They drank their pints and dandered along the Millbay road the seven miles from the graveyard to Brown's Bay.

It was pleasant walking along the single lane B90 and then the Brown's Bay Road.

When they got back to the Pavee camp a tall Pavee kid with blond hair took Donal by the arm and led him away for a barney.

Killian watched them with a growing sense of concern and sure enough when the parley was over Donal's face told him something was up.

"What?" Killian asked nervously.

"A man came taking photographs, asking questions," Donal explained.

"s.h.i.te. Did he have any accent? Was he Russian?"

"No. Irish guy. Short, with black curly hair, gla.s.ses."

Killian shook his head. It didn't ring any bells.

"He said he was a tourist but everyone gave him the runaround anyway, acting thick, pretending not to speak English."

"Could he have been a tourist?"

"Maybe. Probably not though. Almost certainly the DSS, the benefit fraud people, they're always snooping around."

"What are you going to do?"

Donal sighed. "Nothing for it. Better safe than sorry. It's a nice spot here, but it's probably time for us to move."

"When?"

"First thing in the morning."

"Where do you think you'll go?"

"Probably Lough Sw.i.l.l.y in Donegal, we haven't been there for ages and there's fishing and we can get into Derry to sign on."

Killian nodded. "Is it okay if we tag along? Just for a couple more days. Our wee difficulty is - hopefully - in the process of getting itself sorted out."

Donal shook his head. "Mate, look, you're family, what's ours is yours. Stay as long or as little as you like, okay?"

"Okay," Killian said.

They walked through the horse field and Donal gave sugar lumps to a couple of favourites and Killian tried to remember the last time he had ridden a horse. Eighty-six? Eighty-seven?

When they got back to camp they found that a tent had been rigged between the two lines of caravans for the ceilidh.

"See, you couldn't have escaped work today even if you hadn't come with me," Donal said.

The ice-cream van had appeared again and sausages and hamburgers, clams and lobsters were grilling on a barbecue pit.

"Listen, I better go tell the lads we're heading out tomorrow, I'll see you later, okay?"

Killian returned to his caravan.

The girls were there and he said h.e.l.lo.

"We're having a party tonight! A cay-lee," Sue informed him. Her face was painted to look like a cat.

"That's great," Killian said.

Claire was holding a tambourine. "They're letting me play the tambourine," she said excitedly.

"Can you play anything, Mr Killian?" Sue asked.

"I'm afraid not, I can't even whistle," Killian told her.

Rachel kissed him on the cheek. "That's a shame, Mr Killian, I suppose it will be my chance alone to shine," she said mysteriously.

"Oh, really? Why, what do you play?" Killian asked.

"Yeah Mum, what do you play?" Sue asked.

Rachel touched her nose. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

"Well, I better go shower, I can't go anywhere looking and smelling like this," Killian said.

"Wait a minute, the girls have been asking me about knives," said Rachel.

"Yeah Mum, we want knives," Sue exclaimed and even Claire nodded.

"I'll see what I can do to rustle up a pair," Killian said.

Rachel shook her head. "No, you don't understand - I want you to talk them out of it. Knives are dangerous."

"All Pavee kids have knives, they're not dangerous if you know what to do. I'll ask Donal to get one of the older kids to show them the ropes."

Rachel folded her arms.

"Come on, Mum," Sue insisted.

"It's a spiritual thing with us," Killian explained. "Iron from the heart of a sun, turned into an blade which is an extension of your hand."

Killian pointed at the leafy deciduous woods on the hills of Islandmagee. "With a knife you could live out there indefinitely. You need to learn how to use it. You need the woodcraft. It's important stuff. As important as letters in your world. My dad made my first knife on a forge. The hand is the cutting edge of the mind."

Rachel wasn't completely convinced. Still keeping her arms folded she turned to the girls and muttered: "We'll see."

Killian excused himself and went into the caravan's tiny but extremely well-designed bathroom. He stripped off his dirty clothes and put them in the laundry basket that hung on the wall.

He turned on the shower, set it for cold and got in. Under the water he rubbed the stiffness out of his joints and the dirt off his skin. Washing away the black muck of the surrounding country. He opened his mouth and drank the water. It was fresh and good. Brown's Bay had a freshwater well. He wondered if the Lough Sw.i.l.l.y site would be so well set up.

Probably not, but at least Donegal was a good bit further away...

He turned off the water and grabbed for a towel. He looked on the rack but all the towels were out there on the washing line.

"This is all your fault," he told the reflection. "Poor planning."

He smoothed out his black hair with his hand and tried to dry his legs and chest with a facecloth.

"Come on!" Rachel shouted. "It's starting."

"I'll see you out there."

He lifted a T-shirt and dried himself with that and then put on some more of what must be Donal's clothes. Blue jeans, yellow socks, sneakers and a hoodie that had one of the guys from The Big Lebowski on it.

He tided the caravan and before stepping into the world stopped to look at the barometer on the wall. For some reason, almost every tinker in his clan had a barometer gla.s.s in their caravan, as if being able to predict the weather was an essential part of being Pavee. The hand dial on Donal's barometer was pointed at STORM. The sky was telling a completely different story, but somehow that seemed about right.

When he got outside he was surprised to find that the sun had set over the water and pink fairy lights had been strung between the caravans.

A ceilidh band had formed, with Donal on the accordion and a.s.sorted others on fiddle, bodhran and mandolin.

A posse of kids were dancing like lilties on the gra.s.s as the tune switched from "Ghost Riders in the Sky" to "Whiskey in the Jar" to "Waltzing Matilda".

Rachel was nowhere to be seen, but Katie found him in the throng and gave him a hamburger and a can of Harp. Katie was wearing emerald earrings of such Celtic Twilight gaudiness that they could only have come from a safety deposit bank job of the seventies.

"Do you still not dance ya big hallion?" she asked him.

He laughed and shook his head. "I never picked it up," he said.

"There's nothing to pick up, you just go for it," Katie said.

"I'm too afeard of looking like an eejit," said Killian.

"Honey child it's too late for that," Katie laughed.

"Hey!" Killian protested.

"Oh, I wired the money to Karen. She was thrilled to bits. She was asking a million questions about you."

"What did you say?"

"I told her you were an international man of mystery."

"That sums it up nicely."

"Well, I'm away so I am," she said and grabbed a fourteen-year-old kid and wheeled him into the throng.

After three more songs and a round of poteen almost everyone was dancing. Killian got another burger and another beer and walked a little bit away and sat on a dune and watched them.

Was it only a fortnight ago that he was worrying about his houses and his term paper at UU? How silly. How trivial. Where he was from money and property weren't things to be worshipped.

He lit a cigarette and lay back on the marram gra.s.s.

More songs.

More dances.

The meditating sea.

The cool sedge.

Music rippling in the night air.

Killian saw Tommy Trainer carrying a double ba.s.s.

"How do you get that thing under your chin?" he asked.

"Hilarious and original. Listen mate, you better get over there sharpish, your bird's up next," Tommy said.

Killian followed Tommy back to the camp.

Tommy set up his double ba.s.s next to a solitary fiddle player. The dancing area was cleared and people were sitting in a semicircle.

There was an expectant lull before Rachel came out in a long golden red dress. Her hair was curled and had daisies in it. She sat on a stool and when the violin played an A she sang as haunting a version of "She Moved Through The Fair" as he had ever heard. Her voice was elfin, haunting, old, as if she was an eyewitness to the events in the song.

She finished the final chorus and the hush of the crowd was followed by applause.

Donal stepped into the jerry-rigged spotlight.

"Okay folks, sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but we've an early start in the morning, so finish your drinks and get the weans to their cots after one more round of 'The Star of the County Down'."

The crowd groaned and heckled but after the "County Down" finished they did as he said.

Killian found Rachel and kissed her.

"You were wonderful," he said.

"Ten years training, so I'd better be. Me da's money wasn't completely wasted," she replied.

"No, it wasn't," he agreed and kissed her again.

The girls were exhausted and went to bed without a fight.

They shared a cigarette on the deckchairs outside.

"I like it here," Rachel said.

"Me too," Killian agreed.

Rachel stared at him and smiled. "What was that look?"