–Vigour!

The Kiernans were only Mister and Missis Kiernan.

–Did their children die? I asked my ma.

–No, she said.—No. They had no children.

–Why didn’t they?

–Oh, God knows, Patrick.

–That’s stupid, I said.

They weren’t old. They both went to work, in his car. She drove it as well. We got into their back when they were at work. It was a corner house; it was easy. The wall was higher because of the corner so we could stay in there for ages and no one would see us. The biggest risk was climbing out and that was brilliant. It was great being second; first was too scary. Your ma could have been walking by with the pram. You weren’t allowed to look first; that was the rule. You had to climb straight and slide over the wall without looking to see if there was anyone there. We were never caught. Missis Kiernan’s knickers were on the line once. I took the pole away and the line dropped closer to us. We grabbed Aidan. We hadn’t said anything but we knew. We made him, we shoved his face into the knickers. He sounded like he was being sick.

–Lucky they’re not dirty ones.

I put the pole back. We took turns. We ran, jumped and headed the knickers. It was brilliant. We did it for ages. We didn’t take them down off the line.

My ma saw the V when we were having our bath on Saturday after tea. Me and Sinbad were in together. She always gave us five minutes to splash. She saw the V. It was nearly faded. Sinbad had one as well.

–What are they? she asked.

–Vs, I said.

–What are they doing there? she asked.

–We just did them, I said.

She made the facecloth real soapy. She held my shoulder while she rubbed the V off. It hurt.

I was in Mister Fitz’s shop getting a half block of icecream. It was Sunday. Ripple icecream. I was to tell Mister Fitz to put it on my ma’s list. That meant she’d pay him on Friday. He wrapped the icecream in the paper he wrapped Vienna rolls in. He folded it up. It was already wet.

–There now, he said.

–Thanks very much, I said.

Missis Kiernan was at the door; she was coming in, her shape was in the door. My face went hot. She was going to see my face and catch me. She’d know.

I got past her. She was going to stop me, going to grab my shoulder. There were people; they were talking on the path. They had newspapers and cartons of cream. They were going to see. Kevin’s ma and da were there. And girls. She was going to catch me and shout.

I crossed the road and went home the wrong side. She knew. Someone had told her. She definitely knew. She was waiting. She’d followed me into the shop to see if I’d go red. She’d seen it. My face was still red; I could feel it. Her hair was longer than my ma’s. It was fatter as well, thicker. Brown. She never said Hello. She never walked to the shops. They always drove and their house was only a bit down the road. He was the only grown man in Barrytown with locks, and he had a moustache as well.

I looked back. Safe; she wasn’t following. I crossed back to our side. She was lovely. She was gorgeous. She was wearing jeans on a Sunday. Maybe she was waiting, for the right moment to catch me.

I whisked the icecream with my spoon till it was soft. I made mountains on it. The ripple was gone. All the icecream had gone pink. I always used a small spoon; it made it last longer. My face went hot again, thinking, not as bad though as earlier. I could hear my blood. I could see me going to the door and Missis Kiernan would be there; she’d want to see my ma and she’d tell her about what I’d done to her knickers, and my da. I could hear the steps. I waited for the bell.

If the bell didn’t ring by the time I’d finished all the icecream she wouldn’t be coming. But I couldn’t rush it. I had to eat it the slow way I always did, always the last one to finish. I was allowed to lick the bowl. The bell didn’t ring at all. I felt like I’d done something; my mission had been accomplished. I waited till my face felt normal again. It was very quiet. I was the only one left at the table with them. I didn’t look at them when I asked.

–Are you allowed to wear jeans on a Sunday?

–No, said my da.

–It depends, said my ma.—Not till after mass anyway.

–No, said my da.

My ma looked at him with a face, like the look she had when she caught us doing something; sadder, though.

–He doesn’t have any jeans, she said.—He’s just asking.

My da said nothing. My ma said nothing.

My ma read books. Mostly at night. She licked her finger when she was coming to the end of her page, then she turned the page; she pulled the corner up with her wet finger. In the mornings I found her book marker, a bit of newspaper, in the book and I counted back the number of pages she’d read the night before. The record was fortytwo.

There was a smell of church off the desks in our school. When I folded my arms and put my head in the hollow, when Henno told us to go asleep, I could smell the same smell as you got off the seats in the church. I loved it. It was spicy and like the ground under a tree. I licked the desk but it just tasted horrible.

Ian McEvoy really went to sleep one day when Henno told us all to go to sleep. Henno was having a chat with Mister Arnold at the door and he told us to fold our arms and go to sleep. That was what always happened when Henno was talking to anyone or reading the paper. Mister Arnold had big locks that nearly met under his chin. He was on the Late Late Show once, singing a song and playing the guitar with another man and two ladies. I was allowed to stay up and watch him. One of the ladies played the guitar as well. She and Mister Arnold were on the outside and the other two were in the middle. They all had the same kind of shirts on but the men had cravats and the ladies didn’t.

–He should stick to the day job, said my da.

My ma told him to shush.

James O’Keefe’s foot tapped the seat of my desk. I shifted my arms so I could lift my head, and looked back at him quickly.

–Gee, he said.—Pass it on.

His head went back into his arms.

I slipped down in my seat so I could reach the seat of Ian McEvoy’s desk. I tapped it. He didn’t move. I did it again. I slipped down further and my foot went past the seat and I hit his leg. He didn’t turn. I sat up properly again and waited, and turned to James O’Keefe.

–McEvoy’s gone asleep.

James O’Keefe bit his jumper to stop himself from laughing. Someone in the class was in big trouble, and it wasn’t him.

We all waited. We shushed each other so we wouldn’t wake Ian McEvoy, even though we weren’t making any noise anyway.

Henno closed the door.

–Sit up now.

We did, quickly; we sat up straight. We looked at Hennessey, to see when he’d see Ian.

We were doing spellings, English ones. Henno had his book out on the desk. He put all our scores and marks into the book and added them up on Fridays, and made us change our places. The best marks sat in the desks along the windows and the worst were put down the back beside the coats. I was usually in the middle somewhere, sometimes near the front. The ones at the back got the hardest spellings; instead of asking them, say, eleven threes, he’d ask them eleven elevens or eleven twelves. If you got put into the last row after the marks were added up it was very hard to get out again, and you were never sent on messages.

–Mediterranean.

–M.e.d.—

–The easy part; continue.

–i.t.—

–Go on.

He was going to get it wrong; it was Liam. He usually sat behind me or in the row beside me nearer the coats, but he’d got ten out of ten in sums on Thursday so he was sitting in front of me, in front of Ian McEvoy. I only got six out of ten in the sums test because Richard Shiels wouldn’t let me have a look in his copy, but I gave him a dead leg later for it.