‘Let me reassure you it is nothing like that. It is something purely personal.’

He looked her up and down.

‘I do so admire you, Clara. Well, you’d better be off. Enjoy your evening. Maybe we’ll talk tomorrow. Maybe there won’t be time or place for what I have to say. Maybe I’ll go back down to Oughterard, finish my holiday. Maybe … Clara.’

She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘You look tired. Stay here a while. Have some medicinal champagne, put your feet up, watch telly, talk to the dog, make yourself at home. No one can bother you here.’

She was gone out of the door, pulling it closed behind her, before he had time to reply.

Midnight.

What a weirdo evening that was.

Safely home and sitting at my work table.

Recollecting.

Recollecting is also weird.

I am only thinking now; I haven’t yet got my fingers working on the keyboard. That will be recollection of a different nature. Lar has taken the dog for a walk.

There was no sign of the doctor when we arrived home. I had been anxious on the way back, thinking he might still be here, waiting and hungry to unburden himself of whatever it was that had been troubling him. I don’t like to see him troubled. But it wouldn’t have suited me at all to find him here as I have tonight earmarked for getting these painful notes finished, off my chest, out of my hair.

Will I then feel purged? I shouldn’t think so. But maybe by the time I wake up tomorrow morning I may feel that I have salvaged something from the wreck.

That’s all we can do, really. Keep salvaging.

But before I open up, I’d like to clear my head of the evening’s conversation – well, monologue really. I was not allowed to speak, not a word, except to order my meal. I was hardly allowed to eat. Lar became more and more like the ancient mariner, staring across the table, on and on telling me this story that I didn’t want to hear, but that he insisted I had to hear. I had to share eye contact with him, and if I dropped my eyes to my plate or let them wander round the high, gaunt room he would grab my hand and hold it painfully tight until my eyes returned once more to his face. I didn’t want to hear his story. I wanted to put my fingers in my ears and close my eyes, so that I couldn’t even see his mouth opening and closing. On and on.