Why did I have to like him?

What kind of person was I?

I was in love with James and it was only six weeks--well, nearly seven, actually--since we split up, so shouldn't I still have been faithful to him?

I felt so disloyal.

Although why the hell should I?

James was having his fun, so why shouldn't I?

But it wasn't that simple.

I was never any good at having sex with people without getting emotion- ally involved.

Although then again, who said anything about having sex?

Oh God!

I was so distraught.

I couldn't understand all the different ways I was feeling.

I was so confused.

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I did have a crush on Adam. But I felt so guilty about it because that must make me a very shallow person when I was supposed to be in love with James. But was I in love with James? I was afraid to think about that one. It was too huge to contemplate.

And then I felt angry with James. Why couldn't I flirt with Adam and have a bit of fun?

But then I felt guilty again because Adam was a person, a nice person, and he deserved better than to be treated by me as some sort of ego balm.

A bit like getting my hair done.

Or getting my legs waxed.

And then I felt angry again, because I didn't think of Adam that way. I got a real thrill from talking to him and being with him. Although I'd only known him a few days.

Which brought me neatly back to the question of how could I like someone I'd only known a few days when I was still in love with James.

Oh, fuck it, I thought frantically.

I squared my shoulders and got ready for Adam.

I saw him standing outside the coffee shop where I was to meet him.

My stomach gave a little lurch.

He looked so good.

"Hello." He grinned. "You're only fifteen minutes late. You're obviously getting the hang of this."

"Shut up." I smiled. "Sorry."

It was wonderful to be with him.

"Hello, angel," he said, looking at Kate in her little pouch.

Although I preferred to think that he was just using this as an excuse to look at my tits.

Kate said nothing.

And in we went for coffee, fighting our way through the hordes of agit- ated and excited people.

It was Saturday afternoon and madness was abroad. It was as though people were afflicted with some kind of lunacy. Shopping syndrome, or something. I'm sure there's a fancy medical name for it.

I suppose it must be something akin to the Mistral that

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descends every so often on villages in, is it Italy? All the men hit their wives and the dogs howl and the hens won't lay and the women shout and cry (well, fair enough--their husbands are hitting them, after all) and refuse to do any housework. As though the entire village was afflicted with PMS.

The Mistral madness seemed to be child's play compared to the goings- on this particular Saturday afternoon.

I once read somewhere that shopping has a huge effect on one's adrena- line levels. Sending blood pressure levels soaring and causing one to hy- perventilate and making one's eyes bulge and all kinds of other effects. It made perfect sense to me--all that excitement!

Apparently this in turn affects one's blood sugar levels. Which is why everyone needs strong sweet tea or coffee after--or indeed even dur- ing--their shopping orgy.

A bit like a postcoital cigarette, I suppose.

As a result of excessive shopping, Dublin was full of hyperventilating, bulgy-eyed, red-faced (that's from the high blood pressure) maniacs with hundreds of shopping bags affixed around their persons and wallets full of credit cards that were positively humming and zinging after all their activity.

So if it's a cup of coffee that you're after, as Adam, Kate and I were, don't hold your breath while you're waiting for a seat. We stood in the middle of the crowded caf� as pitiful hollow-eyed souls roamed past carrying trays of coffee and doughnuts. They had obviously been there several weeks and still hadn't secured a chair for themselves. But Adam, being Adam, found the only table that had been vacated in the last three weeks or so. That was one of the many advantages of having a tall man around. And after he made sure that Kate and I were sitting comfortably, he went off to get coffee.

What a hero!

He was back in record time with a tray overflowing with pastries.

"I didn't know what kind you liked," he explained. "So I got you one of each."

"Oh Adam," I said. "You shouldn't have! You're a penniless student."

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I was so touched I could have cried. He had probably just spent his entire summer term grant on buns for me. "And I'll never eat them all," I lied.

"Well, don't worry about it," he said, smiling and looking really gorgeous. "I'm sure I'll eat whatever you don't."

Then he sat down and turned all his attention to me. "How are you?" he asked. And he managed to make it sound as if he really was interested.

"Fine," I said, smiling shyly and feeling all silly and girlie.

What is it?

The moment you realize that you like someone you turn into a complete half-wit.

Well, at least I do.

"Can I hold Kate for a while for you?" he asked.

"If you like," I said, taking her out of the sling and tenderly passing her over to his gentle arms.

The lucky bitch!

What a pity that she can't talk yet, I thought regretfully. Otherwise I could debrief her fully on exactly what it felt like to be held in Adam's arms.

We sat there chatting idly while the tides of humanity, with their fluctuating blood sugar levels, swirled and washed and ebbed and flowed around us. Adam, Kate and I were an oasis of calm in the chaos of Dublin.

As though the three of us were in our own little world.

We didn't really talk that much. We just sat in relaxed silence, drinking coffee, eating buns, my shopping strewn all around us.

Adam was busy playing with Kate, admiring her, and examining her tiny little fingers and touching her cute little face.

He had such a look of intense wonder, almost of yearning, on his face that I got slightly alarmed.

Never mind Laura, I thought, is Adam a child molester!

"Do you reckon," he said thoughtfully, talking to me but still looking at Kate, "that if people didn't know better, they'd think that I was Kate's dad? You know, that we're just a typical nuclear family, as they say in my an- thropology tutorials, out shopping on a Saturday afternoon."