The barman grunted and slowly pulled two pints. Alfie picked up the glasses and carried them over to a table on the far side of the room, away from the big window at the front.

‘There you go, Tom. Get stuck in to that.’

Tommy sipped at the drink and had to stop himself from pulling a face. He’d snatched swigs of beer before, whenever there had been parties at home – the last time had been for little Ellen’s christening. He didn’t mind the stuff Danny got in bottles. This wasn’t as nice, it was bitter and smelt odd, but Alfie seemed to like it. He was smiling broadly, though Tommy couldn’t make out what he was so happy about.

Alfie began by cross-examining Tommy about every aspect of the job – the bike, the PT beforehand, the bosses, the other telegraph boys, what it was like to be the bearer of bad news. He seemed sympathetic enough, and Tommy began to grow more at ease. The beer was slipping down nicely. ‘Tom, what a thirst you have on you,’ Alfie observed. ‘Must be all that cycling around. I’ll get you another.’ He was back at the bar before Tommy could object. Never mind, it was warm in here, even if the floor was a bit sticky.

Alfie put the fresh pint in front of him and carried on with his questions. Tommy’s answers grew longer and more rambling. Alfie didn’t seem to mind. ‘And how are things at home now?’ he wondered. ‘Settled back in, have you?’

‘It’s nice,’ said Tommy. ‘A bit quiet. Kitty’s always at work.’

‘And what about Danny?’ asked Alfie innocently.

‘Oh, he’s on some course thing,’ said Tommy. Didn’t Alfie already know that? Half of Bootle seemed to. ‘He’s off staying in an old house somewhere down south. So it’s even quieter.’

‘Must be a bit on the slow side for a young fellow like you,’ Alfie sympathised.

Tommy shrugged.

‘It’s just you and Kitty there, then. I’d be bored if I were you.’ Alfie took a swig of his drink, which didn’t seem to be going down very quickly.

‘S’all right,’ Tommy said, and burped loudly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Good job Kitty wasn’t here to see him.

‘Her boyfriend doesn’t come round often, then?’ Alfie asked.

‘Boyfriend?’ Tommy looked at him, puzzled. ‘No, you got that wrong. Kitty hasn’t got a boyfriend.’

‘Oh,’ said Alfie, keeping any emotion from his voice. ‘My mistake. Only a while back in town one night, I thought she was meeting what’s-his-name, used to live near you.’ He drummed his fingers on the table, as if trying to remember. ‘Frank. Frank Feeny.’

Tommy laughed and spilt some of his beer. ‘Oh, no, you got that very wrong. He’s not her boyfriend.’

‘No?’ Alfie looked doubtful. ‘They seemed very friendly.’