She took the bends sloppily on her way back down the hill, spiky branches scraping the car. She pulled into the lay-by. She was quaking. She got out and stepped up on to the side of the gully. The sky was purple where it met the sinking sun. Lights had come on across the lough. She picked a piece of gorse the size of a buttonhole and rubbed it.

She stayed until it was almost dark, smoking the rest of Gina’s cigarettes, and drove home. From the path she could see Gina, asleep in her armchair, in the nightdress Cushla had pulled over her head in the bathroom. Her legs were parted, her head tilted back hideously, as if she’d had her throat cut. Cushla left her keys beside the rows of bottles and went into the sitting room. She drew the curtains and put her hand on Gina’s arm. Her mother gasped and her head jerked forward. You left me alone, she said.

Do you want a cup of tea?

Aye, go on.

Cushla filled the kettle and sat at the kitchen table, emptying her basket. She shuffled through the exercise books until she found Davy’s. She had asked the children to write about their favourite place. Anywhere we’re all together, he had written. That’s my favourite place. Cushla felt sick. Because of her meddling, Betty had been visited by social services. What had she done?

17

17

Victor’s car slipped into the parking space beside hers. He was on the asphalt before Cushla, a lit cigar in his mouth.

No Jane tonight? she said, feeling self-conscious as he watched her get out of the driver’s seat.

She’s a tad off-colour.

We’ll miss her, said Cushla, for the want of something better to say.

I like your – he moved a hand in the air around her, as if he was tracing the outline of her body – outfit. She had put on a white cotton smock threaded with ribbons in sugary colours, pinks and lilacs and pale blues, over jeans. She thanked him and began to walk to the entrance of the gallery, where Jim was waiting. He kissed Cushla’s cheek as she passed and said there were glasses of paint stripper on a table to the side. The room was crowded, Penny in its centre wearing a floral dress, her hair held off her face with a slide, giving the effect of a victory roll, having her photograph taken between a portly man with horn-rimmed glasses and an elegant red-haired woman. There were men and women in studiedly untrendy clothing nursing glasses of wine and speaking without moving their bodies. Victor disappeared for a moment and came back with two glasses of white wine, grimacing broadly through clenched teeth at its sharpness. Cushla was trying to think of something to say when someone began pinging the side of a glass. The man with the glasses introduced Penny and her exhibition.