in, sometimes Izzy came by, but often Johnny sat there alone with Ellen and Michael and no one seemed to find it odd. Being with Michael had made Johnny feel slightly less weirded out by everything.
If, for any reason, Michael had to leave the house, Johnny followed him like a faithful dog. When a last-minute ticket-checker was needed for the GAA quiz night, both Michael and Johnny rose from the couch simultaneously. Johnny was quite content to spend ninety useless minutes sitting next to Michael in a draughty porch, watching him tear tickets in two.
When the Kinsellas’ nearest neighbours were short-handed on a night’s lambing, both Michael and Johnny got up, put on wellingtons and crossed the fields to the barn, where Johnny obediently yanked lambs into the world.
All the same, he wasn’t doing so well. Even he recognized that.
At work things, people made polite enquiries about how he was coping without really wanting the answer. He’d perform a palatable version of grief: a soft, wry smile, a sad shake of the head and some platitude, like ‘You learn to live with it.’
But the truth was, he’d scare people if he told them how he really felt.
One night, at an industry party, he crossed paths with Yannick, a man he hadn’t seen since Before. He liked him – he’d always seemed warm and easy-going.
‘Johnny, how have you been?’
There followed that weighted pause, the unspoken words: Since Rory died?
Johnny had had too much to drink and strange thoughts began to leak from his mouth: ‘I … ah. Yannick … You know that painting of the man holding his face? Is it called The Howl?’
‘You mean The Scream? By Munch?’
‘Maybe I do. The other day I saw it on an oven-glove – I know, an oven-glove. Aren’t people mad?’ He gave a bark of a laugh. ‘Anyway, I saw it and for a split second I thought I was looking into a mirror.’
Yannick’s pupils flared in alarm. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh.
‘Where do we come from?’ Johnny asked. ‘I don’t understand any of it. We get born and we do some stuff and then we die and … why?’
‘I see …’
‘Does it make any sense to you?’ Johnny realized he was pleading. Abruptly he stopped, made himself smile, and said, ‘I’m doing okay, Yannick. How are you?’
He struggled on, and one Saturday, not long before the first anniversary, when the leaves were turning red and orange and the air had an autumnal chill, Johnny drove to Errislannan and found Izzy at the kitchen table doing a Sudoku. ‘You’re supposed to be in New York.’
‘I broke it off with Tristão. Planes, lemon-scented towelettes … Johnny, suddenly my life seems so flashy.’
Johnny understood. Rory dying had bumped each of them out of their habitual groove and caused them to re-examine how they were using their short, precious days.
‘Those fancy holidays Tristão and I went on …’ Izzy said ‘… all I was doing was experiencing sensations.’
‘Nothing wrong with that.’
‘There is if that’s all it is.’ Fiercely she said, ‘Johnny, I want to live in one place and get on a plane twice a year. I want to be part of a community and have a husband and children. I want to be in a book group and join the neighbourhood watch.’
He said nothing. If that was what she wanted, that was what she wanted.
‘What about you, Johnny? You’re not getting any younger.’
He wanted the same things Izzy did. Over the years, he’d had relationships, some of them looking like they’d go the distance, but whenever it had come to crunch time, he’d backed away. During this time, his feelings for Jessie had risen and fallen. His longing would reach a peak, then ebb away, and for months, maybe even years, they’d be back to being mates. During those spells he was certain he was finally done with it all. But it kept recurring. So much so that he’d wondered if he should just accept that it would continue to afflict him occasionally, as if he were a person prone to chest infections. Meanwhile, he’d got himself a name as a heartbreaker. In his more self-pitying moments he felt that was undeserved, but there was no denying that actually he had, albeit temporarily, broken one or two women.
Every time another one bit the dust, Izzy would joke, ‘No one’s ever gonna measure up to me, Johnny Casey. You might as well just make your peace with it.’