“This gardener is haunting me. I could not believe it when I saw him at the window.”

“Well, it wasn’t him, was it?”

“No. It wasn’t, but it could have been.”

“Do you take a drink in the middle of the day?”

They went to the Erris Hotel, where Jack was entertained lavishly. At one stage he asked the playwright for his jacket.

“You want my jacket?”

“I do. It looks fierce like one I used to have.”

“And you want it?”

“I’ll give you mine for it,” said Jack.

“Right,” said the playwright, and started to take off his sports jacket as Jack took off his blue shop-coat.

“Keep that on you,” said Manie to her husband. “Can’t you see, it won’t fit?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“That’s a pity,” said the playwright. They toasted each other. “You should be happy. I see they are saying nice things about you in the newspapers, Jack.”

“I have to go to the toilet.”

“He must have something against compliments,” the playwright laughed at his wife.

“I have the runs.”

“Oh dear,” said Manie, and she closed her eyes.

“Can I tell you something in confidence?” Jack said when he returned.

“Yes?”

“I’m thinking of calling it off!” he confided. He came closer. “Did you know they won’t allow me into rehearsals.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“That’s what’s going on now,” he whispered in a self-righteous voice.

“Why?” asked the woman.

“And they’ve refused to accept my changes to the script,” he continued.

“You should tell them to fuck off,” declared the playwright, “and get yourself a solicitor.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do.”

“But there must be some reason,” Manie persevered.

“Say nothing,” Jack suddenly whispered.

“What?”

“That’s him now,” Jack nodded secretively and winked.

“Who?” asked the playwright, looking round anxiously.

“That fucking gardener.”

“And he is actually a little like you,” said Manie in wonder.

“Could you excuse me a moment?” asked Jack.

“Are you off again?”

“I am.”

He went to the public phone in the village, taking with him the correct change. When the girl answered he whispered in a strong Northern accent: “There’s ah bomb in the theatre.”

“What!” screamed the girl.

“A’m telling you nagh, and awl tell yee na more, there’s a bomb set ta go off in five minutes.”

“You must be joking.”

“Fuck, lady, you’ll fucking find out whether I’m joking or not,” he said savagely. “Just say Shamey Coyle rang, OK?”

He replaced the phone. Then he returned and took his place beside the playwright and his wife in the restaurant. There was hilarity in the confidences exchanged. The night ended in confusion.

They drove him home. He found himself lying alone in bed and he thought of her and cursed her: May she not have the memory of the good times.

Jack answered a timid knock at the door of his cottage in his trousers. Daisy was leaping madly on the white road and barking.

“Hello, Jack,” said Bernie Burke. He was pale and blue-lipped.