smiling to himself. No, I thought not, he said. But you can’t always get what you want.
She lay down on the bed beside him. Stroking her breast with his hand, he said: You’re happy she’s here, aren’t you? Your friend. After a moment, Alice said yes. Yeah, it’s cute the way you love each other so much, he said. Girls are like that. You should get time on your own with her while she’s around, don’t let the lads crowd in on you. Alice smiled. We’ve been apart for too long, she said. We’re shy with each other now. He turned over on his back and looked up at the ceiling. That won’t last, he said. And I like her, by the way. Alice smoothed her hand slowly down his shoulder, down his arm.
Will you spend some time with us tomorrow? she said. He made a kind of shrugging gesture. Yeah, why not, he said. Closing his eyes, he thought again, and then added: I’d like to.
/
Slowly the breath of the sea drew the tide out away from the shore, leaving the sand flat and glimmering under the stars. The seaweed wet, bedraggled, crawling with insects.
The dunes massed and quiet, dune grass smoothed by the cool wind. The paved walkway up from the beach in silence now under a film of white sand, the curved roofs of the caravans glowing dimly, parked cars huddled dark on the grass. Then the amusements, the ice cream kiosk with its shutter pulled down, and up the street and into town, the post office, the hotel, the restaurant. The Sailor’s Friend with its doors closed, stickers on the windows illegible. The sweeping headlights of a single car passing. Rear lights red like coals. Further up the street, a row of houses, windows reflecting the streetlights blankly, bins lined up outside, and then the coast road out of town, silent, empty, trees rising through the darkness. The sea to the west, a length of dark cloth.
And to the east, up through the gates, the old rectory, blue as milk. Inside, four bodies
sleeping, waking, sleeping again. On their sides, or lying on their backs, with the quilts kicked down, through dreams they passed in silence. And already now behind the house the sun was rising. On the back walls of the house and through the branches of the trees, through the coloured leaves of the trees and through the damp green grasses, the light of dawn was sifting. Summer morning. Cold clear water cupped in the palm of a hand.
26
At nine o’clock they were eating breakfast together in the kitchen, with clouds of steam from the kettle, clattering of plates and cups, sunlight billowing through the back window. Footsteps up and down the staircase after that, and voices calling. Alice threw a straw basket full of beach towels into the boot of the car while Felix stood leaning against the bonnet. Her sunglasses on her head, pushing her damp hair back off her face.
He came and put his arms around her from behind, kissed the back of her neck, said something in her ear, and she laughed. The four of them in the car then with the windows rolled down, the smell of hot plastic and stale cigarette smoke, Thin Lizzy on the radio, a crackle of static. Simon in the back seat, saying to Alice: God no, I haven’t heard from her in ages. Eileen’s face at the open window, the wind whipping hard through her hair. When they parked up, the beach ahead was white and glittering, dotted with bathers, people in wetsuits, families with sun umbrellas and coloured plastic buckets. Eleven o’clock on a Tuesday. Down by the dunes Alice and Eileen spread their towels out on the sand, one orange, the other with a pink-and-yellow pattern of seashells. Taking his shoes off, Simon said he would go and see what the water was like. Felix, toying with the drawstring on his swimming shorts, smiled to himself. I knew you’d say that, he said. Go on, I’ll go with you, why not. The tide was out and as they walked the sand was darker, firmer underfoot, crusted with coloured stones and fragments of shell, dried seaweed, the whitened remains of crabs. Ahead of them the sea. The sun beat down hot on their necks and shoulders. Beside Simon, Felix looked small and compact, dark-haired, nimble. Simon’s shadow longer over the flat wet sand.
Felix started asking about his job again, asking what he actually did all day. He said he mostly attended meetings, sometimes with politicians, and sometimes with activists and
community groups. Saltwater mild over their feet, and then cold on their ankles, colder still up at their knees. In the last few months Simon said they had been working a lot with an organisation for refugees. Helping them, said Felix. Trying to, said Simon. Is the water always this cold, by the way? Felix laughed, his teeth were chattering. Yeah, it’s always horrible, he answered. Don’t know why I came in, I usually never do. And you’re renting in Dublin, or you own a place? He was hugging his arms against his chest as he spoke, shivering his shoulders. Right, I have an apartment, Simon said. I mean, I have a mortgage. Felix splashed his hand idly through the surface of the water, kicking up a little white spray in Simon’s direction. Without raising his eyes, he said: Yeah, my mam died there last year and she left us the house. But that’s still got ten years on the mortgage as well. He rubbed the back of his neck with his wet fingertips. I don’t live there or anything, he added. My brother is actually in the middle of selling it now. Simon listened in silence, wading along to keep pace, the water waist-high now.