‘Our local G.P.’

‘A dreadful busybody,’ Ronnie said. ‘You couldn’t keep the man in whiskey.’

‘He obviously reads,’ Hedley said. ‘I like that in a G.P.’

‘I’ve some business near Deilt this morning,’ Ronnie said. ‘Do you mind if I leave you to the mercy of my wife?’

The days were hurtling out into endless unfoldings of light. When Hector had gone to his tutor in the village, I walked out along the cliff top. Far out on a tiny rock, I could see Hedley, the sea churning white up around his thigh waders. He cast easily, his body flexing back and forth. His wife too was a doctor, he had said, working long hours in a hospital in London. They had no children, by fate or design he gave no indication. I tried not to dwell on who he reminded me of, for I knew that texture of fair hair, I knew the full feel of it in my fists. I took up my book and tried to read. Of course, Hector had such fair hair, and so too had I.

‘Hector’s like you,’ Hedley remarked later, putting down a framed photograph.

‘D’you think so? Ronnie thinks he’s the image of him.’

‘I’ve always wanted a son,’ he said.

I turned and found him looking at me calmly.

‘My wife doesn’t want children,’ he said.

‘I see.’

‘I dream of having a son and of passing on everything I know to him.’

‘And what would that be?’ I asked, resuming my carrot chopping. ‘Medicine?’

‘Oh, more important things than medicine. How to fish on a dry fly. How to respect other people. How to appreciate women.’

I didn’t have to look again to see the colour of his eyes. I asked,

‘Is that really possible? I mean, to teach a child, do you think?’

‘You mean, about women?’

‘Ah… yes,’ I said and felt myself go on fire.

He laughed. ‘Of course. The world is full of beauty and women are the proof of it.’

‘And would you teach him to say that to every woman he met?’ I asked, trundling all the carrots into the stock pot.

‘Only to those in lighthouses,’ Hedley replied.


Bibs Toms came to supper to make up our numbers. Her mother had died and Bibs had reared her infant sister and worked shoulder to shoulder with their father, keeping horses in livery. At thirty-two, having decided that the way forward was to shock, Bibs had become the gal who leapt tables at hunt balls, drank gin and spoke her mind even when it was quite empty.

‘I’m terrified of doctors. I mean, how can you trust them?’ she asked.

‘If I hadn’t trusted this one, I’d be in a wheelchair,’ Ronnie said. A plastic support was still needed to keep up one side of his mouth.

‘Our local witch doctor has hands as cold as cucumbers,’ Bibs said and shivered.

‘I hear he’s a good man,’ said Hedley. ‘Reads up his stuff.’

‘He’s what the locals call a “dthreadful man” for his whiskey,’ said Bibs, performing. ‘Daddy was ill a few years ago and Dr Armstrong arrived around midnight to see him, so tight he could hardly walk, let alone drive, winking like bejasus at me. Left me two pills for Daddy, a small, fat one and a long, oblong one. “Get him to take one of each, sweetheart,” he said.’

Bibs leant back, guffawing. ‘“Get him to take one of each, sweetheart!’”

I ladled out second portions of stew.

‘What are the odds of Ronnie getting back on a horse for the opening meet?’ enquired Bibs.

Hedley was stern. ‘Not for a year at least,’ he said.

‘Spoilsport!’ Bibs cried.

Ronnie shot a crooked grin at her. ‘Maybe you can bring me for a gentle hack coming up to Christmas.’

Bibs rolled her eyes. ‘Pas de problème,’ she said theatrically.

Hedley topped his glass up from the large, amber ale bottle.

‘You don’t hunt either, Iz?’ he asked.

‘No, I don’t hunt. Either. Nor do I shoot.’

‘I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…’

‘I love this place in my own way, thank you,’ I said and knew I sounded angry.

Ronnie looked at me and his eyes were cold.

‘I hear you’re going fishing in Main tomorrow,’ Bibs beamed into the sudden pool of silence. ‘Lucky you. Last of the great Irish houses and all that tosh. In fact, the Santrys aren’t at all bad.’

‘I can’t wait,’ Hedley said.

‘Rosa’s a stunner,’ said Bibs, as would a man.

‘She’s a lovely person,’ I said.

‘Early start then,’ said Hedley. ‘Hard work all this enjoying yourself, eh?’

‘We’ll leave before eight,’ Ronnie said. He looked to Bibs. ‘Don’t feel like carrying the doctor’s rod tomorrow, do you?’

‘I don’t think I’d be up to it,’ gasped Bibs in mock exhaustion and Ronnie turned so red with laughter I thought he’d got a piece of stew stuck in his windpipe.

But next morning after breakfast, just before they set out, Mr Gargan the auctioneer turned up and told Ronnie that a group of Germans had arrived and wanted to look at land.

‘I’ll run you over to Main, but I’ll not be able to stay and fish,’ Ronnie said.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said, ‘you go with Mr Gargan, I’ll drive Hedley to Main.’

‘I don’t have to fish in Main,’ said Hedley.

‘Of course you do,’ I said.

‘Here’s hoping I land a few myself,’ said Ronnie, hurrying out.


We entered Main by way of its massive, eagle-topped entrance gates. The long avenue, over a mile, led eventually to the enormous house, where the doors were always open but one rarely found anyone in. Dogs and peacocks sprawled in the sunshine and showed no interest in our arrival. From the shadows stepped a yard man in a cloth cap who told us that he had been instructed to walk us down to the river. He picked up Hedley’s baskets and bags and we set out.

‘You sure you want to do this?’ Hedley asked. ‘It’s very boring if you don’t fish.’

‘I’ve brought a book,’ I said.

We walked down through a tall meadow and into a wood. The coolness was immediate. Pigeons thrashed out of high foliage and a fox slunk from a pile of ferns and trotted away before us, its tail brushing the ground. The path wound ever down, tree roots breaking upwards like ribs. I could hear the water before I saw it, its race over stones, and the deep sound of insects, absent beside the sea. The farm-hand walked backwards so that branches were held for us and I stepped out into the heat of the river’s bank.

Few stretches of salmon water in Ireland could compare with the one beside which I lay in shade, reading. The man who had brought us down had spent some time showing Hedley the spots at which to cast, then he had left. Upstream from where I had put down, the river curled out of sight and deepened. I saw Hedley’s cloth-capped head bob its way out of my line of vision, the curls at his neck becoming indistinct. I liked watching him, as I had the day before from the cliff. I liked to savour the bending of his upper body, the angle of his head, the deftness of his hands. He was gentle and caring, I was sure. I thought of the previous evening and of the coldness in my husband’s eyes. I could suddenly and vividly imagine Hedley’s body, it’s curves and lengths, its strength.

‘A penny for your thoughts.’

‘How did you..?’

‘The river doubles back around the wood,’ he said, sitting beside me. ‘Besides, any fish worth catching is asleep in this heat.’

I was sure that he had been observing me for some time and now it felt as if he must have been able to read my thoughts. I said, ‘Would you like some tea?’

I took out cups and unscrewed the flask. As he held out his cup, I could see the race of blond hairs across the bone of his wrist.

‘Isn’t it just lovely here?’ I said, as I tried to gather myself.

‘It could not be lovelier,’ he said, looking at me. He sat, his hands about his knees. ‘May I say something?’

‘By all means.’

‘You are so beautiful it makes me want to weep.’

I sat back. ‘I’m sorry, but what an extraordinary thing to say.’

‘I want to weep because it’s a crime to leave you so unhappy.’

I stared at him, wondering if the heat had made me dizzy.

‘Unhappy?’

‘Yes.’ He took my hand and kissed it. ‘Very.’

I drew back to find my breath. ‘That’s enough, I think.’

‘I don’t.’

We were kissing. First we kissed as we knelt, then he pressed me gently back and we kissed as we lay on the rug. I could not hold him tight enough, nor taste deeply enough of his mouth. The smell of the sweat from his flannel shirt. The feel of his face to my hands, its warm coarseness, his weight, his recklessness. His hands were on my bare legs.

‘No!’

I sat up.

‘Iz…’

‘This is insanity! Anyone could walk out and find us. Ronnie is due here any moment.’

‘Iz, I want you to come back to England with me.’

I stared at him. ‘I’ve hardly met you.’

He took my hands in his. ‘Love takes no account of conventions. Do you love Ronnie?’

I was distracted and shook my head. ‘I’m married to Ronnie.’

‘Why did you marry him?’

I couldn’t breathe. ‘Because I… I wanted to.’

‘There! You didn’t say, “I married him because I love him”.’

I took away my hands.

He said, ‘And I’m married to a woman who’s agreed to divorce me. Look, Iz, although I’ve hardly met you, perhaps that is why I can see things as they are. You’re trapped in a marriage without love. I saw his eyes last night. Tell me I’m wrong!’

‘We’re just going through a difficult period. He nearly died not so long ago, as you well know.’

‘He doesn’t appreciate or deserve you. Tell me you’re happy with him and I won’t say another word.’