"November," she said. "I can't think how I didn't notice."

He turned left at Gorey and took the road south towards Blackwater.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter what I think."

*

He parked the car in the lane and opened the side gate into the garden, letting Carmel go in ahead of him. He had the key. The house had been aired; there was a fire lighting in the living-room, which their neighbour had lit for them, but there was still a musty smell. He shivered and went over to sit by the window. Carmel was carrying the first of the plants and putting them in the glass porch at the front of the house. The damp smell had always been in the house, he thought, no amount of air or heat would ever get rid of it fully. And there was another smell too which he remembered now: a smell of summer dresses, a female smell. The women who had taken care of him here. He could almost smell them now, vague hints of their presence, their strong lives, their voices which had been heard in this house for so many years.

The nettles had come back into the garden, despite the weedkiller which had been put down in the spring. The nettles seemed taller than ever this year. He would get one of the Carrolls to put the front garden right. Then there would be a new smell, of cropped grass, fresh and sweet with a hint of dampness.

He carried the suitcases and boxes in from the car. By now, Carmel had placed her plants all over the house and was working in the kitchen. He went over and smelled the lilies which she had placed in the porch. He took out the small cassette player and put the two speakers at opposite ends of the room. He plugged it in and put on

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