‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee.’ After a long pause he said, ‘Please.’

Pansy had arranged herself stretched out in front of the Aga; her ribs rose and fell, her face relaxed into a smile.

‘She was my wife.’

Three large spoons of coffee into the pot. She pulled the steaming kettle across the plate and tilted it forward; a silver arc of water hissed onto the coffee. She didn’t look in his direction. She put the jug of coffee onto the table and balanced the plunger on top.

‘Looking back on it now, when it’s too late, I can see how silly I was. We were on our feet. I’m a teacher – Maths. Head of the department. No problems. We could have taken off during those long summers and gone wherever she wanted to go, but I bloody well always said no. I was so happy at home, I just couldn’t conceive how I could be any happier anywhere else. And I thought that for her too. Put my thoughts into her head. She never complained – well, not like I’ve heard other women complain. She just gave a little shrug with her shoulders.’

Clara fetched two mugs from the dresser and the milk from the fridge and he never said another word as she moved around the room. He just watched her domestic movements with a certain pleasure. Finally she sat down at the table and pushed the plunger in the coffee-pot.

‘What happened her?’ She asked the question apprehensively, not knowing whether he wanted her to ask it or not.

He rubbed at the side of his nose for a moment with a finger. ‘She was killed in a motor accident.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘And the child, Moya. She was named for my mother. Caitlin wasn’t sure whether she liked the name or not.’

‘How dreadful.’ She touched his shoulder gently. ‘I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have.’

‘… Eleven months and three days. A short life but a merry one.’

Clara was startled by the viciousness in his voice. ‘I, ah …’

She poured a cup of coffee and pushed it across the table towards him. ‘I …’

‘You don’t have to say anything. Too many people have said it all. Too many fucking words. I prefer silence.’

She nodded and sat down.

There was silence for a long time.

The dog seemed content enough, grunting from time to time in her sleep.

Finally Lar spoke.

‘She was a lovely girl – woman. She hated being called a girl.’

Clara poured milk into her coffee.

‘Caitlin.’ He spoke the name as if it were some magic word.

‘Yes. A nice name. Would you like some brown bread and jam?’

He shook his head.

‘Or a biscuit, perhaps?’

‘I’m OK.’

‘Prozac?’

‘Just coffee. Coffee’s fine.’

They lapsed into silence once more and Clara asked herself if it would be rude to get down to the Irish Times crossword. Yes, it would, she decided, so she just sat there and listened to the murmur of the kettle on the Aga and wondered if she felt better than she had yesterday and thought that she probably did. I must tell Doctor, she thought, and then remembered that he would be in Oughterard by now. What dark thoughts was the man beside her thinking? She cast around for something to say to someone who preferred silence. However, he spoke first.