'All right, Patrick,' he says. 'See you later.'

'Bye now,' says Flindall.

They ask me nothing, not interested in who I'm meeting, where I've got to go.

I go down the main street and cross over to the cafe. My heart's beating pretty fast, but I'm ready now, and I'm keen to see her again.

I go in, and there's a different waitress. She's about fifty and she's wearing a dirty ap.r.o.n. I sit and order a coffee.

The coffee comes, but there's still no sign of the other waitress.

The new waitress asks if I want anything to eat. 'No, thanks.'

I get up to pay the bill before I've finished the coffee.

'I was wondering where the other waitress is,' I say.

'She's taking a few hours off.'

'Right. What time does she come back?'

'She'll be back in the morning.'

I nod.

'Do you want to leave a message?'

'No. I'll come back tomorrow.'

I go round to the pub behind the station and stand at the bar and drink another whisky, but my mood doesn't go back up to where it was when I was first chatting to the freckled girl or crossing the road to see the waitress.

The two women in here are too old and dried up from the f.a.gs and booze and their voices are sharp and loud.

I speak to n.o.body and drink for an hour, walk back to the house, go in quietly, straight up the stairs to my room.

I'm in bed and near sleep when they come crashing through the door. I've forgotten to put the latch on.

I sit up, pull the sheet over my chest, try to make my face look more awake.

'He's in the b.l.o.o.d.y bed,' says Flindall.

They've switched the light on.

'Come down with us to the sitting room and have some more beer,' says Welkin.

'You could've knocked,' I say.

'Dead right,' says Welkin. 'But Flindall couldn't find the knocker.'

'Turn the light off,' I say.

'It was already on,' says Flindall.

'What time is it?'

'Half-eleven.'

'I might give it a miss,' I say.

'We absolutely forbid you from staying alone in your cot,' says Welkin. 'You can't go to bed before midnight. It's obscene.'

'The very opposite of supreme,' says Flindall.

'Supreme's enemy,' says Welkin.

I'll not get back to sleep now.

'What've you got to drink?' I say.

'Three bottles of beer.'

'One each,' says Flindall. 'Come on,' says Welkin. 'Have a beer with us.'

I get out of bed and they watch me put my shirt and trousers on.

We go down.

Welkin takes the settee and Flindall sits in the armchair facing him.

I sit in the second armchair, between them.

Welkin and Flindall are p.i.s.sed and talking s.h.i.te and there's a load of in-jokes about mutual friends from college and the more exciting stuff that's going on down in London.

I'm d.a.m.ned sick of being counted out of the London talk, but I know a man's got to show he can stomach being cut out and I can't say I'm going back to my room.

When I was a kid I stayed for a night at Daniel's house. Geoff was there too. There were two single beds, one of them a foldaway that his mother had wheeled in, and when it was time to sleep Daniel said, 'You have to choose, Patrick. Who do you want to sleep with?'

'I think I'll go home,' I said.

They laughed at me.

'Just choose where you want to sleep,' said Daniel.

I chose Geoff, but once I'd made my decision he didn't seem sure he wanted me to share with him. He looked at the floor as though that's where I should go but I stripped down to my underpants and got into bed with him, my head near his toes, and he turned to face the wall and had nothing more to say to me.

Welkin and Flindall are still talking about London and their college days and I go on trying to add to the general thrust, but the beer's run out, my tongue's tied. I can't get back in. I've no choice but to clear out.

'I think I'll hit the sack now,' I say.

They don't protest.

Welkin escorts me to the door.

'What happened to your mother?' he says. 'We thought she'd be here for dinner tonight.'

'She wasn't feeling well.'

'That's no good,' he says. 'I was looking forward to a few more blood 'n' guts hospital stories.'

'She'll be all right,' I say.

'Good,' he says. 'Perhaps she'll come another time. She's a handsome woman.'

'A d.a.m.ned sight more handsome than yours,' says Flindall.

'Not that you'd know,' says Welkin. 'She's not ever followed me here, has she?'

Welkin laughs without opening his mouth. I don't laugh.

'Thanks for the beer,' I say.

'Don't mention it,' says Welkin.

When he says this, the way he says it, it's as though he's my friend, as though he wants me to stay, as though he likes me.

I get into bed and close my eyes but I won't sleep till they've finished.

About a half-hour's gone when they come up the stairs.

They stop outside my door, the two of them there, silent, as though waiting for something.

I get up, put my trousers on, turn on the light. I'm ready for them. When they come, I'll ask them what the h.e.l.l they think they're playing at.

But they don't bother me.

They go to Welkin's room.

I get into bed and try for sleep, but can't. They've got more booze in there and the two of them are laughing and shouting.

If Bridget's home, they'll have woken her.

I dress and go out to the hall and knock on Welkin's door.

He answers. 'h.e.l.lo, Par-trick.'

'You're making an awful racket,' I tell him.

He says nothing and this makes me say more than I've wanted.

'I don't mind if you have a bit of fun, but I have to get up for work tomorrow.'

He laughs through clenched teeth. 'Tomorrow's Sunday.'

'Right.'

He smiles. 'Why don't you join us?'

'I'd rather not,' I say.

'Come on. Have some fun. Relax for once.'

f.u.c.k you.

I go back to my room, slam the door so hard it ricochets open and I've got to slam it a second time. A few minutes later, there's silence.

It worked.

They've shut up.

I've shut them up.

I sleep a good sleep.

7.

I've woken at half-six.

At home, I used to sometimes wake at dawn and listen to the first bus pull up outside my window. I'd daydream about getting on board with that airport mood I had when I went to Dublin with my gran, with my bags all packed and ready to go, but now I've got on a bus with my bags all packed, I don't bother with that line of thought. It's not something worth imagining any more.

I go down for breakfast.

Bridget's setting the tables.

'Good morning,' I say.

'Morning.'

I sit at the table under the open bay window and listen to the sea, the gulls squealing.

'It'll have to be a cold breakfast,' she says.