was clear what Nuala was after, even if she was able to persuade you that it was your idea and wish rather than hers. He couldn’t help feeling that she ought to be happy, but he knew that thinking so did nothing to alleviate the fact that she was clearly miserable.
Around noon, he pulled the car over to the side of the road and took out his lunch. In spite of the circumstances in which he had left the house, he hadn’t neglected to take some food with him: french bread, some cold beef, a wedge of Roquefort cheese, fruit, bottled water. He remembered with horror some of the things he’d been offered in hotels and restaurants in rural Ireland on his rare forays out of the city. When Kevin left Dublin, he was only really happy if he was on his way to the airport. He associated long drives across the country with his childhood, when they went to visit his granny inTipperary. He’d never liked those visits. Even as a child he had been picky about his food; and even by the standards of the time and place, his granny had been an atrocious cook. He could still remember her gristly stew, and loaves of soda bread, baked to the consistency of a breeze block. As he ate the Roquefort, he remembered how she’d once found an old piece of Cheddar which had been forgotten at the back of the larder for weeks, and was covered with a hairy blue mould when she took it out. She’d set it on the kitchen table and said with amazement, ‘Now if you were to give that to a Frenchman, he’d probably think it was the nicest thing that ever he ate.’
It had been raining when he left the city, and now, as he sat in the parked car, rain lashed against the windscreen . He switched on the ignition, and briefly turned on the wipers. The Bog of Allen appeared before him, as abruptly and vividly as if he’d switched on a television set: rich brown earth, flat under a complicated sky full of heavy grey clouds. Christ, what a dump! Kevin thought he would rather be bricked up behind a wall than live in such a desolate spot. And yet he had sent Nuala to a place like this, a place where there was nothing. How could she be expected to survive without dress shops and department stores, without a bit of activity going on around her? Maybe she was angry with him, and wanted to give him a fright by doing a bunk for the night. He’d have certainly resented it if he’d been packed off from the city for the summer like that. He switched off the wipers, and let the falling rain obliterate the gloomy scene before him.
But Nuala was happy in Donegal. She didn’t want tocome home. It hurt him deeply to think this. Did she dislike him so much? What had he ever done to her to make her feel so hostile to him? He looked at the dashboard, the crumpled paper containing bread and meat on the seat beside him. He listened to the rain, and suddenly he thought: I want to stay here. He didn’t want to drive on to Donegal, to face Nuala or Claire or anybody, he just wanted to stay there quietly for as long as possible, all day, until night fell, and perhaps on through the night, because life was so baffling, so bloody
sad
that he just wanted to withdraw from it and be left in peace.
Was that what she felt too?
With deep reluctance he put away the remains of his lunch, and continued on his way.
11
THE CHIP SHOP where Nuala went the night she stayed away wasn’t the only place locally where you could get a meal. There had been a degree of wilful perversity in her choosing to go there, rather than to some of the restaurants and hotels which had appeared as a result of the tourist trade. Claire suggested two possibilities: a hotel in town which she said did decent meals, and a restaurant called The Silver Salmon, which was patronized not only by tourists, but also the local fishermen and their families, when the catch had been good and they were in funds. They chose to go to the latter.
Kevin looked ironically at his plate, piled high with steak in a wine sauce, carrots,
Around noon, he pulled the car over to the side of the road and took out his lunch. In spite of the circumstances in which he had left the house, he hadn’t neglected to take some food with him: french bread, some cold beef, a wedge of Roquefort cheese, fruit, bottled water. He remembered with horror some of the things he’d been offered in hotels and restaurants in rural Ireland on his rare forays out of the city. When Kevin left Dublin, he was only really happy if he was on his way to the airport. He associated long drives across the country with his childhood, when they went to visit his granny inTipperary. He’d never liked those visits. Even as a child he had been picky about his food; and even by the standards of the time and place, his granny had been an atrocious cook. He could still remember her gristly stew, and loaves of soda bread, baked to the consistency of a breeze block. As he ate the Roquefort, he remembered how she’d once found an old piece of Cheddar which had been forgotten at the back of the larder for weeks, and was covered with a hairy blue mould when she took it out. She’d set it on the kitchen table and said with amazement, ‘Now if you were to give that to a Frenchman, he’d probably think it was the nicest thing that ever he ate.’
It had been raining when he left the city, and now, as he sat in the parked car, rain lashed against the windscreen . He switched on the ignition, and briefly turned on the wipers. The Bog of Allen appeared before him, as abruptly and vividly as if he’d switched on a television set: rich brown earth, flat under a complicated sky full of heavy grey clouds. Christ, what a dump! Kevin thought he would rather be bricked up behind a wall than live in such a desolate spot. And yet he had sent Nuala to a place like this, a place where there was nothing. How could she be expected to survive without dress shops and department stores, without a bit of activity going on around her? Maybe she was angry with him, and wanted to give him a fright by doing a bunk for the night. He’d have certainly resented it if he’d been packed off from the city for the summer like that. He switched off the wipers, and let the falling rain obliterate the gloomy scene before him.
But Nuala was happy in Donegal. She didn’t want tocome home. It hurt him deeply to think this. Did she dislike him so much? What had he ever done to her to make her feel so hostile to him? He looked at the dashboard, the crumpled paper containing bread and meat on the seat beside him. He listened to the rain, and suddenly he thought: I want to stay here. He didn’t want to drive on to Donegal, to face Nuala or Claire or anybody, he just wanted to stay there quietly for as long as possible, all day, until night fell, and perhaps on through the night, because life was so baffling, so bloody
sad
that he just wanted to withdraw from it and be left in peace.
Was that what she felt too?
With deep reluctance he put away the remains of his lunch, and continued on his way.
11
THE CHIP SHOP where Nuala went the night she stayed away wasn’t the only place locally where you could get a meal. There had been a degree of wilful perversity in her choosing to go there, rather than to some of the restaurants and hotels which had appeared as a result of the tourist trade. Claire suggested two possibilities: a hotel in town which she said did decent meals, and a restaurant called The Silver Salmon, which was patronized not only by tourists, but also the local fishermen and their families, when the catch had been good and they were in funds. They chose to go to the latter.
Kevin looked ironically at his plate, piled high with steak in a wine sauce, carrots,
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