The doctor said nothing.

Lar sighed. ‘My mother believes that if we suffer with dignity and resignation in this life, we will be rewarded in the next.’

The doctor spoke for the first time.

‘A lot of people are comforted by such thoughts. I presume they make life a little more bearable than it otherwise might be. I do hope so.’

He stood up abruptly.

‘I have to go. I don’t want her to have reason to … ah … shout at me again. Finding me still here might upset her. You should go home, Lar. This is not the place for you.’ He tapped on the table almost angrily as he spoke and Lar found it hard to decide whether he meant this room or this city. ‘I don’t mean to sound uncivil but I do think that you should telephone to your mother right away and tell her that you are coming home. I’m sure it will give her comfort. Let her tidy up your house for you. Give her that bit of satisfaction. I am sure that …’ He stopped. ‘I am sorry,’ he said after a moment. ‘Forgive me. I really should not be interfering.’ He turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Lar moved over to the window and watched him walk slowly down the path to the gate, where he stood for a moment, head slightly bowed with his hand on the latch. The wind lifted a little lock of his hair and stretched it sideways.

Lar picked up the telephone and dialled his parents’ number. The doctor opened the gate and went out into the street; he turned left and disappeared from Lar’s sight.

‘Hello.’

‘Mum.’

‘Laurence! It’s so good to hear your voice, son. We were so worried after your call the other day. Your father’s not in at the moment. He’s just gone for a little walk. The rain eased off and he thought … Where are you? Are you still in Dublin? Are you all right, son? I’m so sorry your father isn’t here.’

‘Give me a chance to speak, Mum, for heaven’s sake. It’s you I want to talk to anyway. I’ll have all the time in the world to talk to Dad when I get home.’

‘You’re coming … oh, son. Oh.’

‘Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Mum, otherwise I’ll have to ring off. This is a friend’s phone and I can’t be wasting her money on listening to you bawling.’

She gave a little laugh. ‘You sound more like your old self. If you give me your number I can get your father to—’

‘No. I’ll be home tomorrow – before dark, I hope. I wondered if I could ask you to do something for me.’

‘Anything.’

‘Would you have a look at the house? I just marched out of it. Maybe if you could put the heat on, open a window or so, get me in some milk and bread – that sort of thing. Don’t kill yourself. I’m sorry to be a bother.’