She turned to go. Pansy scrambled out from under the table and looked at her, smiling.

Lar pushed his half-full glass to one side.

‘Thanks,’ he said, getting up. ‘That’d be great. I’d like that.’

He followed her across the bar. At the door he turned and raised his hand towards the barman, who in turn raised his eyebrows. Oh God, thought Lar, what am I getting into?

It was still raining. She put up her umbrella and started off back down the road towards Dalkey without a word. She walked quite slowly and from time to time dragged her right leg for a moment as if she were in pain. He wondered whether to offer her his arm, but decided against it. This was an unpredictable sort of a woman.

They turned down a sloping laneway overhung with the leaning branches, not yet quite in leaf, of tall trees. She pushed open a resisting gate and they walked along a short brick path to a small cottage.

Well, she’s not a gardener, he thought, looking at the tangles of weeds and shrubs in the bed along the front wall of the house.

‘I’m not a gardener.’ She spoke the words as she pushed the key into the front door. He blushed.

The house was warm. He hung his wet coat on a hook in the hall and followed her into some sort of sitting room, Pansy padding close by him, as if glued to his leg.

She began to fiddle with the television remote control. ‘Sometimes this doesn’t work,’ she said. ‘I think it may need a new battery or something. Do those yokes need batteries?’

He took it from her.

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Of course,’ she murmured and left the room.

The damn thing didn’t seem to work.

Pansy, happy to be in someone’s home, stretched out on a mat in front of the unused fireplace and thumped her tail contentedly a couple of times and then appeared to go to sleep.

Lar found the television set. There seemed to be no sign of life, no little red or green lights, no flashing symbols of any sort. He followed the flex behind a pile of books and a sofa until he found a plug set in the skirting. It was switched off.

‘Bingo,’ he said aloud and switched it on. It was simple. A little red light came on in the set, he pressed a button on the remote and the screen flashed into life. A man with a very red face was talking Irish. He pressed another button and a large packet of washing powder thrust its bulk onto the screen.

The woman came into the room with some cheese and bread on a tray and a bottle of wine.

‘Aren’t you clever.’

‘It wasn’t switched on.’

She put the tray on a table and laughed.

‘Well, there you go. I am a technological idiot. Would you ever open the wine and I’ll make you a cheese sandwich. Perhaps you’re not hungry?’