"And just what exactly did you think I was doing by asking if I could see you?" he continued, sounding almost contemptuous. "Well?" he prompted as I remained silent.

"Either you think I'm extremely thick or extremely cynical," he said. "And I'm not sure which one I'm more offended by."

I still said nothing.

Mostly because I didn't know what to say.

I felt terrible. Adam had been nothing but decent and respectful to me. I had no proof that he was having anything at all to do with Helen, and now I had hurt him by doubting his motives.

"Claire," he said, sounding exhausted. "Claire, Claire, Claire, listen to me. I am not now, nor have I ever in the past been, your sister Helen's boyfriend. And I don't want to be either.

"She's a lovely girl," he added hastily. "But she's not for me."

"Look, Adam," I stammered. "I'm really sorry, but I didn't know..."

"I'm sorry too," he said. "I keep forgetting what you've just been through. You've been badly hurt. Who could blame you for thinking that we're all a crowd of two-timing bastards?"

My hero, I thought, melting.

"Claire," he continued, "I don't know what kind of impres-

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sion you've formed of me, but it's obviously not the one I was hoping for."

"No...Adam..." I protested weakly. I had so much to say and I didn't know where to start.

"Just give me a minute," he said. "Just listen to me. Will you?"

He sounded so earnest and boyish, how could I resist? "Of course," I said.

"I have lots of women friends but I don't do the romance thing a lot. Hardly ever, in fact. Well, hardly ever compared with the other people in my year in college, but maybe they're just especially prolific."

"That's fine," I said, anxious for him to shut up now. You don't have to explain anything to me, I wanted to tell him.

I had established that he wasn't Helen's boyfriend and that was plenty for now. Mortified by my earlier histrionics and accusations, I just wanted to forget the whole thing now. The poor guy! He only knew me a few days and already we'd had several mini-fights.

What on earth made him think that I was worth the bother?

But before I got to think about this, Dad reappeared in the hall with a face like thunder.

"Claire!" he yelled. "Off the phone, now!"

"You've got to go?" Adam asked.

"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry."

I didn't want to end the conversation until I knew that everything was all right. That Adam wasn't annoyed with me for thinking that he was some kind of home-wrecking Lothario. I also wouldn't have minded some kind of indication that, apart from not wanting to do the romance thing, as he so delicately put it, with Helen, he might want to do the romance thing with me.

As Mum would say, I wanted jam on it.

"Oh, I nearly forgot why I actually rang you," he said.

"Why's that?" I asked. Tell me that you really like me. Go on, go on, I urged him silently.

"There's a good film on at eleven o'clock. I'm sure you'd like it. You should watch it if you're not too tired."

"Oh," I said, the wind having been surgically removed from my sails. "Well thanks."

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"See you soon," he said.

No wait, I wanted to shout, don't go just yet. Talk to me for one more minute. Give me your number so that I can call you. Can I see you tomor- row? Never mind tomorrow, can I see you tonight?

"Claire," Dad rumbled threateningly from the living room.

"Okay, bye," I said, hanging up.

Feeling, among other things, completely exhausted.

There was a disorderly surge from the living room the moment the phone was hung up.

Dad and Helen scuffled at the door.

Dad wanted to get straight on to Auntie Julia to see if the inferno was under control.

While Helen had other plans for the phone.

"I have to call Anthony," she shouted. "I need a lift to Belfast on Tues- day."

"Well, Julia's fire is more important," insisted Dad.

"Let her house burn down," said Helen, "That'd teach her."

Charitable to the end, that was Helen.

I walked away from the battle by the phone.

I went upstairs and moved Kate's bassinet into Mum's room and settled down to watch the recommended film on the little television there. It was the least I could do after I had been so mean to Adam. I'll be able to discuss it with him the next time I see him, I thought.

If there is a next time.

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eighteen

Time had slowed to a standstill while I had been the Alcoholic Mother from Hell (and the Alcoholic Daughter from Hell and the Alcoholic Sister from Hell, if I'm to be strictly accurate). But now that I had started living again it had started to trot briskly, and before I knew it, it had broken into a sprint.

The days had started to fly past the way they do in films when the dir- ector wants to convey time passing quickly--i.e., the pages of a calendar turning over very speedily in a high wind. And tearing off and blowing away. With brown leaves blowing with the pages to indicate autumnal days and then a few flurries of snow to indicate winter's arrival.

The weekend was over before I knew it, and suddenly it was Monday morning.

James would be back from the Caribbean. Or Mustique. Or from a small, privately owned island just off the coast of Heaven. Or wherever he'd gone to, the faithless bastard.

So I was going to have to call him.

But I felt quite calm about it. What must be done must be done. Of course it was very easy for me to be calm about James when I was worried sick about Adam--it was kind of difficult to be in a mess about the two of them at the one time. Transference of affection, etc., and a big hand for Dr. Freud. But before I got to call James I had another treat in store for me on Monday morning.

My six-week, postnatal checkup with the doctor. The fun just never seemed to stop in my life.

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This was a kind of symbolic, watershed type of event. It was a form of recognition that the birth had been a success. Sort of like the launch party they have after the release of a new film. Except at the party after the release of a new film, members of the cast and crew don't have to go around putting their feet in stirrups and have strange men examine their private parts.