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quacks. Miracle makers. We found them in the markets, on the roadsides, at the frontiers. Mebbe it was all the wars and disturbances that brung them out. And mebbe there was them among them that could work true magic and make true miracles come to pass. But poor souls like McNulty sat at their feet while the sun glared down and the bullets rattled and thebayonets stabbed and the bombs fell and the sun blazed down and the skin got scorched and the brain got melted and the heart got broke. This is where McNulty comes from, son. From a mad mad time before your time, from a time of bloody blasted war.”
    He opened my window, lit a cigarette.
    “And I was there as well,” he said. “And for one as old as me it's not so long ago, and it drove us all a little mad and a little sad and left us all with partly broken hearts.”
    He breathed smoke out into the air above the lane. He reached out and stroked my face.
    “Must seem another age to you,” he said.
    “Aye,” I said, and it did: so far away, so long ago.
    The light was falling. I switched the Lourdes light on. I looked down at the black-and-white boys on the beach and in the pines, at the magic men. The photographs were like windows into ancient places. And my dad had been there. He read my thoughts.
    “It'll be different for you,” he said. “You can do anything. You can go anywhere. The world is yours. You're privileged and free.”
    We both turned our faces to the sky.
    “As long as there's no war,” he said. “As long as there's no more of that stupidity.”
    I reached into my pocket and touched the broken heart.
    “Please, God,” I said inside myself. “No more bombs, no more wars.”
    “Please, God,” said Dad. He put the gas mask back into its box, touched Mary's halo, then put his arm around me. “We can't be that stupid. Not again.”

I nearly bumped into him behind the beach café. I was out thinking I'd find Joseph. We nearly hit each other but we swayed apart. He looked at me, then dropped his gaze.
    “Oh,” he said. “It's you.”
    “Aye.”
    He started moving on.
    “Joseph's all right,” I said quickly.
    “Is he?”
    “He likes to be tough, that's all.”
    “Or stupid,” he muttered.
    I took a step toward him.
    “What do you mean?”
    He shrugged. “Nothing.”
    He started to move on again.
    “We'll be going to the same school,” I said.
    “Will we?”
    “Aye. Yes.”
    “Sacred Heart.”
    “Yes.”
    He tapped his foot on the café wall, knocking sand and coal out of his sandals.
    “Me name's Bobby,” I said. “Robert.”
    “Is it?” he said.
    “Yes. And you're Daniel.”
    He rolled his eyes.
    “That's good to know,” he said.
    “I live back there, look. That one.”
    “Do you?”
    “Yes.”
    I was about to tell him where he lived, but I didn't. We looked at each other.
    “Have you been here long?” he said.
    “Forever.”
    “That's long.”
    The pigeons clattered over us.
    “It's OK here,” I said. “Some say it's the back of beyond, but …”
    “That's what my dad says. But he says that's why he likes it. He's thinking about making a book about it.”
    “What kind of book?”
    “Photographs. He says he wants to catch it before it changes.” He regarded me. “Maybe he'll put you in the book.”
    “Me?”
    I tried to imagine a book with me in it. Me playing in the pines with Joseph. Me standing in the sea with Ailsa. Me sitting by the fire with my mam and dad.
    “He's a lecturer,” Daniel said. “He does history of art at the university. My mum does English.” He smiled. “What do your parents do?”
    “Me dad's a fitter in the yard.”
    “The yard?”
    “The shipyard. It's at Blyth. It's a little one for little ships. Little trawlers, tugs, that kind of thing. He's on holiday just now.”
    “And your mum?”
    “Me mam?”
    “Yes.”
    I shrugged.
    “Dunno,” I said. “Looks after us and that.”
    We stood there, like we wondered was there anything else to say. I looked at his striped