Agnew’s late tonight, said Victor, as the speeches finished.

He said he’ll come as soon as he can get away.

Ah, he said, as though there was a hidden meaning in what Michael had told her that she had missed.

She stepped away from Victor to look at the paintings. She understood now what Penny had meant by salon style. The canvases were arranged haphazardly all over the walls, as if it was a cluttered drawing room. There was a field of bog cotton, troughs and holes like sunken baths of mercury. Ardglass Harbour was an arrangement of broken angles from white to slate-grey that showed light and shadow on the water, the flimsy masts of boats. When she got to the end, she turned back to the room. It was almost empty. Michael hadn’t come.

She went to Penny, who hugged her. I love your work, said Cushla.

It doesn’t matter if you like it or not, darling, said Victor. It just is.

Shut up, Victor, Penny said pleasantly. I’m glad you like it, Cushla. I just wish they had hung the paintings lower, like I asked. One shouldn’t have to tilt one’s head back.

Cushla said goodbye, that she would see them soon, but the older woman squeezed her arm and told her supper was in the warming drawer of the Aga, that she was sure Michael would show up shortly, that Cushla had to come to theirs.

In her car, she pretended to fumble in the glove compartment and waited until the others had left before pulling out. Michael had said he would be late, but it was over an hour now. Was there an emergency at home? Had something happened to his son? Had something happened to him? She made a detour, bypassing the turn for Jim and Penny’s house and driving to the end of Michael’s road. His driveway was empty. She looked up at the flat, remembering the mood that had come on him after the strange car appeared. He had been preoccupied, practically distrait. And he had reacted so quickly, almost as though he had been expecting it. He had openly criticised the court system, but what of the folders full of murders? Maybe he had made enemies among the gunmen too. She reversed and went back the way she had come, praying his car would be there, but on the elbow of the road saw that only Victor’s MG was on the pavement.

In Dublin, Michael had brought Cushla to a delicatessen off Grafton Street where she bought a box of Italian biscuits, intending to bring it to the next Irish night. She retrieved it from the boot and carried it to the house, anxious about going in alone yet relieved not to be empty-handed.

He brought you to Magill’s! said Penny as she accepted them.