Jesus Christ, Jenny, I’m so sorry, I said.

It wasn’t my intention, I assured her, to come across all heavy but the fact was she had been out of control, in the water, and I had done what I thought was right. I promised I wouldn’t slap her again – ever. She cast her eyes out to sea, away from me.

I talked about the incredible power of the sea and how I was in awe of it – how it could take a life, with no mercy. The sea is the boss, I said. That was my defence for slapping her. I counted the red bell-shaped markers for the lobster pots – three, and the buoys – three, and I thought about how and why I was peculiarly addicted to the place. I knew Killiney Bay like some people know love.

I looked out to the vastness of aquamarine, the sea a menacing monster to some, to others the perfect playground, to some a way of exiting their painful lives. I thought about the endless possibilities. I fixed my eyes on the lobster pot markers out at sea.

It wasn’t the right time to tell her I worshipped her. How could she believe anything I said after the slapping incident? It couldn’t make sense to her – it hardly did to me.

The blouse Jenny wore was slightly see-through, which I particularly liked, and it accentuated her thin shape. I reached out and ran my fingers along her clavicle – it was exquisitely delicate.

I averted my eyes from Jenny and I was drawn once again to the sea.

17. Jerome

September 1996

It was a Saturday afternoon and it was gloomy in the main. I needed a bit of exercise, my fitted shirt that I wore to the Crown was straining on me a bit. I asked Jenny if she would join me but apparently she was going to get a bit of work done. I was disappointed but I said nothing – giving each other space was important.

I went alone to the pool and I swam sixty lengths, up and down thirty times. I mixed up my strokes, but it was front crawl in the main, and I counted them as I went along. By the time I was finished I was relaxed and my lungs felt exercised.