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rock, offers me one which I refuse, then pops one into her mouth. For the first time on the
holiday she has overcome her shyness to talk to me on her own. She talks of how much
she is enjoying herself. The holiday, she says, is taking her out of herself. Her hair is
steel-grey darkening at the roots. After your father s death left her on her own we knew
that she should get away. I have found her a woman who hides her emotion as much as
she can. The most she would allow herself was to tell us how, several times, when she got
up in the morning she had put two eggs in the pot. It s the length of the day, she says, that
gets her. I knew she was terrified at first in the dining room but now she is getting used to
it and even criticises the slowness of the service. She has struck up an aquaintance with
an old priest whom she met in the sitting-room. He walks the beach at low tide, always
wearing his hat and carries a rolled pac-a-mac in one hand.
I look at you and you are still reading the pages. You lean on your elbows, your
shoulders high and, I see, shaking with laughter. When you are finished you fold the
pages smaller and smaller, then turn on your back and close your eyes without so much
as a look in our direction.
Your mother decides to go to the water s edge to see the children. She walks with arms
folded, unused to having nothing to carry. I go over to you. Without opening your eyes
you tell me I am filthy, whispered even though your mother is fifty yards away. You tell
me to burn it, tearing it up would not be safe enough. I feel annoyed that you haven t
taken it in the spirit in which it was given. I unfold the pages and begin to read it again.
The bump reinstates itself. I laugh at some of my artistic attempts the chittering noise
of the venetian blinds , luminous pulsing tide I put the pages in my trousers pocket on
the rock.
Suddenly Anne comes running. Her mouth is open and screaming. Someone has
thrown sand in her face. You sit upright, your voice incredulous that such a thing should
happen to your child. Anne, standing, comes to your shoulder. You wrap your arms round
her nakedness and call her Lamb and Angel but the child still cries. You take a tissue
from your bag and lick one corner of it and begin to wipe the sticking sand from round
her eyes. I watch your face as you do this. Intent, skilful, a beautiful face focused on
other-than-me. This, the mother of my children. Your tongue licks out again wetting the
tissue. The crying goes on and you begin to scold lightly giving the child enough
confidence to stop. A big girl like you? You take the child s cleaned face into the
softness of your neck and the tears subside. From the basket miraculously you produce a
mint and then you are both away walking, you stooping at the waist to laugh on a level
with your child s face.
You stand talking to your mother where the glare of the sand and the sea meet. You are
much taller than she. You come back to me covering half the distance in a stiff-legged
run. When you reach the rock you point your feet and begin pulling on your jeans. I ask
where you are going. You smile at me out of the head hole of your T-shirt, your midriff
bare and say that we are going back to the hotel.
Mammy will be along with the children in an hour or so.
What did you tell her?
I told her you were dying for a drink before tea.
We walked quickly back to the hotel. At first we have an arm around each other s
waist but it is awkward, like a three-legged race, so we break and just hold hands. In the
hotel room there are no venetian blinds but the white net curtains belly and fold in the
breeze of the open window. It is hot enough to lie on the coverlet.
It has that special smell by the sea-side and afterwards in the bar as we sit, slaked from
the waist down, I tell you so. You smile and we await the return of your mother and our
children.
A Present for Christmas
McGettigan woke in the light of midday, numb with the cold. He had forgotten to close
the door the night before and his coat had slipped off him onto the boards of the floor. He
swivelled round on the sofa and put the overcoat on, trying to stop shivering. At his feet
there was a dark green wine bottle and his hand shook as he reached out to test its weight.
He wondered if he had had the foresight to leave a drop to warm himself in the morning.
It was empty and he flung it in the corner with the others, wincing at the noise of the
crash.
He got to his feet and buttoned the only button on his coat. The middle section he held
together with his hands thrust deep in his pockets and went out into the street putting his
head down against the wind. He badly needed something to warm him.
His hand searched for his trouser pocket without the hole. There was a crumpled pound
and what felt like a fair amount of silver. He was all right. Nobody had fleeced him the
night before. Yesterday he had got his Christmas money from the Assistance and he had
what would cure him today, with maybe something left for Christmas Day itself.
Strannix s bar was at the back of the Law Courts about two minutes from
McGettigan s room but to McGettigan it seemed like an eternity. His thin coat flapped
about his knees. He was so tall he always thought he got the worst of the wind. When he
pushed open the door of the bar he felt the wave of heat and smoke and spirit smells
surround him like a hug. He looked quickly behind the bar. Strannix wasn t on. It was
only the barman, Hughie a good sort. McGettigan went up to the counter and stood
shivering. Hughie set him up a hot wine without a word. McGettigan put the money
down on the marble slab but Hughie gestured it away.
Happy Christmas, big lad, he said. McGettigan nodded still unable to speak. He took
the steaming glass, carrying it in both hands, to a bench at the back of the bar, and waited
a moment until it cooled a bit. Then he downed it in one. He felt his insides unfurl and
some of the pain begin to disappear. He got another one which he paid for.
After the second the pains had almost gone and he could unbend his long legs, look up
and take in his surroundings. It was past two by the bar clock and there was a fair number
in the bar. Now he saw the holly and the multi-coloured decorations and the HAPPY
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