He picked up the package and stood. It’d be dark inside of a couple of hours.

“What’s to stop us doing a bank job or something?”

Ciaran didn’t answer.

“Well, why not? It’s like playing with yourself instead of having a proper ride-”

The other man whirled around and hit him in the shoulder with his fist.

“Give over, for the love of Jases, Finbarr!” He waved the package. “Do you think we’re doing this for entertainment value, is it? You’re such a gobshite sometimes. Here I am, getting you in on this like I used to get you in in London, and look at you-”

“Hey! Don’t fucking preach at me. We’re in it together!”

“Well, don’t you be slagging me about her! And don’t be swilling that stuff on the job either!”

“What job?” He pointed the bottle toward the cottage. “Sure my work is done for today. I can take a drink if I want to. We’re not up to anything tonight. What’s the big deal, so?”

“Just don’t be firing off that gun here.”

“No one can hear us up here, only the birds-”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a bad habit to treat it so casual is what I’m saying.”

“Bad habit! Hah! Look who’s telling me about bad habits!”

He tightened his grip on the package and watched his friend laugh and turn away. Something gave way in him then, and he felt the anger drop out of his chest. They had shared digs together, fallen into taxis pissed together, taken the mail-boat home together. His friend had only started going on the drink lately, really. No girlfriend…

“Well, is she still the holy terror she was the last time?” he heard him ask. If anyone was entitled to take the mickey out of him, it was Finbarr.