‘That’s all right, I’m going to be away anyway.’

‘Holiday?’

‘I’m going away by myself for a few days next week. Health spa in Wicklow… Because I’m stressed and overworked,’ Clodagh finished, with grisly defensiveness.

Suddenly Ashling remembered with ghastly clarity Dylan’s concern about Clodagh, the conversation they’d had earlier in the summer. All at once she was visited with a very, very bad feeling. A presentiment of disaster. Clodagh was in some sort of trouble and was hovering on the verge of a great unravelling.

Guilt and fear savaged Ashling. ‘Clodagh, something’s up, isn’t it? I’m so, so sorry I haven’t been around. Let me help, please let me help, it’s good to talk about these things.’

Clodagh began to cry softly, and then real fear took hold of Ashling. Something genuinely was wrong.

‘Tell me,’ Ashling urged.

But Clodagh just sobbed, ‘No, I can’t, I’m horrible.’

‘You’re not, you’re fantastic!’

‘You don’t know, I’m so bad, you’ve no idea, and you’re so good…’ She was crying so hard her voice became incoherent.

‘I’ll come over,’ Ashling offered wildly.

‘No! No, please don’t do that.’ After sobbing some more, Clodagh sniffed and announced, ‘It’s OK. I’m fine now. Really.’

‘I know you’re not.’ Ashling felt her slipping away.

‘Yes, I am.’ She was almost firm.

As soon as she hung up the phone, Ashling began to shake. Ted. Fucking Ted. She just had a feeling… With trembling fingers she dialled his number and accused, ‘I haven’t seen a lot of you lately.’

‘Whose fault is that?’ He sounded hurt. Or was it defensive?

‘Yeh, look, sorry, it’s the job. Why don’t we go out on the piss?’

‘Great! Tonight?’

‘Er, how about next week?’

‘No, I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

Don’t say it, dont say it…

‘I’m going away for a few days.’

Oh God. Her breath disappeared as if she’d had a blow to the stomach. ‘With who?’

‘No one. I’m going to the Edinburgh Festival to do some stand-up.’

‘Are you, indeed?’

‘Yes, I am, actually.’ Hostility poisoned the phone lines.

‘Well, good luck on your trip to Edinburgh with no one,’ Ashling said, sarcastically, and hung up. She’d ask Marcus to keep an eye out, to report back on any sightings of Ted and Clodagh, or even more tellingly, no sightings of Ted at all.

51

In a blur of fraught, hysterical days and sleepless nights, the thirty-first of August, the day of the Colleen launch, rolled around. Far, far too soon.

Ashling was woken by the familiar agony, stabbing in and out of her ear like a hatpin. She might have known. Her bargain-basement ear could always be relied upon to play up at the most inopportune times – the initial exam of her Leaving Cert, her first day at a new job. If it hadn’t let her down today – ‘The most important day of your working life,’ according to Lisa – she’d almost have been disappointed.

Almost, but not quite, Ashling thought grimly, as she swallowed four Paracetamol and shoved a lump of cotton wool into the side of her head. This shagged everything. She couldn’t wash her greasy hair herself in case she splashed water into the ear, she’d have to go to the doctor before work, then she’d have to cram a hair appointment into the lunch-hour she hadn’t planned on taking.

She had to plead with Dr McDevitt’s receptionist to get an early appointment, then she had to implore the doctor to give her some decent painkillers. ‘The antibiotics take a couple of days to work,’ she begged. ‘I can’t think straight with the pain.’

‘You shouldn’t have to think at all,’ he scolded. ‘You should be at home in bed.’

As if! As soon as she’d picked up her prescriptions she had to race to a film preview, where everyone she met conducted their conversations with her greasy hair. The film lasted three endless hours, during which she fidgeted irritably, thinking of all the work she could be getting through at the office. Imagine that she’d once thought this sort of thing was glamorous!

As soon as the credits began to roll, she snatched the press release from the publicist and hit the ground running. A record-breaking ten minutes later she burst into Colleen’s almost deserted office, tripping over party sandals and walking into dresses hanging from doors and filing cabinets. Lisa’s phone was ringing, but by the time she got to it, the person had hung up. She threw herself upon her own phone, only to discover there wasn’t a hope of getting a hair appointment on a Thursday lunchtime. Not even when she tried the salons that were beholden to Colleen.

The first one said, ‘Emergency? Yeah, we know about tonight. Lisa is here.’

Well, that was the end of that one. Lisa would be getting a Freebie Deluxe, using up the entire quota. Calls to further hairdressers established that Mercedes, Trix, Dervla, even Mrs Morley and Honey Monster Shauna had all used the Colleen name to bag themselves appointments.

Excuse me? What kind of fucking eejit am I?

But she couldn’t spare the time to berate herself – she was starting to panic. Her hair felt rancid. She’d have to wash it here. Luckily the office was overrun with hair-care products – there was even something as basic as shampoo. But she needed help and literally the only person in the office was Bernard, decked out in his best diamond-patterned tank-top in honour of the occasion.

‘Bernard, will you be my lovely assistant and help me wash my hair?’

He looked terrified.

‘I’ve an ear infection,’ she explained patiently. ‘I need help to make sure water doesn’t get in.’

He squirmed in agony. ‘Get one of them girls to help you.’

‘Look around, there’s no one here. And I’m interviewing Niamh Cusack in less than an hour, it has to be now.’

‘When you come back?’

‘I’ve to go straight to the hotel to help set everything up. Please, Bernard!’

‘Ah, no,’ he writhed. ‘I couldn’t, it wouldn’t be right.’

Christ! The day and a half from hell! But what could she expect? Bernard was forty-five and still lived at home with his mother.