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diner nearby and he said he would not mind if she did not want to talk much or if she cried.

“I wish this hadn’t happened,” he said. “I keep wishing it hadn’t happened.”

“I think that too,” Eilis said. “If only she’d let one of us know. Or if only nothing had happened and she was well at home. I wish I had a photograph of her so I could show you how beautiful she was.”

“You are beautiful,” he said.

“She was the most beautiful, everyone said that, and I can’t get used to the idea of where she is now. I’ll have to stop thinking about her dying and her coffin and all that and maybe start praying, but it’s hard.”

“I’ll help you if you like,” he said.

Eilis felt, despite the improving weather, that all of the colour had been washed out of her world. She was careful on the shop floor and proud that not once did she break down or have to go suddenly to the bathroom and cry. Miss Fortini told her that she was not to worry if she needed to go home earlier any day, or if she wanted to meet her outside working hours to talk about what had happened. Tony came every night to meet her after the classes and she liked how he allowed her to remain silent if she wanted. He simply held her hand, or put his arm around her and walked her home, where her fellow lodgers made clear to her one by one that if she needed anything, anything at all, she was to knock on their door or find them in the kitchen and they would do everything they could for her.

One night when she went up to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea she saw that there was a letter for her on the side table that she had missed earlier. It was from Ireland and she recognized the handwriting as Jack’s. She did not open it immediately but took it downstairs with her when the tea was made so she could read it without being disturbed.

Dear Eilis,

Mammy asked me to write to you because she isn’t able. I am writing this in the front parlour at the table by the window. The house was full of people but now there isn’t a sound. They have all gone home. We buried Rose today and Mammy asked me to tell you that it was a fine day and the rain kept off. Father Quaid said the mass for her. We came down on the train from Dublin and arrived yesterday morning after a bad night on the mail-boat. She was still being waked in the house when we arrived. She looked beautiful, her hair and everything. Everyone said she looked peaceful, just asleep, and maybe that was true before we came but when I saw her she looked different, not like herself at all, not bad or anything but when I knelt down and touched her I didn’t think it was her at all for a minute. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I thought it was best to let you know what it was like. Mammy asked me to tell you everything that happened, about all the people who came, the whole golf club and Davis’s office shut for the morning. It wasn’t like Daddy, when he died you would think he was alive one minute. Rose was like stone when I saw her, all pale like something from a picture. But she was beautiful and peaceful. I don’t know what was wrong with me but I didn’t think it was her at all until we had to carry the coffin, the boys and myself and Jem and Bill and Fonsey Doyle from Clonegal. It was the worst thing about it in that I couldn’t believe we were doing that to her, closing her in there and burying her. I’ll have to pray for her when I get back but I couldn’t follow the prayers at all. Mammy asked me to say that she said a special goodbye to her from you but I couldn’t stay in the room when Mammy was talking to her and I nearly couldn’t carry the coffin I was crying so much. And I couldn’t look at all in the graveyard. I covered my eyes for most of it. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you all this. The thing is that we have to go back to work and