The conversation died on Kilmartin's contempt. Minogue resurrected a husk of what had been normality before Kilmartin's savage commentary.

"Wouldn't you like a bit of company in a semi-private room, Jim?"

Kilmartin glared at Minogue.

"I would not. Some fella coughing and spluttering next to me? Or someone with fifteen children from Ballyfermot and they all in visiting and blathering away? I'd as lief be here where it's quiet and I can read in comfort," Kilmartin declared.

He went back to stroking his lip. Minogue acknowledged the defeat of his diversion.

"Well maybe I can come by tomorrow. Will I give you a ring in the morning anyway, would that do?"

Kilmartin's eyes widened suddenly.

"Do that. Yes, would you? This place gives me the willies. It's full of sick people." spacebarthing

"Isn't that near one of your haunts, Matt?" Kathleen asked. Minogue watched his wife fork scrambled egg onto the plates. It was a quarter to eight. Minogue had woken up in the same position he last remembered before falling asleep. He was not sure if he was awake yet.

"Your home ground, like?" she persisted.

"Up near that ruin of a church?" their daughter Iseult added.

"Iseult, would you put down the book and be having your breakfast, love." Kathleen said.

"It says on the back that it can't be put down. 'Very gripping,' it says."

"There's a slim chance that your poor parents might want to hear from you," Minogue murmured. "To see how your life is running along."

"Isn't Daithi out of the bed yet? I thought I heard him stirring," said Kathleen.

"Who cares?" Iseult shot back. She yawned and laid the book face down by her cup.

"Yous should be glad that I'm able to read and amuse myself and still keep yous company," Iseult added moodily.