About the book
A Marriage at Low Tide
The first tribunal notice arrived in a brown envelope with the tide still low enough to show the black ribs of the harbour wall. Nessa Harte found it wedged under the schoolbag her daughter had abandoned beside the kitchen table, half hidden by a county jersey that should have been washed two nights ago and a lunch note that read: Remember the yogurt this time, Mam, because I am not emotionally built for a dry sandwich.