Catherine did not answer. She reached for her bag, lit a cigarette and held it far from her with her left hand. The heel of her palm pressed against the table. She studied the cigarette as she blew smoke purposefully from her nose. Lights along the wall came on. Sara spoke, and again Catherine noticed the disturbing actorly lilt. Catherine waited for the words to make sense, but they didn’t, and while she tried to focus on their meaning other words came too soon for her to follow. She got up and went to the toilet. When she got back Sara had another round of drinks on the table and had gone into a provocative silence.

“We had a few pleasant weeks being sober,” said Catherine.

“People who can’t hold their drink,” said Sara, looking ahead of her, “are a bore.”

“I,” said Catherine, “am worse than him.”

Said Sara distastefully: “Do you seriously think he is ever going to write anything worthwhile?”

“I do.”

“Well, you left one job to follow him. You don’t want to lose another.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Catherine,” said Sara calmly, “is he beating you?”

“As a matter of fact we are rarely violent, if ever at all”

“You are being defensive.”

“Sad to relate – I’m being honest.” Catherine crushed out her cigarette. “You think he did this to me?” and she lowered the black glasses.

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, he didn’t,” and she replaced them.

There was silence a while.

“You,” said Sara, “were the one who called herself a feminist. Look at yourself now. Take a good look at yourself, Catherine.”

“Did you ever make love to him?” Catherine suddenly asked. Despite herself, her voice wavered and broke into a comical hiss.

“After all these years, now you ask me!”

“Well, did you?”

“I would not call it that,” said Sara briskly.

“He has always denied it.”

“Has he now?”

“Yes,” she said and her heart beat wildly.

“It was not very enjoyable,” said Sara. “Trawlers are not romantic places in reality.”

“I see. On a trawler, was it?”

“I was only joking. No, we never did.”

“Sara! You’ve just put me through hell.”

“You want to get a hold of yourself.”

“Are we allowed get drunk?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Sara. Catherine watched her sister walk through the tables. The men shouted out greetings. At the far end of the lounge the barman turned up his transistor. Joe Dolan began singing “A Westmeath Bachelor”, followed by John Lennon singing “Imagine”. Then came the news. She got up and rang the house.

“Jack,” she said, “come down and join us. Sara is here. I need to see you. OK . . . OK, bring them all down.”

Jack, De Largey, Thady and Hugh arrived together.

“Sara,” said Jack.

“Jack,” she said coolly.

“This is Theo. And Hugh. And my Uncle Thady.”

“Delighted,” Sara said. “So you are all fishermen?”