8.30 am

‘Are you sure you want this much detail?’

In his late fifties, Anthony is a man with a gentle appearance. Ruth has come to know the face before her, how his lips seem to disappear when he’s nervous. And the way his hands twist as he’s talking.

‘It gives me a sense of you, to know what your day is like.’

Ruth and Anthony have covered the big subjects, death, of course.

‘I used to be so vain about clothes,’ Anthony says, ‘but now, I can’t find the energy. Weekends, like I said, I don’t see anyone anyway. Jeans, a jumper. I can’t think how boring this is for you.’

‘Please, go on,’ Ruth says.

‘I go to the bathroom, do my business, go downstairs. And this moment I hate, because I have to go fast through the hall, past the living-room door, because that was his room, after the fall. I’m not, well, you can see, I’m not super-strong, physically. So he slept down there. Sometimes I’d let myself fall asleep on the sofa, you know, just to be in the same room. And I’d always kiss him, just a gentle kiss on his forehead, or his hair if he was asleep on his side.’

‘He must have known he was very loved,’ Ruth says as Anthony pauses. A nod shows this has landed.

‘I couldn’t do that so much in the hospital, well, you know all that, because they were quite strict about visiting, depending on what nurse it was. And they kept asking me, oh, they forgot, I suppose, they kept asking if he had “another brother” who could relieve me. I can’t blame them, but it was hard to have to answer it.’

Ruth nods, and when it seems he has reached a full stop, not just a pause, she prompts again. ‘Did you talk about it with Michael? About his family?’

Anthony shakes his head slightly. ‘I know he preferred being at home. He always loved that house, did I tell you? Yes, well. He liked the house, we both did. It had a good atmosphere, but I wish … Well, perhaps, that we’d bought on the other side of the street, the back is north facing, makes it very dark in the mornings. And then –’

Ruth jots down ‘displacement?’ in her notebook, notices Anthony notice the gesture.

‘Later on, neighbours, not the ones who’d lived there for years, but the new ones moving in since the crash, put up scaffolding and so on, remaking their houses, with light-filled this-and-that extensions. Like mini-mansions.’

Another pause comes, but this one Ruth decides to leave.

‘I liked the simplicity of what we had. I would say that to him, and he’d squeeze my hand.’

‘That was an important thing to say. Did you talk about your feelings more often after that?’

There is another tiny shake of Anthony’s head. ‘We had a good life. Write that bit down.’

‘I have, don’t worry,’ Ruth smiles. ‘Do you have other people you can talk to about him now? About the good life you had?’

‘I went out for work drinks last week, I forgot to mention that. First Thursday of the month, it’s a standing thing.’

‘Did that feel like an important thing to do, to get back to a routine?’

‘Everyone was very nice. Solicitous. But then they were talking about things I just don’t care about. You can’t really say, “Oh, my dead husband,” every five minutes, it’s kind of a downer. Do you think I should confront people, is that it?’

Ruth leaves a small gap. ‘What about the friends from the hospice. Are you seeing them now?’

He glances away. Anthony can talk about death and loss without even the threat of a tear, it’s kindness that sets him off.

‘We actually have a picnic planned for next weekend. We’re slowly doing parts of the Wicklow Way, one stage at a time. Only the weather hasn’t been playing ball, so this time we’re just heading to Three Rock. Gerard brings the thermos, Eimear can be relied on for interesting sandwiches. Though I think, and don’t quote me on this, I think she outsources the actual making of them to the local café.’ Anthony gives a fond smile. ‘Sorry, you probably have one of those big extensions, Ruth, do you? I didn’t mean to be rude, earlier.’

‘We do,’ Ruth smiles. ‘Not quite “mini-mansion” level, but yes, it is very light. Are you thinking about doing that now, changing your own house?’

But this only receives a sharp headshake.

‘So, then, Anthony, let’s get back to your weekend – when you’re not with friends, do you find it easier to be in the house now?’

‘I went for brunch, actually,’ he points vaguely behind him. ‘There’s a crêperie place near the canal, Le Petit Breton.’

Ruth nods.

‘And I set myself the task of reading the whole paper. I got into the habit in the hospital, you can’t really concentrate to read anything more than the paper, so I was missing it and I’d taught myself to do the sudoku, which he laughed at me for. He always held his skill with maths over me, “Honours Maths,” he would say, but in fact I was always better, restaurant bills and so on. So at brunch, I had a galette and my paper and chatted a bit with the woman who runs it. And when I got home, I made myself walk into the living room. I was still wearing my coat, just standing there, and the light really was lovely. And I thought maybe I should get one of those sledgehammers and knock out the dividing wall.’

Ruth nods.

‘But then I imagined him again, Michael. Not a fan of change, you see. He’d say, “Catch yourself on!” whenever I suggested something like that. And it’s like, sometimes, I can hear the echo. Strange how the thing that used to drive you mad is what you miss.’

‘Can you tell me a little more about that?’ Ruth says.