‘Where do you sail?’ Lisa asked, as Jack arrayed sushi on her desk.

‘Dun Laoghaire, where the boats come in.’

‘Dun Laoghaire,’ she mused meaningfully. ‘I’ve never been there.’

‘You’d like it.’

‘I must get out there sometime.’

‘You must.’

Oh, for crying out loud! How heavily did a girl have to hint around here?

Perhaps he was wary of her combination of dynamism and good-looks, she acknowledged. It wouldn’t have been the first time. And there was the added complication of them working together. And of her being married. And of him being on the rebound…

OK! She realized she had no choice but to open her mouth and say, ‘You could take me the next time you’re going.’

‘Would you like to?’ His eagerness was so – well – eager, that Lisa knew instantly that she’d been right to take control. ‘How about Friday evening?’ he offered. ‘We could walk the pier and I’ll show you the boats. It’s good stuff after being stuck in the office all day.’

Hmmmm. Walk the pier. Walk the pier. She wasn’t really a ‘walks’ kind of woman. ‘I’d love to!’

48

Clodagh dug her heels into his buttocks, banging him ever deeper into her. Every time he stroked himself up into her, a word was dragged in a hoarse whisper from her chest.

‘God!’

He slammed into her again.

‘Harder!’

Another slam.

The bedhead slapped rhythmically against the wall and her hair was tangled and soaked with sweat. She clutched him ever closer, as the ripples of pleasure built and built. Into the vortex she spiralled. With each pulsation, she thought that that must be it, until another, even more beautiful, throbbed from her. She quivered on the top note, and she felt it in her fingertips, her hair follicles, the soles of her feet.

‘God,’ she gasped.

He must have come too because, panting and drenched, he lay upon her, his weight pinning her to the bed. They lay still, gasping and spent, until she felt their sweat begin to cool, then she buckled beneath him and roughly pushed him off.

‘Get dressed,’ she ordered. ‘Hurry, I’ve to collect Molly from playgroup.’

This was their third time together and she was always abrupt – cold, almost – when the sex was over.

‘Do you mind if I have a shower?’

‘Be quick about it,’ she answered curtly.

When he emerged from the bathroom she was dressed and refusing to meet his eye. Then she froze, sniffed the air and exclaimed in disbelief, ‘Is that Dylan’s aftershave I smell?’

‘I suppose,’ he mumbled, furious at the mistake.

‘Isn’t it enough that you’re fucking his wife in his bed? Have you any respect?’

‘Sorry.’

In contrite silence, he put on the clothes that she’d torn from his body only an hour previously. ‘When can I see you again?’ He hated himself for asking, but he had no choice. He was besotted.

‘I’ll ring you.’

‘I can take time off work whenever you want.’

‘I’ve got neighbours.’ She was tight-lipped. ‘They’re bound to notice.’

‘Well, you can come to my place.’

‘I don’t think so.’

A silence followed.

‘You act like you hate me,’ he accused.

‘I’m married.’ She raised her voice, ‘ have children. You’re ruining everything.’

At the front-door, as he bent to kiss her, she said angrily, ‘For God’s sake, someone might see.’

‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

But as he turned away, she grabbed his shirt front and pulled him back to her. They kissed hungrily, desperately. When they broke apart, his hand was inside her shirt, kneading a breast. Her nipples were as swollen and firm as cherries and he was once more erect.

‘Hurry,’ she urged, fumbling with his fly, pulling him out and holding him silky and erect in her fist. She sank to the hall floor, clawing down her jeans, pulling him on top of her. ‘Quick, we haven’t much time.’

She flexed her buttocks, rising to meet him, desperate for him. He entered her and thrust with short, intense stabs. Instantly the ripples began to flood through her, rising in intensity, spreading outwards and inwards, peaking into almost unbearable pleasure.

After he came, he wept into her golden hair.

49

On Friday evening, dressed in trainers, silk cargo pants and her Prada sleeveless viscose top, Lisa loitered by her front-door. She was going on a date with Jack, and an unfamiliar warmth twinkled within her.

A car pulled up, the man within leant over and opened the door for her and, feeling mildly like a prostitute being picked up by a kerb-crawler, Lisa got in. Closing her ears to the singsong shouts of ‘Wooooooooh!’ and ‘Seck-zee!’ and ‘Lee-sa’s got a boyfriend!’ from Francine and all the other kids, she and Jack drove away.

‘Hey, you turned up,’ Jack grinned.

‘Looks that way.’ She stared out the window, biting back a smirk. He’d been nervous. Well, perhaps that made two of them.

During the drive, the sky, which had been peachy-clear in town, transformed itself to heavy, lowering grey-blue. When they got out of the car at Dun Laoghaire pier Jack felt the air doubtfully. ‘It might rain. Do you want to skip the walk?’

But Lisa was filled with skittish optimism. It wouldn’t dare rain. ‘No, let’s go.’ And off they set.

The too-bright rays of the sun filtering through the swollen clouds had the effect of making everything look almost super-real. Stray clumps of grass were lit to a green so bright it was nearly hallucinogenic. The grey stone of the pier bounced a purple colour back at her. Any fool could tell it was about to piss down, but Lisa was determined that it wouldn’t.

So this was walking, she thought, as they strode along. Well, it wasn’t so bad. The air smelt funny, though.

‘Fresh.’ Jack cleared the matter up for her. ‘See that there,’ he pointed proudly to a boat. ‘That’s mine.’

‘That one?’ All excited, Lisa gestured at a sleek, shiny-white gin palace.

‘No, that one.’

‘Oh.’ It was only then that Lisa noticed the tatty craft beside it. She’d thought it was a piece of driftwood. ‘Fabulous!’ she managed. Well, he liked it, why not pretend? Blimey, she thought, I must like him.