‘True enough.’ She could have told me about her last night with Archie but she didn’t. It was the first time she and I had been together since the artifice had finally lifted for good. I suppose she liked having a bit of her own artifice. I expected her to start straight in on demands that I relinquish Archie but she just sat there, sipping tea, watching me do the same. It softened me towards her somehow. Perhaps if I didn’t begrudge her good fortune, I’d finally be due some of my own.
‘What are the provisions like here?’ I asked. ‘Would they last a while?’
‘There’s tinned fruit. Tinned tongue and kippers. Sardines. Loads of wine, if that’s what you’re about. Finbarr’s been on some scavenges in town for fresh food. Apples and cheese. We have enough to last a while. But not forever, of course. And we don’t know when the proper owners will return.’
‘It doesn’t look like they intend to any time soon, does it?’
‘No. But there’s no predicting what people will do.’
‘There’s a part of me,’ I confided, ‘that could just go upstairs. Never eat or drink again. Wither away to a skeleton in his arms.’
‘Like Elvira Madigan and Sixten Sparre? Terrible story. If we could talk to their ghosts, I’m sure they’d tell us it hadn’t been at all worth it. I never did go in much for romances. Especially not the tragic ones.’
‘Neither did I,’ I lied. If the idea of me dead in Finbarr’s arms – dead anywhere – pleased her, paving the road back to her husband, her face did not betray it.
‘Finbarr tells me you want to be a writer.’
‘Does he?’ How humiliating. I wondered what else he’d told her. ‘That used to be true, I suppose.’
Finbarr bustled in just then. Full of business and energy. ‘Good morning, Agatha,’ he said, as if they were absolute equals, the best of friends.
‘Good morning, dear Finbarr,’ she said with authentic warmth, and I remembered how everyone always loved him. I used to think it was because of his insistent happiness. But now that was gone and still the love he inspired remained.
Several minutes of domestic exchanges transpired. Finbarr produced a loaf of bread from the pantry, and Agatha found some marmalade and poured him some tea. It was a remarkable thing to witness. I sat, not helping, and eventually food was placed before me.
‘Have you heard from our man, then?’ Agatha asked me, when all was settled again.
I glanced at Finbarr, whose face refused to darken, or to acknowledge anyone else as my man.
‘I haven’t,’ I said. ‘Not for days. He doesn’t know where I am.’
‘That makes two of us.’
‘He’s terribly worried about you,’ I said.
‘How do you know, if you haven’t heard from him?’
‘Well, he was, last time we spoke.’
‘I might have considered that good news a few days ago. Now I find myself not much caring, if I’m to be honest.’
I had no way of knowing the smile on her face owed itself at least in part to last night’s kiss with Chilton. I only thought, Poor Archie. Last week with two women intent on his attentions, this week with none.
‘Finbarr has some things he’d like me to say to you,’ said Agatha.
‘Does he?’
‘Before I begin, I’d like to remind you. In my whole life no one’s hurt me as much as you have.’
Partly because I couldn’t bear Finbarr watching this interaction, I brought my hands up to cover my face. Agatha reached across the table and pulled them away. ‘We’re not going to do that,’ she said. ‘We’re not going to have me comforting you for all the wrongs you’ve done me.’