142
"I'm going out.” It was an announcement; no one would stop him.
"Well, don't go killing yourself trailing around the streets,”
said his father, breaking off in the midst of a dissertation on
the treatment of Ulster by the Westminster governnment. ”Y No wonder
a pair of shoes never lasts long on your feet.”
Kevin walked out.
"Be careful, Kevin,” Brede called after him.
"Albert, they can send the whole of the Biritish army over here
and it'll not solve a thing,” said Mr McCoy.
"Aye, you're right, Pete, you're right.”
"Da, I think I'm worried about Kevin,” said Brede.
"Sure you're always worrying about something. Just like your
mother.”
"But I think he's away out to get the one that framed him.”
Mr McCoy turned in his seat. "Kate MaloneKelly?"
"Not her.”
"Who then? Does/he know who put that box in the yard?”
Brede shrugged. Her face flushed. She went to the sink to start
the washing up.
"Do you know, Brede?” demanded her father.
"Me? How would I know?” she asked. "I'll just go and take a look
for the milkman.”
She went to the front door and stoodout on to the pavement. Kevin was
going slowly down the street, sauntering almost, like one who had
nothing/in particular to do. As he drew level with the Raffertys'
