Gina was in the hall, hands clasped. She had taken to hovering by the doors and windows to better monitor Cushla’s movements.

You’re standing there like one of the von Trapp children, said Cushla, putting her basket beside the phone. As if you’re about to burst into song.

Gina placed her hands on her hips and tilted forward, louring. Were you crying? she said.

Seamie McGeown got out of hospital today. Mummy, you should see the state of him. His hands haven’t healed. I nearly touched them, said Cushla.

I hope you didn’t gurn in front of him.

No! But it was upsetting.

Dear Jesus, but I wouldn’t send you for the midwife.

The phone began to ring, startling them both. Cushla reached for it, but Gina had grabbed it first and was calling out their number in her telephone voice. She made a face and handed Cushla the receiver. It’s that wee Gerry fella, she said.

Cushla stared her mother down until she went into the kitchen. Fuck’s sake, she said as she put the phone to her ear.

Delightful language. And does Gerry know your mother refers to him as ‘that wee fella’?

It’s you.

Come tonight.

She opened her mouth to say yes but stopped. She would have to change, dress up in a way that looked like she hadn’t dressed up – which was harder than actually getting dressed up – think of an excuse to make to Gina. I’m knackered, she said. Today was weird and I need a quiet night.

Bad weird?

Not great, she said, tears streaming again. She sniffed, making a wet snattery sound.

Oh, Cushla. What is it?

There was such tenderness in his voice she let out a whimper. I can’t talk now, she said.

Let me look after you.

Upstairs, she threw a change of underwear into a bag and sat on the stool in front of her dressing table, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She was overcome with a feeling of utter defeat. She wanted to lie on her bed and sleep, but had been unable to say no to him. It wasn’t because he had been kind to her. It was because each time she saw him she was afraid it would be the last time.

Crying made her completely unpresentable, and now her eyes were bloodshot, her nose pink and swollen. She dabbed on some foundation to conceal the worst of the blotches and reapplied mascara, but it just made her look as though she was having an allergic reaction. She ran downstairs to the kitchen, where Gina was standing by the open fridge.

I forgot I’d promised to go to something with Gerry, said Cushla.

But I got in a couple of wee steaks. I was going to make chips.

Maybe we can have them tomorrow night?

All right, said Gina.