she was showing the place off to him, and on towards the National Gallery, except that they did not end up in the National Gallery; they ended up, instead, in a strange little pub called the Lincoln’s Inn. And that night was another night for all of them, and the next day was not a day, either, when Catherine felt like taking the train home, and that day she and James stayed in Baggot Street and talked again for hours and hours, and that night was another night of drinking and dancing, and the next day was Friday, and Catherine finally had to face up to Longford, and to the long, empty months ahead, and, feeling really heartbroken, she packed her rucksack, and she said goodbye to the girls, and James said he would go with her as far as Connolly station, that he would help her with her bags. And at the station, as they waited, Catherine said, I want you to hear something with me; I want you to listen to the lyrics of this song. Listen. Listen .
* * *
“Dreams fled away. What’s the rest of that line?”
“What line?” James said lazily, from the other end of the blanket.
“You know, from the Thomas Kinsella poem, the one about September.”
“ I don’t know.”
“It was on the Leaving curriculum. You have to have done it. Everyone had to do it.”
“I don’t know, Reilly. You’re meant to be the poet.” He pulled his legs towards him, let them drop back again. She felt him wriggle in closer to her.
“I don’t know what’s happening to my memory,” she said, trying to ignore her heart, the way it was going faster.
James sighed. “Dreams fled away. And the fire brought a crowd in?”
“Those are two completely different poems! The second one’s Austin Clarke. Did you seriously think that was the line?”
“I don’t know, I told you,” he said impatiently. “I don’t remember my bloody Leaving Cert homework.”
“When night stirred at sea—”
“Lookit, can you stir over a bit on the blanket there, please, while you’re speaking of stirring. I’ve got far too much of the grass.”
“We need two blankets, really,” Catherine said hopefully.
He made a noise of exasperation. “Well, I’m not going into the house again. I just got another earful from my mother about this fucking wedding.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She’s still nagging at me to go. And to bring you with me. Fuck’s sake.”
“Well, I don’t mind.”
“You must be joking.” He sat up; his shadow dropped onto her. “Whose side are you on?”
“OK, OK,” she said, holding up a hand. “I just don’t want to cause trouble.”
“Trouble?” he almost spat. “You’re not causing trouble. You’re helping me out.”
“Well, good, then,” she said uncertainly.
“Good,” he echoed, and seeming satisfied, he sank back down.
* * *
James, when Catherine had phoned him earlier that week, had announced that she was going to join him at his parents’ house in Leitrim on Friday evening and stay for the whole weekend. It was a masterful plan, he declared, because it would mean that he could go down home, which it was about time he did anyway, having been back in Ireland for over a month, and having Catherine with him would mean that he could visit his parents without having to go to the awful neighbor’s wedding to which he had been invited, because Catherine’s presence would get him off the hook. At the same time, it would mean that the two of them could see each other again, because there was only so much you could talk about on the phone. Catherine lived on the same train line that he would be taking to Leitrim, so they could meet halfway and travel down together, and on Sunday they could leave together again, and she would get off the train in Longford, and he would go on to Dublin.
“So it’s the perfect solution,” he said, sounding very pleased with himself. “God, I would have been great to have around during the Cuban Missile Crisis.”
“I can’t come,” Catherine said, hoping
* * *
“Dreams fled away. What’s the rest of that line?”
“What line?” James said lazily, from the other end of the blanket.
“You know, from the Thomas Kinsella poem, the one about September.”
“ I don’t know.”
“It was on the Leaving curriculum. You have to have done it. Everyone had to do it.”
“I don’t know, Reilly. You’re meant to be the poet.” He pulled his legs towards him, let them drop back again. She felt him wriggle in closer to her.
“I don’t know what’s happening to my memory,” she said, trying to ignore her heart, the way it was going faster.
James sighed. “Dreams fled away. And the fire brought a crowd in?”
“Those are two completely different poems! The second one’s Austin Clarke. Did you seriously think that was the line?”
“I don’t know, I told you,” he said impatiently. “I don’t remember my bloody Leaving Cert homework.”
“When night stirred at sea—”
“Lookit, can you stir over a bit on the blanket there, please, while you’re speaking of stirring. I’ve got far too much of the grass.”
“We need two blankets, really,” Catherine said hopefully.
He made a noise of exasperation. “Well, I’m not going into the house again. I just got another earful from my mother about this fucking wedding.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She’s still nagging at me to go. And to bring you with me. Fuck’s sake.”
“Well, I don’t mind.”
“You must be joking.” He sat up; his shadow dropped onto her. “Whose side are you on?”
“OK, OK,” she said, holding up a hand. “I just don’t want to cause trouble.”
“Trouble?” he almost spat. “You’re not causing trouble. You’re helping me out.”
“Well, good, then,” she said uncertainly.
“Good,” he echoed, and seeming satisfied, he sank back down.
* * *
James, when Catherine had phoned him earlier that week, had announced that she was going to join him at his parents’ house in Leitrim on Friday evening and stay for the whole weekend. It was a masterful plan, he declared, because it would mean that he could go down home, which it was about time he did anyway, having been back in Ireland for over a month, and having Catherine with him would mean that he could visit his parents without having to go to the awful neighbor’s wedding to which he had been invited, because Catherine’s presence would get him off the hook. At the same time, it would mean that the two of them could see each other again, because there was only so much you could talk about on the phone. Catherine lived on the same train line that he would be taking to Leitrim, so they could meet halfway and travel down together, and on Sunday they could leave together again, and she would get off the train in Longford, and he would go on to Dublin.
“So it’s the perfect solution,” he said, sounding very pleased with himself. “God, I would have been great to have around during the Cuban Missile Crisis.”
“I can’t come,” Catherine said, hoping
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