‘Ahhh. That the fizzing noise the small waves make, in their last gasps, just before they run out of steam, sounds like Alka-Seltzer dissolving in a glass.’

‘Never not thinking about drugs…’

Was he trying to be funny? I sat up. ‘Just in case you’re in any doubt about it, I’m clean.’

‘You’d hardly be working at the Cloisters if you weren’t. Head therapist. Wow.’

‘Luke? What are you—’

‘I’m glad you’re clean.’ But ‘glad’ wasn’t how he sounded. ‘Can you be around kids?’ he asked, with another of those whiplash conversational segues. ‘Or does it hurt too much?’

‘It depends on the day.’ My voice was tight.

‘Is this too hard?’ he asked. ‘Should we stop?’

‘But it’s why we’re doing it—to try to make it more bearable?’ A drop of rain splashed onto my hand and I decided to ignore it. ‘Mostly I love being around kids.’

‘I love them too.’ He stared out over the water, his expression dreamy. ‘Their possibility…When I first moved to Denver I just wanted to sit in the playground and watch them on the climbing frames and the swings…But the moms called the cops on me.’

‘Seriously? God. And how are you with kids these days? Any better?’

‘Only so much healing can be done. It would be wrong to be cured. I saw a person, you know, a counsellor, in Denver. I thought if I went for long enough, that the weirdness would stop. I feel like…’ He gestured with his hands. ‘Like one of my legs is shorter than the other. Moving through life, I feel…off. I thought the counselling would make both of my legs the same length again.’

‘It didn’t?’

‘But I can still walk. The loss will always be there but these days I don’t notice as much that I’m different from everyone else. And you, Rachel? You seem okay. Quin seems like a good guy.’

‘Quin is great.’ Because Quin was great.

‘What have you done with your share of her ashes?’ Luke asked.

‘I planted a small tree in my garden.’ Another drop landed. Several dark dots were visible on the stony ground. ‘A cherry blossom.’

‘Wait, you’re a gardener now?’ Then, ‘Is it raining? It was sunny thirty seconds ago.’

‘Oh?’ Suddenly I was far too angry. ‘It doesn’t rain in Denver?’

‘Hardly ever.’

‘Well, you’re in Ireland now. Anyway, it’ll stop in a minute.’

Irritatingly, though, it didn’t. The Irish weather had decided to show me up. As the unexpectedly cold rain began to tip down in earnest, I said, ‘Let’s go.’

He turned up the collar of his coat, I slung my scarf around my hair and we began crunching back the way we’d come.

‘You know what just happened?’ he demanded. ‘I felt anxious. About your hair going frizzy in the rain.’