He looked over the fence and said “This must be the little Dermot that I’ve heard so much about”, and stuck a big farmer’s hand out to me. “And you must be Fabien.”His handshake was like a vice, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Craig stood beside his daddy, a small, crooked smile on his face, and I looked at Dermot and he had a small smile too. I remembered way back to when I was young and visited my granny in an old people’s home in Belfast. There was something in the way Mark had said “What do you say?” told me that maybe they had misjudged us too.