He nodded his head, but didn’t turn back. No sign of that bloody dog.

‘Pansy!’ He let out a yell.

No answering bark.

He whistled. He wasn’t much good at whistling. He had never been able to develop that really piercing tone that so many of his friends could produce. Something to do with the formation of his mouth, or the projection of his breath – hardly one of life’s major problems.

He stopped and looked back at the woman. She had moved several steps back from the edge now and stood hunched into her coat looking after him.

Und singe.

Und singe …

The words no longer echo.

Did he shout ‘Pansy’?

I cannot believe he shouted ‘Pansy’.

Now the music has gone and the echo. The clarinet is no longer hurling back from Bray Head.

Gone.

Blast this interloper, interferer, intervener in my life. I wonder, do i look like a potential suicide?

This is my best coat.

I don’t think that I would commit suicide in my best coat. It would upset my mother. Anyway, any fool can see that you wouldn’t jump off the top of Killiney Hill if you wanted to commit suicide. You’d probably just break a whole lot of bones and have to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair. Motorised. I wonder how fast you can go in a motorised wheelchair?

I wonder, if i did commit suicide, what my mother would do with all my stuff? Divide it equally among my three siblings? Probably that. She is a woman of infinite fairness. ‘One for you and one for you.’ Pictures, knick-knacks, pots of jam. ‘Pity about the best coat,’ she might say. ‘That would have suited Rosie. A lot of wear still in that coat. Expensive clothes last for ever.’ She has never been aware of the fickleness of fashion.

Rosie, of course, would have rejected it out of hand. ‘I don’t want to look like a crow,’ she would say. ‘Clara always liked looking like a crow.’ Caw, caw. I hope they might cry for a while and remember in the end all of my better points.

He thinks I’m staring at him.

I will smile and say something pleasant.

After all, he may have just saved my life.

‘Who is Pansy?’

The woman spoke after a long look in his direction.

He waved the lead. ‘Dog.’

She laughed and then as if she were in pain grimaced and moved her right hand across her body protectively.

‘What a crazy name for a dog.’

He didn’t say anything. He had thought the same when Caitlin had smiled up at him, the squirming puppy in her arms.

‘We’ll call her Pansy.’

‘Why on earth Pansy?’

‘I just feel like calling her Pansy.’ And at that moment the puppy had licked her face and she had laughed. ‘Dear Pansy.’

Bugger.

He took a deep breath.

‘There’s no accounting for tastes,’ he said.

The woman nodded. ‘Actually I was listening to music.’