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head. ‘She might not even know she did,’ Charley persisted. ‘These people have a way of getting things out of you. They can take the fillings out of your mouth and you don’t even notice until you get home.’
    â€˜Maggie doesn’t know.’
    â€˜Of course she knows.’
    â€˜Charley, listen to me. Maggie and I barely knew each other at the time it happened. We didn’t start going out seriously for another year or more, and it was a full year after that before we got married. Remember?’
    â€˜But she knows.’
    â€˜She knows that you and Jan lost your only child, of course. But she doesn’t know her name was Fiona. I never had occasion to mention that. It’s not a happy subject, and I’ve never gone into it in any detail with anyone, not even Maggie.’
    â€˜But still, it must have slipped out. Sometime.’
    â€˜What about Ravenswood?’
    It was the name of the house outside Galway where they had been living when it happened. ‘Same thing,’ Charley said. ‘You mentioned it to Maggie somewhere along the line.’
    â€˜I know I never did. Later, when we were back home, I asked Maggie what the names Fiona and Ravenswood meant to her, and she had no idea. Nothing. She says the woman picks up all kinds of things, and you have to tune in to the ones that seem to relate to you. Maggie never thought twice about the references to Fiona and Ravenswood because they had no meaning for her. Do you see what I’m saying?’
    â€˜It’s got to be a con of some sort,’ Charley said.
    â€˜But why? This woman doesn’t know you. She doesn’t even know you’re living in New Haven, or living at all, or that you’re a friend of ours. None of that.’
    â€˜I don’t go for this sort of thing,’ Charley muttered.
    â€˜I just thought I should tell you. At first I wasn’t going to, but then I realized it wasn’t for me to decide. If there was one chance in a million that it was real, then you had a right to know about it and make your own decisions.’
    â€˜Real? Real what? ’
    â€˜A real message, I suppose.’
    â€˜She was three months old, Mal.’
    â€˜I know that.’
    â€˜Am I supposed to think that when she got to the other side she grew up and learned English, and now, after all these years, she decides to drop by and have a chat? Fuck it.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I knew it would distress you but…’
    â€˜You did what you had to. It’s all right.’
    â€˜We both could use another.’
    While Malcolm went for the drinks, Charley sat and stared at the nicks in the tabletop. Fiona. Ravenswood. She never had a chance to grow up. Never learned to speak. When death came, her age was only three months.
    It always would be.
    *   *   *
    He was not wearing well but, then, who does? Life catches up with you. So? If he made it to sixty-five and then dropped dead from the booze and smokes, so be it. Amen, thanks for the crack, it was fun while it lasted.
    Chapel Street, he noticed.
    Some little time had passed, no doubt. Malcolm went home, after being assured that Charley was okay and could safely manoeuvre the walk to his apartment off Orange. Where Jan was waiting. Bugger that, he wasn’t in the mood to face her yet. Poor fragile Jan, a decent woman. Not exactly a brick, though, more like a piece of very thin glass. Always ready to break. It was Charley’s job in life to see her through it. Occasionally to reach for the bottle of glue and put the pieces back together.
    Howe Street. God put it there so Heather would have a place to live and fuck. Charley made his way up one flight and knocked on her door. She looked lovely, short skirt and elegant blouse, ready for action. She was not, however, happy to see him. Never mind. He swept past her, into the living room.
    Oh dear, she already had company. More of her young college friends.