Jane is at his funeral. They bring in the coffin. All this takes place in the nanosecond before Mickey (who’d forgotten the time difference) adds, ‘He’s fine.’ He’s fine. Oh, dear God. Actually, Danny is not really fine, but a busted collar bone will mend. Come off a quad bike, that’s all. Was he wearing a helmet at the time? Yeah, course he was, no worries. ‘You are so full of shit, Mickey Martin! You just make him wear a helmet from now on, you hear me? You go out and buy him a helmet, or I will fucking get on a plane and come and tear you limb from limb!’ And more of the same, until finally all pride crumples and she’s sobbing, ‘He’s my boy, Mickey, he’s all I’ve got!’ ‘Yeah, I know, babe. Sorry I scared you. He’s my boy too, eh. He’s a great kid, you’ve done a great job. I’m proud of you.’ ‘I don’t need you to be proud of me. I need you to buy him a fucking helmet!’ ‘I’m on it.’ ‘And make him wear it.’ ‘You bet. Want me to make him wear a frenchie too?
