back ledge. As she straightened herself Fidel came loping up the driveway, a plastic carrier bag under his arm.

Happy Easter, he said, dipping his knees to wave in the window at Gina. There were flecks of white matter in his beard, dandruff or food. He offered Cushla the bag.

What’s this? she said.