Helen closed the doors to the garden. The party was nearly over. She remembered Hugh telling her that Mick Joyce knew only one song, and she was relieved about this. His singing could have been heard by the neighbours on both sides, and possibly further down the street. She wondered about Mick Joyce: since he liked children so much, why he didn't have children of his own, and how he managed to pretend, in his manners and speech, that he was in the west of Ireland. She wondered what it would be like to be married to someone like that \a151 the mixture of control and anarchy, the unevenness. She turned around and watched as Hugh began to sing in Irish, his voice nasal and thin, but sweet as well and clear. His eyes were closed. There were only about ten people left, and two of these joined the song, softly at first and then more loudly. She stood there and thought about Hugh: how easygoing he was and consistent, how modest and decent. And she wondered – as she often did in moments like this \a151 why he had wanted her, why he needed someone who had none of his virtues, and she felt suddenly distant from him. She could never let him know the constant daily urge to resist him, keep him at bay, and the struggle to overcome these urges, in which she often failed.

He tried to understand this, but he was also frightened by it, and often succeeded in pretending that it was nothing, it was her period, or a bad mood. It would pass, and he would wait and find the right moment and pull her back in again, and she would lie beside him, half grateful to him, but knowing that he had wilfully misunderstood what was between them. As she watched him now, his voice soaring in the last verse of the song, clearly in love with the sounds of the words he was singing, she knew that anybody else would have laid bare, in the way that he had covered, the raw areas in her which were unsettled and untrusting.

CHAPTER TWO

She woke early, with a strange feeling of disappointment, as though she had missed something important. Her mouth was dry. She realised that she would not get back to sleep, and she lay there going over the events of the party. It struck her that she felt the way a child feels when a buzz of excitement is replaced by bedtime or dull duty.

It was eight o'clock; she had been asleep for only four hours. She got up and, when she was washed and dressed, began to clean up from the party, emptying and refilling the dishwasher, tying up black plastic bags full of rubbish and leaving them outside the back door. By the time Hugh appeared, it was almost done. He was wearing boxer shorts and a T-shirt.

'You should have left it for me,' he said.

'It's all finished,' she said, 'so you can concentrate on packing.'

He came over to the sink, where she was standing, and held her.

'I'm going to miss you,' he said. 'I'm going to think all the time of things I want to say to you but you'll not be there.'

'If I didn't have this meeting in the Department and the school interviews I could change my mind, but it's only a week or so,' she said.

She closed her eyes and put her mouth against his bare neck. The lack of sleep served only to intensify a sudden desire for him, and now she began to fondle him and he slowly began to kiss her. When she opened her eyes she saw that Cathal was studying them carefully from the kitchen door. She smiled and pushed Hugh away gently with her hands.

'Cathal,' she said, 'your breakfast things are on the table. We're going to he down for a while. We won't be long.' She wondered if Hugh's erection was apparent through his shorts.

Cathal remained silent, watching them as he moved towards the kitchen table. They went up to the bedroom and closed the door.

'Poor Cathal,' she said. 'I hope he's all right. It would be worse I suppose if we were having a big fight.'

'Much worse.' Hugh laughed. 'Much worse.'

By eleven o'clock the boys' suitcases were in the boot of the car and Hugh's rucksack was on the back seat. Helen had written out a list of instructions.

'You're to go up through Ballyshannon,' she said. 'You're not to drive into the North.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Hugh said.

'I'm sure you've forgotten something,' she said.

'We've forgotten to kiss you farewell,' he said.

'And you're to mind all those Donegal people,' she said lightly. 'They're sly.'

She made sure that the boys had their seatbelts on in the back seat. Manus was impatient to be gone. He refused to kiss her goodbye. 'I'm bored waiting,' he said. She waved at them as the car drove off.

She knew as she walked back into the house that this next hour or two would be special, a time when she could savour and appreciate the empty, silent rooms and the sweet energy which Hugh and Cathal and Manus had left behind them.

Before lunch, Frank Mulvey and his son came to collect the tables and chairs. When he learned that Hugh and the boys had gone to Donegal, he nodded his head and looked at her. 'And will you be all right here now?' he asked.

'I'll be fine. It's just a few days.'

'My missus', he said, 'never lets me out of her sight.'

As she stood at the front gate watching the last of the tables being stacked into the van, she noticed a white car edging its way into the street and a man's head peering at houses as he drove by. She watched the car pass as Frank and his son closed the back door of the van.

'It's quiet enough around here.' Frank Mulvey surveyed the road as he got into the front.

'You should have heard us last night,' she said.

'You're not a Dublin woman, are you?' he asked.

'No, I'm from Wexford. Enniscorthy,' she said.

'Wexford,' he said. 'We used to travel to Courtown years ago on motorbikes.'

'Dublin fellows were all the rage in Courtown, I'd say.'

'We were the bee's knees, but that's all years ago, before you were born.' He closed the door. She watched him and his son, who had not spoken, put their seatbelts on. He beeped the horn as he drove away.

The white car had now turned in the road and was slowly coming towards her. She realised that the driver was looking for directions. When he drew up to her he pulled down the window.

'I'm looking for O'Dohertys', number fifty-five,' he said.

'This is it,' she said.

'Are you Helen?' he asked.

There was something both eager and friendly about him, but formal as well, and it occurred to her that he was a teacher looking for a job, coming with references or a CV to her house. She wondered how he had got the address. Her face darkened.

'Yes, I'm Helen,' she said stiffly.

'Hold on, I'll park the car,' he said.

She had spent the previous two weeks interviewing teachers and she thought she recognised the type: cocky, self-confident, lacking all reticence, the potential scourge of the staffroom and useless in the classroom. She waited for him at the gate.

'I'm Paul,' he said. 'I'm a friend of your brother's.'

She said nothing, still half sure that he was a teacher to whom Declan had given her address. She wondered if it was something Declan would do, but she did not know, it was years since she had met any of Declan's friends.

'You can come inside, but there's been a party here, the house is a mess.'

'A party?' he asked. His tone was odd and unconvincing.

'Yes, that's what I said \a151 a party,' she said dryly.

She brought him to the kitchen and sat down. She did not offer him anything. She expected him to sit down as well but he remained standing.