Colm Tóibín - The Blackwater Lightship

'Where would the bed be, though?' her grandmother asked, turning away from her washing-up. 'I don't want it against the window.'

'Is it a double bed or a single bed?' Larry asked.

'That's a very personal question,' Helen said.

'What sort of bed do you think I should get?' her grandmother asked, turning again, her hands covered in suds.

'Oh, that's up to you now,' Larry said.

As soon as the sun came out from the clouds, Helen took a chair to the front of the house and sat there reading the Irish Times. She would wait, she thought, until her mother left Declan's room, and try to see him on his own. If Cathal were sick like this, or Manus, she thought she would want to do as her mother was doing, but she was unsure if it was what they would want.

Paul came and sat on the ground beside her, his back against the house.

'Do you think Declan is all right?' she asked.

'How do you mean?'

'I think my mother has been with him since the dawn.'

'No, she hasn't. She arrived just before you got up,' he said. 'But she seems to be guarding the room, keeping his evil friends away from him.'

'And his evil sister,' Helen said.

'And her evil granny,' Paul added, laughing.

'No, I wouldn't call her evil. "Bad" is the word I'd use.'

'You're in good form this morning,' Paul said.

'Years ago,' Helen said, 'when we were children and my parents were away somewhere and my grandfather was out, my grandmother caught her hand in the window and she couldn't lift the sash. I don't know what age I was, six or seven I suppose. Anyway, she says, and she loved telling the story, that I used the occasion to go through every drawer in the house, rummaging freely, while Declan sat close to her, crying and trying to comfort her. I, of course, don't remember doing that at all. And I'm sure I didn't take advantage of the situation like that. But that's what she's doing now, what she accused me of doing when I was six or seven: she's rummaging in the drawers with your friend Larry.'

'Oh come on, give her a break,' Paul said. 'She lives on her own. It isn't often that she meets a real live architect. And Larry can never go into anyone's house without suggesting that they plant a bathroom somewhere entirely unsuitable.'

'What are you saying about me?' Larry came out and stood in the sun.

'I was telling Helen that your middle name is Frank Lloyd Wright,' Paul said.

'Your granny says that we're all to go for a swim,' Larry said. 'She gave me these.' He held up two pairs of black nylon swimming togs.

'God, I wouldn't wear one of those,' Paul said.

'I brought my own,' Helen said.

'Where did she get them?' Paul asked.

'"Left behind by bathers", she said.'

'She calls outsiders "bathers",' Helen said.

'God, they are skimpy,' Larry said, holding up the togs. 'They must have had fierce small mickeys in the nineteen-forties.'

'They're from the sixties,' Paul said, 'when blokes didn't mind having their mickeys squashed.'

'Do you think we should ask Declan if he wants to come with us?' Larry asked.

'Go in and find out,' Helen said.

They waited in silence until he came back.

'He's asleep now,' Larry said. 'I didn't even ask. I said I'd get your mother a cup of tea.'

'We'll wait,' Helen said. 'Get towels.'

Helen took her swimsuit from a bag in the boot of Declan's car, and all three of them walked down towards the cliff. If these men were not gay, she thought, she would have found an excuse not to go down to the strand with them. There would be too much tension and uncertainty. She would not have known how to behave unless Hugh were in the company as well, and then she would keep close to him. It was only when they were on the strand and Paul took off his shirt, and she saw the pale, smooth skin on his long back, that she realised how strange and new this was for her. If he saw her undressing, she thought, it would mean nothing to him. Maybe he would be curious, but he would not feel what she felt when she saw him now standing up in the black nylon togs.

'Last in is a sissy,' Larry shouted and began to wade fearlessly into the water until he suddenly stopped and jumped in the air as though he had been hit by an electric current. 'It's freezing, oh Jesus, it's freezing!' he roared.

Paul walked casually into the water, but he too stopped and wrapped his arms around his torso as though protecting himself from the cold. Helen realised that she would have to resist the temptation to splash him as she passed. He was too serious and distant for teasing. She thought of whispering the word 'sissy' into his ear, but she thought he would be offended.

'Come on, Paul,' she said, 'you're a big boy.'

'Don't even speak to me,' he said, shivering. 'You never told me it was this cold.'

By now, Larry was swimming out to sea, and as soon as it was deep enough, and with as much effort and determination as she could muster, Helen dived in as well. When she surfaced, knowing that Paul was watching her, she nonchalantly tossed the seawater out of her hair.

Afterwards, they dried themselves and lay on their towels in the sun.

'Your granny says', Larry began, 'that if she broke her leg or got sick, they'd sort of capture her and keep her, and she'd never get home. She was in hospital once and the old woman in the bed opposite thought everyone was a priest, even the nurses, and was all father this and father that, and your granny says she couldn't bear it. They started to treat her like she was demented as well.'

'She is demented,' Helen said.

'God, it'd be awful, though, when you think about it,' Larry said.

'Shut up, Larry,' Paul said.

'No, seriously,' Larry said.

'I don't care about Granny,' Helen said. 'I mean, I do care about her, but not now. Now, I'd like to get Declan out of that room.'

'I think maybe he wants to be there with your mother like that,' Paul said.

'Are you sure?' Helen asked.

'I think he was so afraid that your mother would refuse to see him or something,' Paul said. 'I think he desperately wanted her to know and help him and yet he couldn't tell her, and now he's told her and he has her there and she's trying to help him.'

'It might be better in small doses,' Helen said dryly.

'It might also be exactly what he wants,' Paul said. 'He talked about it so much.'

'Imagine being locked up in a room like that with your mother,' Larry said. 'I'd sooner be taken hostage by the Hizbollah.'

'Shut up, Larry, you told us your mother was nice,' Paul said.

'I suppose if I was sick, it would be different,' Larry said.

'Stop telling Larry to shut up,' Helen said.

Paul stood up and walked towards the shoreline and then began to wade fearlessly into the water.

'Maybe he'll cool off in there,' Larry said.

'What's wrong with him?' Helen asked.

'He has his own problems,' Larry said.

'Is he sick?' she asked hesitantly.

'No, not that. Boyfriend problems. Can you imagine trying to be his boyfriend?'

'I'm sure he's very nice.'

'Oh, a bundle of laughs, our Paul. He reads books about relationships.'

'And that's the limit, I suppose?'

'Well, it would be for me, big-time,' he said.

'Yes, it would be for me too,' Helen sighed.

Later, Larry went back to the house and Helen and Paul walked south along the strand towards Ballyconnigar and Ballyvaloo. The day was hazy, but the sun was strong and warm.

'Do you live alone?' she asked him.

He looked at her sharply. They both knew that the question had been rehearsed.

'No, I live with my boyfriend in Brussels,' he said. He sounded bored.

'Sorry, I should mind my own business,' she said.

'No, it's OK,' he said.

They walked in silence until they came to the Keating\a146s' house, where she began to explain the erosion. He seemed interested in it, asked questions about who had lived in the house and how long it had taken this part of it to fall over the cliff.