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Miserable. Except when playing; I can forget it, channel it, then."She wasn't aware of the movements of the early human activity in the hamlet; sea fishermen setting off before the current got too strong, sailors awake early, a workman in the boatyard. She wasn't aware of Tom, who'd parked his old Skoda in the gravelled car-park by the café and walked quietly down to the pier, not expecting to see anyone there, let alone Chrissie.It was only after he'd sat on the step next to her and gently – nervously – laid his arm round her shoulders and spoke."Aisling?"As he used her middle name ... his endearment saved for very special occasions ... memories, vivid, living memories, came flooding back. She turned to him, buried her face against his shoulder and wept."Hey, hey..." he wrapped his other arm round her and held her as she shook."Tom..." I'm here. Chrissie, I'm your friend. I will always be here when you need me."The funeral was at eleven.The little chapel, St. Nicholas-at-the-Ferry,. Rob wishes he could act like his Hollywood heroes Steve McQueen and Burt Reynolds. If he could he would walk over and just really impress Ronnie. But he wasn’t anything like those confident charming guys. His favourite movies were “The Great Escape” and then just over a year ago “Bullitt” with the sexy Jacqueline Bisset. Tonight Rob is pretty sure Ronnie is even prettier than Jacqueline. Veronica’s voice lifts Rob from his reverie. “Ever since they started that Super Bowl thing in 1967 all Carl cares about is football. Oh and beer. He bought it last year. It’s an RCA Vista. Latest in colour technology so Carl says.” She giggled and turned towards the kitchen. Rob shook his head in wonder. He watched Ronnie’s hips sway as she walked. How could a man care more about football than his amazing wife he wondered? “We only have an old Zenith.” He called out and walked to the kitchen. At Rob’s house they still had black and white. In the kitchen Ronnie handed Rob another beer. He didn’t know.
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