‘He’s gone. He leads a very orderly life. His dinner was waiting for him.’

‘May I really?’

‘Of course.’

Lar sat down and took a pull at his Guinness. Then he nudged Pansy under the table with his foot.

‘How strange to meet you like this,’ he said. ‘How strange actually to walk into a pub here and meet anyone I know.’

She didn’t say anything.

‘Not, of course, that I know you. I could hardly say that.’

‘Hardly.’

‘But you know what I mean?’

She nodded.

He took another pull at the Guinness and glanced at her. Still pale, she looked as if she might have been crying. Her fingers fidgeted on the table by her glass. Thin and pale too, they were. Altogether she looked as if she’d been in the dark for a long time. He thought suddenly about Caitlin, heard for a moment her voice in his ear.

‘Lar.’

He shook his head to dislodge the sound.

‘I presume you live near here.’

She nodded again.

‘Nice part of the world. We’re in that hotel down by the harbour.’

‘We?’

‘Pansy and I.’

‘On holiday?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What an odd thing to say.’

‘I just came on an impulse. I had … stayed here before. I knew it. I’m doing a bit of thinking. This is a good place to think.’

She laughed.

‘For some, perhaps. I have my mother down the road. She discourages thinking. She thinks it’s bad for your blood pressure.’

‘The lady who makes the biscuits?’

‘The very one. You’re from the North.’

‘Glens of Antrim.’

‘I hear it’s very beautiful up there.’

‘Yes. You should go and have a look some day. See for yourself.’

She shook her head.

‘It’s not on my itinerary. I’ve never been further north than Drogheda. Even there you can smell the disease when the wind is in the wrong direction.’

He put his glass on the table and stared at her. ‘Would that be the attitude of many people down here?’

‘Quite a number. Just ask around and you’ll see for yourself.’

‘Disease?’

‘Terminal hatred – infectious, contagious, hereditary. A bit like AIDS – incurable.’

‘You’re a bigot?’

‘I suppose I must be. We’re all bigots when push comes to shove. Personally I think I’m just tired and a bit cynical, and of course I didn’t mean to imply that you are diseased, merely at risk.’ She checked her watch, a large gold man’s watch that looked, he thought, as if it had cost one hell of a lot of money. ‘I have to go.’

She drained the dregs from her glass and stood up, frowning slightly. Under the table Pansy thumped her tail. ‘Why don’t you come home and watch Morse with me?’

He was confused by her invitation. So apparently was she. Her pale face had become red.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to … well, you know. After all, I owe you one. You saved me from the possibility of suicide. Maybe you don’t like Morse.’