‘Thanks for coming, Bernadette.’

No reply.

‘I didn’t think you would.’

No reaction.

‘I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t.’

Nothing!

He stepped away from the railings and walked slowly to the other side of the bridge. He leaned his back against the top of the barrier. He was looking directly at her back. She made no attempt to look for him. He felt he could have walked off the bridge and disappeared and she would have just remained where she was, fixed. Maybe he should walk away? Leave her there alone with her thoughts? No, he would wait for her. Wait until she was ready. He would stay with her, until she’d had enough of the flowing river and wanted to talk to him. In the meantime, he would simply stand still, look at her, and take simple pleasure in the fact he could.

One week ago, he had been locked in his study, frantically putting the finishing touches to the most important political speech of his life. It was undoubtedly the greatest speech he had ever written and he was sure it would be the greatest he would ever deliver. Apart from Annie, it was the only thing that mattered in his life, of that he had no doubt. It was a speech that would shape his long-term future and would cement his place as the heir apparent to the soon-to-retire party leader and prime minister. It would represent the final step in a twenty-year marathon of total commitment. No one at university had studied harder than him. No barrister in his chambers had researched more, taken on more cases, and won more lost causes. In Parliament, his stamina and stomach for a fight were legendary. Now, to his own astonishment, he realised he would sacrifice it all for a brief moment with her; his whole life for a stranger on a bridge he’d abandoned nearly a quarter of a century ago, when she was no more than a shy girl. He was still digesting the thought when she walked towards him.

‘What are you doing here, Cormac?’

He was startled by the thin black tracks that ran down her cheeks. He was more stunned by the dark beauty of her eyes. He was hopelessly lost without his ritual. His stomach tightened, his legs took on a life of their own, and his mouth was devoid of all moisture.

‘I just … I … just needed to see you … I … to say sorry … you know … sorry for what I did.’

‘That’s it, is it?’

Her tone was calm. Her posture suggested simmering anger. She walked back to her railings. He parked himself beside her.

She stared straight ahead and spoke to the Liffey.

‘After twenty-two years and five months you needed to see me and say sorry! YOU TOOK YOUR FUCKING TIME ABOUT IT, DIDN’T YOU! I mean a week yes, a month maybe, a year at a push, but twenty-two years? FUCK OFF WITH THAT, CORMAC! Harry Crossan brought you into that bar last night. Up until the point when he spoke to me, you had no idea, and even less interest, in where I was in the world, let alone that I was in O’Donohue’s. Harry is an interfering old fool who should never have brought you there … especially … and besides, I don’t need you to say sorry, not anymore. I haven’t needed you to say sorry for a very long time. You are nothing in my life but a distant and unpleasant memory and after this conversation today, I would be grateful if you could make yourself disappear again, thanks!’