Maeve Binchy - Tara Road

'But I agree it was a delightful evening. It doesn't have to end in bed, it would be much much nicer if it did, but if it's not going to let's remember the good bits.'

'They were all good bits.' She smiled at him, grateful that he hadn't turned on her, outraged that he had been misled.

'Those Irish latkes. Eat-your-heart-out Jewish cookery,' he said.

'That Caesar salad, Emperor of Caesar salads,' she said.

'And that strawberry shortcake. Home-baked pastry already.'

'And the stylish wine in its cool-bag.'

'Hey, there's lots of good bits,' he said.

'Look in your machine tonight, there may well be a Message Pending,' he said, and left.

She cleared up everything and went into the study to see if there were any e-mails for her. There were two. One from Hubie. Just a test Mrs. Lynch to see can you retrieve as well as send! Hubie Green . And then there was one from Andy. Thank you so much for the most enjoyable dinner I have had in years. I will definitely be back at the alumni weekend as will Greg but if there's a chance we could meet again before that I would so much enjoy it. Your new friend, Andy Vine .

Imagine! Boring old Ria Lynch, poor deserted Ria, dreary mumsy tiresome Ria had a new friend called Andy Vine. And had she not said a persuasive no, then she could have had a lover of the same name as well. She looked at herself in the hall mirror and wondered what it would have been like. She had never made love with any man except Danny. Danny, who knew her body so well and brought her such pleasure.

It would have been awkward getting undressed in front of this man. How did people do it? Be so instantly intimate with people they hardly knew? People like Rosemary. But then Rosemary looked like Rosemary. As near perfect as possible. Ria was afraid that her own bottom might be a bit saggy, that she would look floppy when naked. In a way it was a relief not to have to go through the motions of getting to know another body and fear the possible criticism of her own. Yet it would have been nice to have had arms around her and someone wanting her again.

She sighed and went into Dale's room. She turned over the pages of Dale Vine's scrapbook, the pictures of motor bikes, the advertisements, the cuttings about various motor-cycle heroes. Marilyn had been strong enough to leave these here, reminders of the machines that had killed her only child, and yet she had not been able to tell the woman who was going to live in her house that her son was dead. This was a very complicated person indeed.

Marilyn had refused so many invitations that she feared she might now be causing offence. She had better go out with Hilary, Ria's discontented and unprepossessing sister. The woman had been very insistent, she had called several times to mention a picnic on the coast. It would be good to swim again, and Marilyn told herself she was a match for any of these inquisitive Irish. Just answer vaguely and ask them about themselves, then they were off, all you had to do was sit back and listen.

Hilary arrived bristling with energy and fuss. 'We'll miss the rush hour on the train which will be good,' she said.

'Good. I'm ready whenever you are.'

'Merciful God, Ria'll go mad when she sees all that work in the garden. Are they digging for treasure or what?'

'Just a bit of clearing-out the undergrowth, it will be perfect when she comes back. Your sister has a very beautiful house, hasn't she?' Marilyn said.

'I'll tell you straight out what I think. I think that Ria and Danny got their money too easy and these things have a habit of coming home to roost.'

'How do you mean exactly? Should we have a cup of coffee or would you like to get on the road, the train?'

'We could have a cup of coffee, I suppose. Were you not cooking, baking like?' Hilary seemed to look around the kitchen with the same disapproval as Brian had, searching for something which was not there.

'Well no. We're going out, aren't we?' Marilyn was startled.

'I thought we might have a picnic out there.'

'Yes, yes what a good idea, will we pass a delicacy shop on the way?'

'A what?'

'You know, somewhere we could buy the picnic.'

'But it would cost as much to buy a picnic in one of those places as to have a meal out. I really meant sandwiches.' Marilyn was beginning to regret this bitterly, but it was too late to turn back. 'We could hard-boil two of those eggs, and take a couple of tomatoes and two slices of ham, bread and butter, and aren't we fine then?'

Hilary seemed to be restored to good humour. The two of them prepared the very basic picnic and caught a bus to the station and then took the little electric train out to Dun Laoghaire. It travelled south along the coast and Marilyn commented with pleasure on all that she saw.

'Martin and I knew you'd enjoy this.' Hilary was pleased.

'Tell me how you met Martin,' Marilyn asked. She listened to the strange downbeat story, told with great pride, of a house saved for and bought, investments made, savings tucked away, economies arranged. They got out of the train and walked along the coast to the place where they were going to swim. And as they walked by the shining but very cold-looking sea Hilary talked about property prices, about Martin's brothers getting the small farm in the west, about the children of fourteen getting pregnant in the school where Martin taught and where she worked in the office.

When they got to the swimming place Marilyn cried out in delight. 'Look at the Martello tower, and the Joyce Museum! I know where we are. This is where Ulysses opened. It's the very spot.'

'Yeah, that's right.' Hilary was not very interested in James Joyce.

She pointed out the much photographed sign that said Forty Foot Gentlemen Only, and said she remembered her mother telling her about the feminists first swimming in there to claim it back for everyone.

'But that can't have been in your mother's time surely?'

'It was probably in my time! I'll be forty this year,' Hilary said gloomily.

'So will I,' Marilyn said.

A first mark of solidarity between two totally different women. They had a swim which froze Marilyn's blood to the marrow, and then ate their makeshift picnic. Hilary did most of the talking.

'Tell me about Ria's marriage,' Marilyn asked.

They talked about Ria. Hilary told the whole story as she knew it. The sudden announcement and he was gone overnight. The utter folly of it all, the comeuppance which was near at hand. Barney McCarthy wasn't a golden boy any more, and his political pals were not in power. It was curtains for Mr Danny Lynch.

'Did you ever like him?'

'I was nervous about him, he was too smart for Ria, too good-looking. I always said it and it turned out I was right in the end. It gave me no pleasure being right. I'm happily married myself, I'd prefer her to have been. Are you happily married?' Hilary asked suddenly.

'I don't know,' Marilyn said.

'You must know.'

'No I don't.'

'And what does your husband think?'

'He thinks we're happily married. We have nothing to say to each other. But he wants to go on as normal.'

'Sex, do you mean?' Hilary asked.

'Yes. It was good once. But no, it would be empty. I had a hysterectomy two years ago, so even if a forty-year-old woman could conceive, which they can, there's no chance for me.'

'I think you're lucky that he still wants to be with you in that way. I can't have children and so Martin thinks we shouldn't have sex. And so we don't.'

'I don't believe you,' Marilyn said.

'It's true.'

'But since when?'

'We're married sixteen years… about eight years I'd say, since he knew we couldn't have children.'

'And did you know before?'

'I always knew. I went to a fortune-teller, you see. She told me.'