The Living by Léan Cullinan Page B

house, closed the door and sank to the floor of the hall.
    I SAID NOTHING TO anyone about the car outside my house. I woke up on Sunday, indeed, feeling certain that I’d blown the whole thing out of proportion – it was all in my head, my cruelly thudding head.
    Rehearsal the following Thursday was frustrating. Having dispatched our better-known pieces, we honked and squeaked our way through A Song of Ireland , completely failing to get a sense of the overall shape of it. The basses dragged; the sopranos struggled with tuning. We slogged through the pompous finale, then Diane, who had kept her cool with evident difficulty for much of the evening, said, ‘All right, I don’t think we’ll get anything more useful done tonight. Let’s go to the pub.’
    I’d barely spoken to Matthew since our parting after the film on Friday. No chatty little text messages, no bridge of understanding. Lying in bed alone one night I’d cooked up a joyless little drama, wherein he, tiring of my company, was looking for excusesto back out. We had nothing in common; he was cleverer than me, more attractive. I wasn’t what he wanted. Maybe he even had a girlfriend back in England. Such things were not unheard of.
    When he fell into step beside me as we walked out into the street, I was surprised. He left some space between us, and I felt the distance like a canyon with a wintry wind sweeping down it. I turned to look at him, saying nothing. The others all seemed to have gone ahead.
    As we neared the corner, Matthew caught at my sleeve and pulled me towards the railings. We stopped and kissed fiercely, at first touching only with our lips, but then relenting, holding, hugging, warming each other.
    Matthew said into my ear, ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been … I’ve been stupidly busy.’
    â€˜It’s OK.’
    He stroked my hair, and I drew back to look at him. ‘We’re like a pair of illicit lovers,’ I said.
    He shrugged. ‘Well …’
    â€˜Do you mind the others knowing?’
    â€˜I thought you might,’ he said, the dimple on his right cheek deep with a half-smile. I didn’t believe him.
    I said, ‘I think it’s sort of inevitable, unless we’re a lot more …’
    â€˜Careful—’ said Matthew.
    â€˜Secretive,’ I said.
    We did some more kissing.
    â€˜I don’t have a problem with them knowing,’ I said, savouringthe bright new knowledge that there really was something for them to know about.
    â€˜Fair enough,’ said Matthew. ‘But I don’t want to make a thing of it, if you know what I mean.’
    â€˜What about …’ I paused, ‘public displays …?’
    â€˜Hmmm,’ said Matthew, kissing my forehead in a thoughtful way. ‘I don’t really want to be too blatant about it. Not yet.’ He drew back and looked at me, eyes serious. ‘Is that all right?’
    â€˜That’s fine,’ I said. ‘Sort of an open secret, then?’
    â€˜Exactly.’
    â€˜Right you are.’
    â€˜Story of my life,’ he murmured as we turned to walk on towards the pub.
    Inside, the others were settling themselves round a cluster of tables, piling coats in a corner, declaring their orders to the ones who were going up to the bar. I made for a table where Joan and Tom were just sitting down. Matthew tapped me on the shoulder and asked what I wanted.
    â€˜Pint of Guinness, thanks.’ I sat down to face the other two, who eyed me with mischievous interrogation.
    â€˜Well, look who has a new friend,’ said Joan.
    â€˜What?’ I said, trying desperately not to blush.
    â€˜That was a tap on the shoulder, if I’m not much mistaken,’ said Tom.
    â€˜Indeed it was,’ said Joan.
    â€˜Proprietorial, one might almost say,’ said Tom.
    â€˜Rubbish,’ I said, unable to keep my wide grin in check. I busied myself with taking off my