‘Around a hundred.’
‘Ah, shite – that was a waste of money. Could they be reused for something?’
‘No. They’re Christmas cards. And they have 1994 printed on them.’
‘OK. Well, throw most of them away and keep a few for the archive.’
‘What archive?’ she said.
‘Cassie, where do you file old documents?’
There was a knock on the door and Cassie placed the box on his desk and went to answer it. One of the cards was taped to the outside of the box. It was a photo taken last summer at the annual dinner held by the Ardglas Fisherman’s Organisation. President Mary Robinson had attended and she was standing in the front row of the photograph. Surrounding her were the boat owners of the town and their wives, and Izzy and James. His wife was wearing a black dress with pearl earrings and a pearl necklace. Her fair hair was held back by a black velvet Alice band. She was sitting with her legs crossed and her hands clasped around her knee. The fact that his wife was attractive, and admired by other men, and always looked the part when they attended official functions was something he took pride in, and he liked to think that he expressed this admiration to Izzy as often as he could. He tried to remember if they had fought that night.
‘Happy New Year to you,’ Cassie said to the tall man with his head bowed standing in the doorway. He was taking an inordinate amount of time wiping his feet on the mat and allowing cold air to blow into the office. James stood up and saw it was Shaun Crowley, and his irritation turned to curiosity.
‘Hello, Shaun, how are you?’ James said.
‘Will I make tea?’ Cassie asked.
Shaun was moving slowly across the room, patting the pockets of his coat and looking around the floor like he’d lost something.
‘Well, I’ll have another cup anyway. Shaun?’
‘I won’t be stopping long,’ he said.
‘Well, take a seat.’ James gestured to the chair opposite him. ‘What can I do you for? How did you get on this Christmas?’
Shaun dropped heavily into the chair and sat back, slouching and loose-limbed. He removed his glasses case from the pocket of his wax jacket, took out a tiny white cloth, and began to clean his glasses with great concentration. James noticed that the hem of his trousers was about an inch too short so you could see the dark hairs on his legs just above the bands of his red socks. He wore expensive handmade shoes, the leather dull for want of a good polish. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, where his white vest was visible, and yet more hair sprouted.
Cassie placed another cup of tea on his desk and James watched Shaun cast a suspicious eye at her, not neglecting the cleaning of his glasses for a second.
‘Cassie – will you go over to Doherty’s and get today’s papers, please?’ James asked.
She nodded, took her coat from the stand and her keys from her desk, and left the office.
‘Now, Shaun – to what do I owe the pleasure?’ James had his elbows on the leather panel of his desk, his hands joined just below his chin.
Shaun placed his glasses back on his face and it was as though the gift of sight renewed his vigour. He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings. And then he stood up and strode to the window with some purpose. He held his hands behind his back and stared down at the pier, shaking his head a few times.
‘Twenty years ago, there were fifteen boats in that fleet, and now there are nearly fifty,’ Shaun said. ‘And twenty years from now there won’t be a fish left in the water.’
‘Never a truer word was spoken, Shaun. They’re leaving nothing for the next generation. That’s why I’m always saying it – tourism’s the future of this town.’
And then Shaun looked over his shoulder at him like he was surprised by his presence in the room. He returned to the seat and sat himself squarely in front of James, pinching the knees of his trousers so that the material rode up another inch, exposing his bony white shins.
‘Well, what was it you wanted to discuss?’ James asked.
‘Christmas, James. Yes, Christmas. Christmas was hard, James.’ He made a noise of assent then, like he was agreeing with himself. ‘I don’t mind telling you that Christmas was a difficult time. Carl was very upset all over Christmas because he didn’t see his mother, who as I’m sure you’re aware no longer lives at home. The fact that she no longer lives there is a decision she made herself. She decided to live in Dublin and to leave her home and her sons and to begin a new life.’
Shaun began to rummage in his wax jacket. He withdrew his fist, opened his hand, glared at the scrunched-up white tissue lying in his palm, and then returned it directly to his pocket.
‘Shaun, I’m very sorry to hear all of this but—’
‘But I would say that I am as entitled to a fresh start as Colette is. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Shaun—’
‘And I would say that my sons are entitled to a calm and stable existence – doesn’t that seem fair?’
James folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.
‘But Colette has certainly not contributed to that, and neither has your wife,’ Shaun said.
‘What?’
‘It seems they’ve struck up quite the friendship since Colette’s return to the town, which is odd really, considering they never had much to do with each other before.’
‘Izzy goes to Colette’s writing classes, what of it?’
‘I would never really have pictured them as friends. I wouldn’t have thought they’d have shared any of the same tastes or interests. And Colette didn’t have many friends, which was a thing I never paid too much attention to at the time. I thought it was just because she was a blow-in, you know, and that perhaps people thought she was odd because of what she does.’
James could feel something inside him tightening, like a clenched fist at the centre of his chest. He looked down at the silver letter opener shaped like a mackerel that lay on a square of marble between him and Shaun.
‘But your wife’s a blow-in too,’ Shaun said. ‘I know she’s not from far away, but really it’s the same thing. In a small town an outsider’s an outsider. But I always said to Colette that Izzy was one of the nicest women who ever came into this town. It’s a shame she’s been dragged into all of this, but it doesn’t surprise me that Colette would use her as some kind of . . . go-between—’
‘Get to the point, Shaun.’
‘The point is that your wife has been facilitating meetings between Colette and Carl. There was a shopping trip – to Enniskillen of all places. I thought that was an unusual choice.’
