With Claude on his shoulder and the stoat recumbent in his arms, Ulysses Temper stepped forward to open the pub, five minutes late for evening opening. Mrs Lovell was first in the doorway. She looked him up and down and assessed the situation.
We’re down but not out, Mrs Lovell, said Ulysses.
You’ll do, she said and marched in.
Through the doorway, Ulysses caught sight of Tubby Folgate’s black Jaguar Mark V driving past, sniffing out trouble and weighing up the odds. Didn’t take long for word to get to him, thought Ulysses.
Peg sat in Col’s room, watching over him, her feelings stuck somewhere between rage and pity – but most women felt that way about Col. Thank God, in all the years she’d known him, she’d never ended up in bed with him. Small mercies.
Peg? Col stirred and pushed the blanket back.
Col.
How long have I been here?
Days, she said.
He sat up quickly.
Joke, she said, and lit him a cigarette. Pub’s open. No thanks to you.
I should go down.
Not yet, you shouldn’t.
（Sound from downstairs.）
I don’t know what happened, he said, so Peg told him.
Ginny OK?
I dunno, Col, is she?
Peg—
Is she pregnant or is she so godawful that you want her locked away? Or shamed—
Peg.
Or shaken? You remember that? The shaking?
Don’t, said Col, covering his face with his hands.
Touch of the déjà vus, ain’t it, Col? Thought we’d turned that corner.
I just wanted to know. I still do, he said.
She won’t tell you.
She’s frightened of him, he said.
She’s frightened of you. Agnes all over again.
（Agnes said he destroyed everything he loved. Agnes said he’d be his own downfall. Agnes said, Agnes said …） So, you tell me if she’s OK, said Peg.
Col lay back down again, exhausted. She’s OK, he said.
Then love her again. You’re all she has.
What am I going to do, Peg?
First, you go down and you tell ’em. Just tell ’em. This you can’t hide. And you calmly ask if anyone knows anything.
And if they don’t?
You let it go and you don’t do nothing stupid.
You slay me, Peg.
Yeah, maybe. But I’m all you’ve got.
Peg didn’t go down into the bar straight away but watched from the doorway. She needed a breather of sorts, a lowering of the cortisol. Him pulling a pint was the balm. Him and his parrot. She’d always thought the Tempers were a daft lot with their dimples and eyebrows and ears, and their belief that life cuts you a break when you least expect it. She’d have done anything to have had a mum like Nora. Nora was all soft angles and kindness. Peg could be kind, but there wasn’t enough of it to be a regular thing with her. It was like her wage. Always ran out by Thursday.
She walked up behind Ulysses and held his arms and he didn’t turn around because he knew it was her. A dovetail joint they were. They simply fit. She breathed him in, and he didn’t even feel the lightness of her kiss on his back. Claude saw it, though. Claude opened his beak as if to say something. Peg put her finger to her mouth. Our secret, she winked.
At eight o’clock, what they’d all been waiting for happened. Col shuffled in, part invalid part Old Testament, with a blanket draped around his shoulders and a moth around his head. He parted the silence like an ancient sea. He downed a gin and rubbed his forehead. Walked out to the centre of the room, all eyes on him. Keep to the script, Col, said Peg and he nodded. He cleared his throat and said, Life tests us in many ways. （PAUSE.） Ginny’s pregnant.
People looked at one another. A solitary gasp, a frown here and there, but generally it was the quiet absorption of information that filled the room. Nothing more, nothing less.
I just want to know who’s been messin’， said Col.
Silence.
You can tell me now or later. Face to face or anonymously.
Silence.
Anyone? said Col, voice rising.
Sit down now, Col, said Peg.
Col! said Peg sternly. Sit. Down.
Col sat down. It’s like a bloody morgue in here, he said.
And whose fault’s that? said Peg.
Where’s Pete? said Col.
In the bog.
What about a song, Peg?
Forgive me for not quite feeling it, Col.
Temps – what about that magic trick? The one with the egg.
That wasn’t me, Col.
Pete walked back in, drying his hands.
For fuck’s sake, Pete, do something, said Col. We’re dying in here.
What Pete didn’t know about an audience wasn’t worth knowing. He closed his eyes and breathed in the muse. Unity was the word she gave him. Strangely in a Northern Irish accent.