‘Do you like it here?’ Mum asked him.

‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘So long as you realize that this town is all about movies, nothing else matters. Like, remember when the American hostages were released from Iraq?’

Everyone nodded, though I’m sure they didn’t.

‘I was in the Grill Room that day for lunch with two agents and one of them said, “Did you hear they released the hostages? “And the other guy says, “Released it? I didn’t even know they’d started shooting it. “It’s that kind of place. Hey, Mr Walsh,’ Shay urged, ‘tell the snooker story.’

‘Will I?’ Dad asked shyly, acting like he had a crush on Shay.

‘Ah, do,’ we all urged, so Dad told the story of the only day in my entire life that he persuaded me to do something wrong – to take a day off school sick because he’d got tickets to the snooker final and no one to go with – and how it ended up being on the evening news. Really, it did; as the champion potted the winning shot, right behind him, clear as day, clapping like an eejity seal, is me. I am more in focus than the champ and the clip got shown on the six o’clock news, again during sports round-up, then a longer piece on the nine o’clock news, and even though I didn’t see it myself, I’m told it was on the late news too. It got run on the following day’s lunch-time news, then at the weekend when they were doing a review of the week. Even at the end of the year, when they were showing the year’s sporting highlights, once again I could be seen. In fact, only about a year ago, when the player announced his retirement, they ran the clip again and there I was, the fifteen-year-old me, with my terrible fifteen-year-old hair, grinning and clapping happily. Everyone in the whole country saw me at least twice, and included in their number were my teachers. Some were sarcastic – ‘Feeling better now, Maggie?’ – but more of them were confused. ‘I’m surprised at you,’ several said. ‘You’re normally so good.’

Dad told the story so well that we were all crying with laughter.

‘I’m terrible at being bad,’ I agreed, wiping my face. ‘Every time I do something dangerous I get caught.’

I couldn’t help it. I looked at Shay and he was looking at me and our smiles kind of faded. I looked away, and the next thing there was a right kerfuffle as a cordon of people surrounding another person moved as one well-oiled machine between the tables.

‘Celebrity alert,’ Emily said.

The whole restaurant was trying to look without seeming as if that’s what they were doing, then a word began to ripple, almost as if it was being carried on the wind. Faint and whispery at first, ‘… hurll… hurll… hurley… lishurley… lishurley… Liz Hurley.’

‘It’s Liz Hurley,’ Emily hissed, and that was our cue to dislocate our necks looking. It was hard to see through the wall of minders, then one of them moved slightly, the light from a lantern caught her face and it was! It was Liz Hurley.

‘Does anyone dare me to go over there and ask for her autograph?’ Helen asked.

‘Does anyone dare me to go over there and tell her to wear more clothes?’ Mum asked skittishly.

Shay shook his head admiringly. ‘I’m not daring you, Mrs Walsh, because I know you’ll do it. You’re a wild woman.’

‘The nerve of you. I’m a respectable married Catholic.’

‘You’re a wild woman.’

As Shay and Mum twinkled at each other, I watched with bittersweet amusement. Mum and Dad were mad about Shay. What would my life have been like if I’d married him instead of Garv? A lot easier with my family, that was for sure. Mind you, Helen didn’t seem to like him any more than she’d liked Garv.

‘OΚ GUYS.’ The waiter was back, doing his interpretation of the dessert list. ‘Fat-free ice-cream, anyone?’

‘Ice-cream?’ Shay asked me softly.

Mutely I shook my head.

‘Some other time,’ he said. It sounded like a promise.

It was a nice night, apart from the row over the bill. Shay tried to pay it and Dad nearly had a fit, then Emily threw her oar in, insisting that the evening was on her. Eventually, some kind of compromise was reached and we made our way to the car valets.

They brought Shay’s car around first, and next thing Mum piped up, ‘We were very cramped in Emily’s jeep coming up. Would you be able to drive one of us home?’

‘Sure.’ Shay offered her his arm. ‘Shall we?’

But there was no fear of that.

‘I’d better go with himself,’ Mum nodded at Dad. ‘Why don’t you bring Margaret.’

‘No, I–’ I started.

‘Ah, do.’

I was acutely embarrassed. Even more so when Helen said loudly, ‘I was reading a thing in the paper about some country where mothers sell their daughters. Where was it again? It began with “I”.’

‘India?’ Anna said.

‘Yes! Or was it Ireland?’

I was perspiring from every pore. I wished the ground would open up and devour me whole, then Shay smiled at me, a smile packed with sympathy, understanding, even amusement. He knew exactly what was going on and he didn’t seem to mind.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll go.’

As we drove away, I said, ‘I’m sorry about Mum.’

‘No problem.’

But he said nothing else, so eventually I asked, ‘How long more are you in LA for?’

‘Until Tuesday.’

‘Long time. You must miss your wife.’

‘Ah,’ he shrugged easily, ‘you get used to it.’

I didn’t know what next to say, and we maintained silence –not entirely comfortable – until, in an astonishingly short space of time, he was pulling up outside Emily’s, the engine still running.

‘Thanks for the lift.’ I reached for the door handle.

‘You’re welcome.’

I already had the door open when, out of the blue, Shay asked, ‘Do you hate me?’

I was so shocked I gave a funny bark of laughter. ‘Um, no.’ I tried to recover myself. ‘I don’t hate you.’ I couldn’t have told you what I did feel, but it wasn’t hate.

But if we were asking leading questions, I had one that I’d wanted the answer to for years.