“You got back,” said Jack.

“I did. Joe Love must have dropped these off for you while I was away,” and he handed Jack a bunch of letters bound by an elastic band. The top one, he saw, was addressed to him in Catherine’s handwriting.

“Someone is thinking of you,” Bernie said.

“And how are you now, Bernie?”

“I’m not well, thank you. I lost a lung.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“This is it,” said Bernie. “You’re doing a good job on the place. I came up a couple of times but you weren’t about.”

“I’m sorry. I was away.”

“Well, you have them now. I hope they bring you luck.”

“I’m sure they will.”

“I’ll go now, thank you.”

“Good luck, Bernie.”

The old fisherman steered his way up the path through the blinding wind. Stood a moment to look at the sea then turned into the valley towards his own house. Jack opened the first envelope and found a card inside. He put the card on the kitchen table. Then he opened the others. Each contained a letter and he laid them out one on top of the other.

He felt terrible shame. The full force of his curse was returning on himself. He looked at the envelopes, knowing that they would be dated weeks previous, before all this nightmare began. It would be better if he didn’t know, if he threw them away altogether. They contained possibilities that were no longer available to him. Then he searched through the cottage for something he couldn’t find. He was sick and shaking. With the usual distress of the drinker he fought to establish his physical terrain. He started to sweep out the kitchen. Today he was going to start again, right from the beginning. As he started each morning. He began at the back door. He cleaned every item in the kitchen, then he brushed out the bedroom. He settled his papers in the third room. He lit a fire and put on water to boil. He sat down before the fire and smoked a cigarette which brought on waves of nausea.

He lifted the envelopes and looked at them. He looked at the stamps. He looked at the Dublin postmarks. He looked at the handwriting on the letters without trying to understand what was written there. He lifted the postcard, and read the first line again – Jack, I love you. Then he replaced it on the table. Dizzy with anxiety, he made tea.

He boiled cloths in a saucepan, he fed Daisy, he fed the wild cat, he cleaned the gas stove again. Today, he said. It will happen today. He stood in a basin in the middle of the floor and washed himself.

He lifted the postcard up to the light of a window. Dear Jack, I love you. Whatever bad things we’ve done should be forgotten. I am always yours. We have only each other. I’ve written to you over and over explaining everything. I’m sending you this card because of the picture on the front. He turned it over. There was a picture of a corncrake. Do you remember? We’ll have good days again. Every day from now I will write to you. You are never out of my mind. I am sober, she wrote, you are sober and I love you. I love you dearly.