He left the table and went to the stereo to flip the record. Cushla sat on, wondering if she had misread him. They spent so much time alone it felt as though she could say anything, but maybe she couldn’t. Had she sounded needy or clingy? If she wasn’t here she would be at home with her mother, but there were lots of places Michael could be. He had friends, money. A family.

He came back with his pipe and began packing it. I liked you before Iris Murdoch, he said.

I need details, Michael.

He lit the tobacco and told her between puffs that he had liked how she stalked into the pub with a dirty big cross on her forehead. That he liked that she hadn’t looked away when she caught him watching her in the mirror. That he liked her in the Lyric, when she was standing by the ledge, trying to look nonchalant. That he especially liked that she cried when he mentioned her father. That he loved her.

If you’re saying that you’d better mean it, she said.

I do. You’re supposed to say it back.

Another time. I’ve been doing all the running.

They fucked for a while on the chair and then on the sofa, the sound of a petrol lawnmower and the herby smell of cut grass coming through the open window. A door slammed somewhere, a woman’s voice called out. His breath changed and he pushed into her harder, like he did when they were in his car and headlights from another vehicle lit up their bodies for a moment, as if it excited him that they might be caught. Another noise from outside, wheels crunching over gravel, and he eased her off him and rolled to his feet. Cushla got up and backed towards the kitchen, smoothing her hair and skirt.

Michael was by the window, holding his trousers up with one hand.

Who is it? she said.

I don’t know. A car reversed in and took off again.

Did you recognise it?

No. It was one of those drab makes you aren’t supposed to remember, he said, fastening his clothes. He poured himself a whiskey and drank it by the window, looking down on his quiet road.

14

14

The UDA have claimed responsibility for the murder on Monday of a Protestant man who was working on a railway line near Donegall Road. His Catholic workmate was the intended target.

Today is the first anniversary of the start of the Ulster Workers’ Council strike.

Mud are number one, said Zoe. She was wearing a turquoise jumper threaded with sparkles, a ‘Love Is …’ motif printed on it. Some of the other girls were in party dresses. Cushla began the usual routine of sums and spellings, but the children were skittery. The police were coming to the school to put on a disco for them.