“I might,” she said, “we’ll have to see.”

“I’m serious,” she said.

“I know.”

“Should I make myself scarce?” interrupted Christopher.

“Oh, no,” said Catherine. “You pair should just sit there and listen to the music. Meanwhile, can I have a vodka?”

“You certainly can,” said Nolan. He levered himself out of the armchair and stood bemused in the middle of the floor. He poured out a small measure and handed it to her. “Cheers!” He rose his drink in the air.

“So you’re going,” she said.

“I heard from Thady,” said Jack. “There’s a berth available.”

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Well, thanks for telling me.”

“You can follow me down.”

“Are you sure we can be together there?” asked Catherine.

“I can’t see why not,” he said.

“And you’ll find a home for us?”

“I will.”

“So that’s it then, I suppose,” she said sadly. She looked over at Christopher Nolan. “He’s deserting me.”

When he woke in the morning he found himself on the bathroom floor. The ex-soldier was asleep on the sofa. Catherine was sitting in a chair in the bedroom. She was wide awake and smoking. He leaned down and kissed her. She didn’t speak. He took the bus to Enniskillen, and from there to Ballina. It was when he had at last passed the musical bridge at Bellacorrick that he knew he was back in Erris.

When Jack set down his bag in Thady’s house and looked out on Mullet it was like he’d just come down the stairs for the first time after a long illness. He spent a few idle days waiting while the boats were re-equipped after the flatfish season ended and before the salmon season began. The first few days of late May he sat on the steps of Thady’s house looking out on the dunes, and he was overwhelmed by simple, selfish things.

It was as if Catherine had never existed. He was glad to have escaped. He felt shamefully free. When he opened the pages he had written in Belfast it was like opening the lid of a coffin. Inside a body was putrefying. He put the pages by for again.

He’d take a cup of tea and step outside. Then he’d lie in his bed in Thady’s house dreading the moment when Thady would return to tell him the hour that they would be casting off from the pier.

He dreamt up outlandish excuses: I’m sick, I can’t, the backs of my legs are fucked, there’s no way I’ll face a day out there. Thady returned near midnight and said nothing. Jack fell into a deep sleep. Next morning at five he found himself stumbling round the dark house in Thady’s wake.

“Keep moving,” said the older man.

“I’m moving,” replied Jack.

“Good man.”