“Catherine,” he said.

Well, whatever happens, I can never live through this day again. It was the light that accompanied November into December, sheer light; with the full moon of the night before the tide had gone far out; the white sands shimmered, then grew heavy. Further sands were torched. These were short days. The black was rolling in across the sky. He greeted Joe Love, the postman, who was standing in green tweeds on Main Street. He was holding a white shopping bag. Daisy immediately began barking.

“You’re looking well,” said Jack.

“Sacred Heart, what’s the use of it now,” Joe Love replied, “since my partner’s dead and gone?” The man’s face breathed health and security. The brown eyes spoke lively. His head was covered with a shoal of gleaming white hair. Yet, he was saying he was alone. That encounter stayed in Jack’s mind throughout the day. It was the first time Joe Love had ever mentioned this bereavement. In the early morning he came to the Adams’ house, dropped the post through the letterbox in the porch door and slipped away into the mist. Spent few words. Now, in a few banal moments, dressed in his Sunday suit on a Saturday afternoon, he had told the story of his life.

“I’m waiting on Catherine,” explained Jack.

“That’s the thing,” Joe Love said. “It’s best not to be caught alone at Christmas.”

He lifted a massive brown hand and patted his forehead.

“Did you have some mail for me?” asked Jack.

“I had, but whenever I call you’ve not been at home. You should get yourself some kind of a postbox. You can’t put letters under a stone in that wild place.”

“I was off in the Blue.”

“So I dropped them into Bernie Burke’s,” he said.

“Now I know what’s wrong,” said Jack. “Bernie’s been in hospital.”

“Is he still away, the poor fellow?”

“Never mind, I’ll get them when he returns.”

“I hope it was nothing important,” said Joe Love.

“No,” said Jack, “no.”

They said goodbye. Daisy watched Joe’s dog rise off its arse and follow his master. Jack turned into the paper shop.

“How are you, Jack?” the woman asked.

“Oh, I’m waiting on Catherine,” he replied. “She’s due down today.”

“Give her my regards,” the woman said.

He immediately turned the Irish Times to the arts page. He entered the Erris Hotel and ordered a coffee and rang Eddie who was directing the play.

“Could I speak to Eddie?”

“Certainly. Who will I say is calling?”

“Jack Ferris,” he replied.

“Ha-ho,” said Eddie.

“You’ve started rehearsals?”

“We have.”

“And Catherine’s OK?”

“As I told you she would be.”

“That’s great. I’d love to have a look.”

“Ah, we’re just going to try and get a few days in before the Christmas.”

“I might go up for a day or two.”

“Well, that’s up to you.” Eddie’s hesitation unnerved Jack. “There’s really no need. We have your notes. It’s only a matter of running it through a few times.”