Curiosity stirred Ashling’s soul. A part of her yearned to taste it, to try it, but, honestly, raw fish… I mean, raw. Fish!

‘Try this.’ Jack extended his chopsticks towards her, the sushi he’d prepared balanced between them.

An immediate body-swerve from Ashling and hot, high colour spilled across her face. ‘Urn, no. No thanks.’

‘Why not?’ His dark eyes were laughing at her. Again.

‘Because it’s raw.’

‘But you eat smoked salmon?’ Jack enquired, unable to hide his amusement.

‘I don’t,’ Trix interrupted mulishly, from the safety of the far side of the office. ‘I’d rather stick needles in my eyes.’

‘Going for the last time. Sure you don’t want to try some?’ Jack softly probed Ashling, his eyes refusing to relinquish hers. Stiffly, Ashling shook her head, and returned to her ham and cheese sandwich, feeling relieved, yet curiously deprived.

Lisa was pleased when Ashling pushed off. She was enormously enjoying this intimacy with Jack, not to mention impressed with the way he used his chopsticks. Expertly, stylishly, as though he was born to do it. You could take him to Nobu and he wouldn’t embarrass you by asking for a knife and fork. She was quite good at wielding chopsticks herself. She should be. She’d spent many evenings in training in the privacy of her own home, with Oliver laughing at her. ‘Who are you trying to impress, babes?’

Thinking of Oliver squeezed her with pain, but it would pass. Jack would help.

‘I’ll trade you my eel sushi for a California maki,’ Lisa offered.

‘The eel too gross for you?’ Jack enquired.

Lisa began to protest, then admitted with a smile, ‘Yeah.’

As predicted, Jack was happy to eat her piece of raw-eel sushi. Raw eel was going too far, even for a sophisticate like her. But men – they’d eat anything, the more revolting the better. Rabbit, emu, alligator, kangaroo…

‘We must do this again,’ Lisa suggested.

‘Yeah.’ Jack leant back in his chair and nodded thoughtfully at her. ‘We must.’

45

‘You’ll never believe it!’ It was Thursday night and Marcus had just arrived at Ashling’s, a video under his arm. His eyes were ablaze with excitement. ‘I’m supporting Eddie Izzard on Saturday night.’

‘H– how?’

‘Steve Brennan was meant to be doing it, but he’s gone into hospital with suspected CJD. What a result! It’ll be a huge gig.’

Ashling’s face darkened with disappointment. ‘I can’t go.’

‘What?’ Marcus said sharply.

‘Remember, I told you, I’ve to visit my parents in Cork this weekend.’

‘Cancel.’

‘I couldn’t,’ she protested. ‘I’ve put them off for so long that I just can’t cancel again.’

They’d been so excited when she’d confirmed that she was finally coming that the thought of telling them otherwise made her break out in a sweat.

‘Go next weekend.’

‘I can’t, I’ve to work. Another photo shoot.’

‘It really matters to me that you’re there,’ Marcus said evenly. ‘It’s a big show and I’m trying out some new stuff, I need you there.’

Ashling twisted, trapped by conflicting emotions. ‘I’m sorry. But I’ve psyched myself up to going to see them, and it’s been ages… I’ve bought my train ticket,’ she threw in.

As his expression became hurt and closed, her intestines snarled themselves into a tight knot. She hated herself for letting him down, but it was either disappoint him or her parents. She liked to oblige, and this was the worst situation she could find herself in, where whichever way she manoeuvred, she was going to displease someone.

‘I’m really sorry’ she said, with sincerity. ‘But things with my parents are messy enough. If I didn’t go it would only damage relations even more.’

She waited for him to ask exactly in what way were things messy with her parents. She’d tell him, she decided. But he just looked at her with wounded eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she reiterated.

‘’s OK; he said.

But it wasn’t. Though they opened a bottle of wine and settled down to watch the video he’d brought, the mood was plastered flat. The wine behaved as though it was non-alcoholic and Ardal O’Hanlon had never been less funny. Guilt subdued Ashling, so that all her conversation start-ups drove straight into a wall. For the first time since she’d started seeing Marcus, she couldn’t think of anything to say.

After a strained couple of hours brought them to ten o’clock, Marcus stood up and did a pretend stretch. ‘I’ better get going.’

Terror plopped a rock into Ashling’s stomach. He always stayed the night.

A whole new terrifying vista opened up: perhaps this wasn’t just a fight, maybe it was The End. As she watched Marcus make his horrifyingly speedy progress to the door, she found herself frantically reconsidering her options. Maybe she could change her visit to Cork. What difference did a couple more weeks make? Her relationship with Marcus was way more important…

‘Marcus, let me have a think.’ Her voice wobbled with panic. I might be able to visit them in a few weeks’ time instead.’

‘Ah, it’s all right.’ He managed a ghost of a smile. ‘I’ll cope. I’ll miss you, though.’

Relief only lasted an instant. It mightn’t be all over, but he was still leaving her flat. ‘We could see each other tomorrow night,’ she suggested, anxious for the chance to mend things. ‘I don’t go until Saturday morning.’

‘Ah, no.’ He shrugged, ‘Let’s leave it until you get back.’

‘OK,’ she conceded reluctantly, afraid that if she pushed, it would simply cause a bigger rupture. ‘I’ll be back Sunday evening.’

‘Give me a ring when you get in.’

‘Sure. The train is supposed to get in at eight, that’s if it doesn’t break down, then there’s often a queue for taxis, so I don’t know what time I’ll get home but as soon as I do I’ll call you.’ The desire to oblige made her voluble.

A quick kiss–not long or passionate enough to calm her down–and he was gone.