Mr Lynch’s Holiday

32

‘Eamonn.’ She spoke softly. ‘Let’s get out.’

He smiled. ‘Out where?’

‘Away from here. Let’s leave. Let’s not come back.’

He gave a little laugh. ‘That’d be nice.’

‘Well, let’s just walk away.’

‘What?’

‘Give the keys back to the agents. People do that.’

‘They do, and they lose their deposits, everything they invested.’

‘We could start again.’

‘Over a hundred and eighty thousand pounds.’

‘It’s just money.’

He laughed.

She didn’t.

‘But you’re the one who’s always saying everything’s OK. “We have each other.” “Give it time.” You know, all that upbeat, positive stuff you do so well. You’re the one rattling out the novel. I thought you were fine.’

She held his gaze. ‘I am.’

His face changed and he rolled back on the pillow. ‘It’s me. I’m letting the side down.’

‘It’s nothing to do with letting the side down. You’re really not happy here.’

‘I’m just adjusting.’

She hesitated before speaking again. ‘I think you had higher expectations than me.’ She paused. ‘Unrealistic expectations.’

‘What, the writing?’

‘Partly that.’

‘Well, what else?’

‘I don’t want us to fight.’

‘We’re not fighting.’

‘I’m worried we’re about to.’

‘Why don’t you just say whatever you want to say?’

‘You thought you’d be a different person here.’

He said nothing.

‘And I don’t know why you wanted that. I loved the person you were.’

‘“Loved”?’

‘I still love you, but I’m worried about you. I don’t think this place is good for you.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, Eamonn, come on. You’re not yourself, you’re lost.’

‘I’m just getting used to it.’

‘You need stuff around you to rub against. There’s nothing here.’

‘While you have such a rich interior life …’

‘I’m not saying all this so that you can sneer at me.’

He closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

She was quiet for a while. ‘You have no one and nothing to pick apart here but yourself.’

He had his head turned away from her, his eyes screwed shut. He tried to control his breathing. When he looked back at her he forced a smile he did not feel, affected a lightness in his tone.

‘I thought you were writing about Goya, not studying GCSE psychology.’

But she remained serious. ‘If we’ve made a mistake, we can admit it and walk away. There’s no virtue in punishing ourselves.’

‘Laura, honestly, it’s fine. I’m sorry if I’m grumpy sometimes. I’m finding my feet. The fact is we’re living in a beautiful place, we have each other, we have total freedom. How could anyone be unhappy? Only an idiot would consider that a mistake.’

She looked at him for a long time, searching his face for something, and finally gave up. She flopped back on the pillow and sighed. He leaned over her.

‘Why has that made you sad? I thought it would make you happy.’

She seemed resigned. ‘I know you did. I know you did.’