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in grand style, and I darted across the pavement once I was sure she was the woman at the wheel. The town’s traffic always builds up a little in the early evening but she coped calmly. All that surgical training, I supposed. She didn’t even tut as the rain started again before we made the road out to my village.
    ‘Did I get you in trouble, Sister?’
    ‘I was just coming off duty anyway.’
    It had been an awkward phone conversation nevertheless, with me stuttering that I was only phoning to check my next appointment and her saying it was all right and she would explain the details while giving me a lift. I looked at her as she drove, profile in repose and coat collar turned up to catch the tendrils of hair as they came out beneath her knitted hat.
    ‘Sorry I wasn’t in, erm, when you called.’
    ‘That’s all right. I only called on the off chance.’
    That couldn’t be true. She must have got my address from the records and actually asked the way to my cottage once she reached the village. We have no real road signs, and numbers are unknown. Some off chance.
    She was making me nervous. I’m not used to serenity, never having experienced that condition myself.
    ‘Which part of Ireland are you from, Sister?’
    ‘Sinead.’ Only she almost pronounced it Shinneighed.
    ‘Where’s that?’
    She fell about laughing, with momentary difficulty controlling the wheel. ‘Stupid man. It’s my name. I mean stop calling me Sister. You’re not in hospital any more.’
    ‘Gaelic?’
    ‘Ten out of ten.’
    ‘I’ve always wanted to visit Dublin. A booksellerprinter there owes me.’
    ‘Don’t go scrapping till your arm’s mended.’
    There’s nothing you can do when a woman’s got the upper hand, especially when that woman has washed your bum twice a day lately. I fell silent. Sisters clearly had more ways of shutting you up than mere nurses. She must have felt concerned because she resumed, ‘In the west of Ireland we have traditional names. It’s only recently easterners have moved into the market.’
    She shot a glance at me and changed up for the long pull on the hill above the brook which marks our town boundary. Beam lights of an oncoming car lit her face and brought my reflection into the windscreen. Our reflected gazes met.
    ‘Erm, we’ll go to the White Hart, if that’s okay.’
    ‘Me in my old coat?’
    Nursing staff aren’t allowed in public houses wearing uniform. I knew that. Sinead had on a navy blue topcoat. I can’t see these things matter much, but women find disadvantage in practically anything.
    ‘Bear right at the fork.’ My cottage had been abused enough lately by visitors. Anyway, as we ran together through the rain into the tavern porch I thought she looked bonny.
    The pub crowd naturally gave her a cautious scan when we pushed in, all except Patrick who let out a shrill whoop and trilled a roguish yoohoo. The usual weird mixture of dealers and barkers were busily slurping booze, pretending the antiques game was going just perfect. Tinker saw us and reeled across, ponging to high heaven and filthy as ever, greeting Sister Morrison with such familiarity everybody stared. He showed every sign of joining us till I gave him the bent eye and a quid.
    ‘I thought we wuz broke, Lovejoy,’ the stupid old soak croaked.
    ‘Er, my reserve.’
    ‘Mr Dill.’ Sinead had her handbag open as we crammed into the nook furthest from the fire. ‘Lovejoy can’t carry the glasses. His arm. Would you please oblige?’
    Tinker scarpered to the bar with her money while I tried to recover my poise, and still I went red. The hubbub battered our ears. Sister Morrison saw me sussing out the crowded, smoke-filled bar and leaned forwards, her eyes glowing with interest.
    ‘Who are they all? Everybody knows you.’
    A faint scent wafted the smoke aside for an instant. ‘Well. Yon, er, eccentric bloke with the silver gloves and red bolero’s Patrick. He’s a dealer, not as daft as he