Back from the hospital Noel sipped tea hurriedly and Zoe said, ‘What about our anniversary?’
‘A couple of hours. Tonight’s a given.’
‘Doesn’t his solicitor have people who empty property?’
‘I’m not emptying it. Don’t you listen!’
Why was he raising his voice? Today was be nice day. The death had spooked him, that was what it was. He noticed a solitary blade of silver in her fair hair. Thirty years together, through thick and thin, it seemed to say.
‘I’ve been wondering why he asked me,’ he said, more gently. ‘Perhaps he wanted somebody he could trust with his personal effects the same way a priest’ll deal with his soul.’
‘Were you that close?’
‘He was dad’s friend really, two County Clare men in Wales. Need to get there before the solicitor’s guys, lovey.’
/
Sean reminded Noel of a porpoise, big, awkward, fleshy bits in the wrong places, little holes for eyes, a gape of a mouth when he was swallowing a pint. The mouth then closed and joined the eyes in an expression of peace and pleasure. Early evenings, no matter the day, when Noel had gone into the Uplands for a quick gargle post-work, Sean was always at the bar.
He stepped into a frugal bachelor abode, as welcoming as a prison cell. A cupboard was full of bottles of whisky and beer, the fridge was empty. Nothing downstairs to detain him, he climbed the stairs, peeped into a chilly bathroom and vacant linen cupboard. Sean’s bedroom was just a bed, wardrobe, and dresser containing clothes. The small back bedroom had no furniture at all. Where were his valuables? Then in a corner he saw a plastic bag, its sole contents a pack of letters.
He removed the elastic band around them, and flicked through the back ones. One sheet of writing paper was in each envelope, both sides filled with small town gossip: a death, a wedding, a cousin ill. They ended with a kiss, and sometimes the name, Moira. The later ones used one side only, and ended with questions: ‘Do you still want me to wait?’, ‘What do you want me to do?’ The final one was the shortest, simply saying; ‘I’m breaking off our engagement. I’ll write no more.’
/
At the meal in town, raising his glass, he said, ‘Thanks for putting up with me for so long.’
‘Why didn’t he ask Moira to come?’
‘Dad used to joke that Sean was descended from a long line of Irish bachelors. I had to ask you more than once. Remember? You weren’t sure.’
Noel thought of Sean supping alone in that desolate house. He took Zoe’s hand, gripping it like he’d never let go. ‘You do make me happy. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I wonder if he really saw Moira’s side?’
‘He must’ve done.’
‘Happiness involves insight. I get you, you get me.’ She freed her hand. ‘He didn’t know her. Or himself.’
Noel nodded. It was be nice day.
