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kitchen, where Janet is making bread, he pours himself tea from the kettle on the stove, cuts himself a heel of bread and sits to eat and drink. When Brennan left eight years ago, Janet was adult to his child: a different generation. Now he sees his aunt more as an equal — much younger and more full of fun than his mother. It is difficultto call her Auntie. Slowly, for his own tongue is not sharp like hers, he stumbles through an explanation: his note to his parents; his desire to come back and work on the Hill. His feeling for the coal business.
    Janet narrows her eyes. ‘Oh yes, mining, is it?’
    ‘It is,’ says Brennan earnestly. ‘I want to work with my hands for a change.’
    ‘A certain colourful Rose is not part of the attraction, then?’
    Brennan dares to grin. Janet hoots with laughter and slaps him on the back.
    ‘You sneaky devil! After all these years? Well now, Mr Lovesick, and what about that golden cockerel Michael Hanratty? Your one-time feckin’ “best friend”? What about him, then?’
    Brennan frowns. Clearly Janet is not over-fond of Michael. But this is an uncomfortable area for Brennan.
    ‘What about him?’ he says.
    ‘You saw him at the concert. His proposal. He is a Denniston lad like her. Everyone expects it, Brenny-boy.’
    Brennan swallows his tea, then looks up at her. ‘Ay, but did you see Rose when I played?’
    ‘I did not.’
    Brennan’s serious face is now alight. ‘I played for her , every note. Every note! She knew it; she loved it. She never took her eyes off me, beginning to end.’
    ‘Oh, Bren — she loved your music ! Everyone does.’ Brennan frowns and thinks about this.
    Rose is too sharp for our plodder here, thinks Janet. He would never manage her.
    ‘No, but,’ says Brennan finally, ‘not just the music. We talked before that. She is happy to see me. Really happy. Oh!’ He blushes like the little boy Janet remembers. ‘I kissed her!’ His eyes are confident and proud.
    ‘Bravo and all! She kissed you back, then?’ This role as confidante is hugely entertaining to Janet.
    ‘Well, she laughed and ducked away. But that is Rose.’
    ‘Oho, and you are the one-day expert on Rose?’
    ‘No, but listen — she squeezed my hand. That must mean something?’
    ‘Surely,’ laughs Janet. But she knows, better than Brennan, Rose’s reputation, and fears for him. She sighs. Plants her floury hands on the table in front of him. ‘Now then. What about your mother? She is not happy.’
    Brennan looks away. ‘I left her a note.’
    ‘A note! Words spoken to her face would be the bold action.’
    Janet watches as the proud young man turns boy again. Brennan squirms in his chair, reduces his crust to crumbs, then sweeps them back and forth on the table. His mouth turns down like a sulky child’s. Janet wonders if he is going to cry. Oh yes — here is a boy who needs to get away from his mother. When Brennan finally looks up there is indeed an extra brightness to his black eyes.
    ‘She has such plans for me, Auntie Janet. I’ll never make a half of them. All I’ve ever done since I left here is study books and study music. She thinks I will fight for mighty causes like her and Dad; be an important politician, or maybe an important musician. But I’m not like them. I’ll never change the world and I don’t want to. Why can’t she see that? I’ll be good enough at something. That’ll do me.’ He lowers his head into his hands and mutters something.
    ‘Come on, spit it all out,’ says Janet.
    ‘I’m afraid to talk to her. She’s better at arguing than me. She’ll win.’
    ‘And your dad?’
    ‘She’s better than him too.’
    Janet laughs at his long face. Her sister-in-law is certainly on the dragon side of the table. The lad seems to have made the break; let him have his chance. Janet is proud to live on the Hill, and pleased that Brennan has chosen to come back. She plants a floury finger on his nose, dabs a white smudge on each cheek as if