'Aidan's dementia left him reclusive and not wanting to see his friends'
Alannah Hopkin fell in love with fellow writer Aidan Higgins at first sight and they were together until his death 18 months ago. She talks to Emily Hourican about the struggles with his illness and how both writing and travel helped her through the sadness.
Little did writer Alannah Hopkin realise when she began her quest to get a book published that it would lead to love and incredible heartbreak.
"I always wanted to write stories, but back when I started no one would get a story collection published if they hadn't published a novel." So says Alannah, novelist, travel writer and critic.
And so she went "the sensible way", as she calls it, and published two novels - A Joke Goes A Long Way In The Country in 1982 and The Out-Haul in 1985 - with her first collection of stories, The Dogs of Inishere, only appearing now, 30 years later."
The stories in The Dogs Of Inishere are subtle, memorable, carefully crafted, and deliberately blur fact and fiction. Characters may be Alannah's creations, but they interact with real people, in recognisable worlds - Soho, London and Ireland.
The switching between London and rural Ireland is true to Alannah's life. Born in Singapore, where her father was a doctor in the British Colonial Service, she grew up in London, but spent holidays in Kinsale, Co Cork.
"My father was English, my mother was from Kinsale, and I spent a lot of time here on my own," she says.
Later, when Alannah was at college her mother bought a house in Kinsale.
"At the time I wanted to spend a lot of time away writing. There was usually an empty house sitting there in Kinsale, which I was allowed to go and stay in. I did that for a few years, then I got really serious about moving back to Ireland when I was 31."
Alannah had been working as a journalist for Time Out, travel writing and book reviewing. She had published her first novel and had an advance for the second.
"I reckoned I had enough money to get by for a year or two, if I kept going with the reviewing. I made a very poor living, but I got by, and I did a lot of reading and a lot of writing, which is what I wanted to do," she says.
"I had all the things I wanted on my doorstep - the sea, walks - and I loved it."
It was there she met author Aidan Higgins, whose novel Langrishe, had been adapted for the screen by Harold Pinter. "He came to visit a friend, I was asked to help to entertain him, and so I did," Alannah says.
"I liked his voice on the telephone before I even met him, then I found him very attractive in person. We got talking and suddenly we seemed to have many things in common.
"I liked his gentleness, his hazel eyes - same as mine - his loyalty to his friends and his enigmatic smile."
It was, she says, "a bit dramatic. And terrifying. It's quite scary. It really was like a thunderbolt. I was 36, and I had never considered it a possibility. I had no idea how old Aidan was at the time, and he looked a lot younger, but we just clicked".
Aidan was 59. "I thought he was pulling my leg when he told me. I thought he meant to say 49, and even that would have been old. But it didn't seem to matter," says Alannah.
They moved in together "straight away", although they wouldn't marry for 11 years. "After about six months, Aidan started talking about buying a house, and I had to say 'stop, stop, you mean you really want to buy a house with me? Are you sure?' He said 'Yes of course, why not?' It was all easy," she says.
They would work separately all day - "I got the room with the door that closes, Aidan worked in the big open-plan sitting room with kitchen" - then meet in the evenings. "At half-five or six we'd have a drink together, play Scrabble, maybe go out. We didn't really talk about the working day. He might if it was going really well, and I might if I had a gripe. But we would never read each other's stuff."
It was, Alannah says, "so good when it was good".
And for many years, it was good. But then Aidan began to behave in ways that were strange.
"He had vascular dementia, but it went undiagnosed for a long time, because he had other mental health problems. He had a kind of breakdown, a psychotic episode around 2002," she says.
"He had had one or two before, and they never really got to the bottom of those. They thought he was mildly bi-polar, so this dragged on for years."
Finally, in his early 80s, Aidan saw a geriatrician and was diagnosed. "At least we knew then what was going on," Alannah says, adding: "it's really terrible when the GP has to explain to you that he's not going to get better, he's only going to get worse. And it's so difficult for him, because he can't understand what's going on."
By then, Aidan's eyesight was failing and he couldn't read. "He became very reclusive and silent and no longer wanted to see his friends or go out," says Alannah.
"They were very difficult times, because really it was just the two of us.
"He has three sons but they all live away. They were as helpful as they could be, but there wasn't a lot of support otherwise, except for friends, but he didn't want to see his friends."
Long used to doing "all the practical things" such as bank accounts, Alannah now found that "I was responsible for his safety, and then it became very difficult. And dangerous. He would wait until I was busy working, and then he would creep out the front door, and would get lost immediately, poor man. He had no sense of personal safety at all; he couldn't tell day from night. But he retained his sweet nature somehow. He was always very nice, except when, inevitably, he would get frustrated."
As for the effect on her, apart from the pain of watching such a terrible decline, "you just get very tired", she says. "You don't want to do anything much, except sleep. Or be alone. I found the constant having to keep him company difficult. I do like being alone. The house seemed to get smaller and smaller, but," she says, "you get through these things. You're going to have rough patches, so just get on with it."
Finally, when constant vigilance became too much, Alannah found a nursing home just three miles from the house. "It was a very good place, and they made him very welcome."
In April 2015, Aidan had a stroke, and he died in December of that year.
"I hadn't realised how tough that time was going to be on me," she says. "The pure sadness of it all. You try and look at positive things - we had nice ways of connecting. He used to love to warm my hands, I always had cold hands when I came into the nursing home."
Since Aidan's death, Alannah has travelled the world as well as around Ireland. "It feels very final - you get this after about a year; you suddenly realise he's never coming back... it doesn't sink in for a long time."
Many of Alannah's stories contain strange moments, "slippage" is how she describes them in one story, between this world and another, unseen world. So does she believe in ghosts? "There's something there. Things are happening that we're not able to see until we're dead. Kinsale is full of ghosts, including the house my mother bought."
It is when things puzzle or elude her that Alannah crafts them into stories. The title story here began life in a travel assignment. "I was so disappointed when I visited Inishere," Alannah says. "I was meant to write a travel piece and I couldn't. So I tried to make sense of it."
Alannah's precise, evocative descriptions of place and setting owe much to her experience as a travel writer, but it is in the conjuring of ghosts and her curiosity about what lies beyond the precision of place, that give these stories their subtle and lingering edge.
The Dogs of Inishere by Alannah Hopkin is published by Dalkey Archive Press