Free The Living by Léan Cullinan Page B

Joyce and Thomas, grandchildren whatever their names are, and by Elizabeth Silke and Stephen Bailey, sort of thing.’
    â€˜I hope Elizabeth’s being decent to Tom,’ Joan said.
    I felt like an eavesdropper.
    I looked for Matthew again, but he was nowhere to be seen. As I scanned the room my pocket buzzed. He’d sent me a text: ‘Sorry to disappear – I have to rush back to UCD. 990’ I texted back: ‘No probs. See you soon. 90’
    I went back to my car alone and drove out towards Rathmines. It took a couple of miles to admit it, but I was upset by Matthew’s leaving like that. We hadn’t exchanged a single word all morning. Would he not at least have crossed the room to say goodbye to me in person? Without meaning to, I began to slip into a little whirlpool of worry. He wasn’t being honest with me, I angsted. He was so reserved, always, and I had no real feel for how much of that was cultural and how much of it was just him.
    I stopped to pick up a sandwich for lunch before going back to work. I was in front of the deli counter, waiting my turn, when I recognized someone walking past the window: it was that man with the big-lensed glasses, like Dad’s. I’d seen him that night in the Stag’s Head, and later near my house, when he’d driven off in the car with the Chichester Psalms registration plate.
    â€˜Yes, please?’ said the server at the deli counter.
    â€˜Hang on.’ I ran out into the street.
    What was I doing? How was it done? I looked wildly around, up and down the street, but saw neither the man nor the car. I felt like an idiot – I hadn’t a clue where to start. I went along the row of shops a little way. The man was not in the launderette or the Chinese takeaway. He could have been in the hardware shop, but I had no intention of burrowing in there to look for him.
    It might not even have been the same man. I’d barely glimpsed him. I might have accosted a perfectly innocent stranger and accused him of stalking me. That’s if I’d even have the guts to accost him in the first place. Did he know I’d seen him? Would they – whoever they were – change their strategy now?
    Lacking other options, and feeling very small, I went back to buy my sandwich.
    I ARRIVED AT WORK to find the place in crisis: Paula and George were arguing loudly in the inner office. Paula accused George of having no head for business, being wilfully ignorant about the amount of work he was heaping on her desk, living in cloud-cuckoo land. George defended himself but was clearly on the back foot. I didn’t dare disturb them.
    Eventually, Paula declared that she had had enough and issued a thunderous resignation. George did his best to talk her out of it. She had four weeks of holidays due to her; he said he’d give her six if she’d take two now and come back to work. Two weeks, she said, was an insult. She’d take four now and three more at Christmas, thank you very much, and George could like it or lump it. Andshe’d be keeping an eye out for other openings. She stalked back out to her desk, greeted me curtly, collected her things and left.
    George and I had a planning meeting after he’d calmed down a bit. There were three books at proof stage, locked in to the printers’ schedules, as well as the fisheries conference proceedings, which was already slipping behind, and another big illustrated job due in. We said nothing about Eddie MacDevitt, although I could feel him lurking in the silences.
    It was my idea to take the company laptop home with me and work some overtime – I could at least do the routine copyediting and proofreading for him to check afterwards. George huffed and puffed a bit but agreed in the end that it was the best solution.
    â€˜Keep a note of the hours you do,’ he said. ‘I’m trusting you on this one.’ His eyes were sharp as needles.
    I did a couple of hours that