‘What? Angry? Well, it’s long overdue.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘You’ve done this to me before,’ Ashling said quietly. ‘Dylan was my boyfriend first.’

‘Yes, but… he fell in love with me.’

‘You stole him.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say anything before now?’ Clodagh said, with sudden savagery. ‘You were always such a victim.’

‘So this is my fault?’ Ashling was unpleasant. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. I forgave you for Dylan. But I will never forgive you for this.’

54

‘Dammit,’ she realized. ‘I think I’m having a nervous breakdown.’

She looked around at the bed she was flung in. Her well-overdue-for-a-bath body was sprawled lethargically on the well-overdue-for-a-change sheet. Tissues, sodden and balled, littered the duvet. Gathering dust on her chest of drawers was an untouched arsenal of chocolate. Scattered on the floor were magazines she’d been unable to concentrate on. The television in the corner relentlessly delivered daytime viewing direct to her bed. Yip, nervous-breakdown territory all right.

But something was wrong. What was it?

‘I always thought…’ she tried. ‘Youknow, I always expected…’

Abruptly she knew. ‘I always thought it would be nicer than this…’

55

Clodagh thought she was cracking up, she was certain she was. But she had to get dressed and collect Molly from playgroup. Once back, she returned to bed and attempted to take up where she’d left off, but Molly began agitating that noodles be micro-waved for her. With resignation, Clodagh got up again.

She hadn’t been enjoying it anyway – which had come as a big surprise. As a child, she’d watched Ashling’s mother take to her bed and thought that it looked gloriously abandoned. But in practice, lying down feeling unable to cope, riddled with self-hatred and confusion, wasn’t half as much fun as she’d expected.

Since ten o’clock this morning – was it really only this morning? – her entire life had become an out-of-body experience. From the moment she’d heard Dylan’s key in the door, she knew. The gig was up.

She’d paused from her frantic bucking beneath Marcus and cupped an ear to listen. ‘Sssh!’ In a fluid movement he’d rolled off her: frozen and bug-eyed, they’d listened to Dylan mounting the stairs.

She’d had every opportunity to jump from the bed, fling on a robe and hustle Marcus into the wardrobe. Indeed, Marcus had tried to skid out of bed, but she’d arrested him by gripping his wrist tightly. Then she’d waited with horrible calm, the scene set to change her life.

For the last five weeks she’d endured sleepless nights wondering where her affair with Marcus would end up. She’d vacillated between ending it with him and resuming a normal life with Dylan, or fantasizing about a situation where Dylan was magically absent, but without her having actually told him it was over.

But as she listened to Dylan’s footsteps get ever closer, she’d realized that the decision had been taken for her. Suddenly she wasn’t sure she was ready.

The door to the bedroom opened, and even though she knew it was Dylan, his presence shocked her into a stupor.

His face. The expression on his face was so much worse than she’d ever imagined it could be. She was almost surprised at the amount of pain there. And his voice when he spoke was not Dylan’s. There was an Oof to it, as though he’d been slammed in the abdomen. ‘At the risk of sounding like a song lyric,’ he’d struggled for breath with pathetic dignity, ‘how long has this being going on?’

‘Dylan…’

‘How long?’

‘A month.’

Dylan turned to Marcus, who was clutching the sheet to his chest. ‘Would you mind leaving? I’d like a word with my wife.’

Cupping his genitals coyly, Marcus edged crab-like from the bed, snatched up some clothes and muttered to Clodagh, ‘I’ll call you later.’

Dylan watched him leave, then turned back to Clodagh and asked quietly, ‘Why?’ A hundred thousand questions were contained in that one word.

She struggled for the right words. ‘I don’t really know.’

‘Please tell me why. Tell me what’s wrong. We can fix it, I’ll do anything.’

What could she say? With sudden certainty, she knew she didn’t want him to fix it. But she owed him honesty. ‘I think I was lonely…’

‘Lonely? How?’

‘I don’t know, I can’t describe it. But I’ve been lonely and bored.’

‘Bored? With me?’

She hesitated. She couldn’t be that cruel. ‘With everything.’

‘Do you want to fix this?’

‘I don’t know.’

He studied her in long, painful silence. ‘That means no. Do you love this… him?’

A miserable nod. ‘I think so.’

‘OK.’

‘OK?’

But Dylan didn’t answer. Instead, he slid a holdall off the top of the wardrobe, bounced it on to the bed and, slamming drawers open and closed, began flinging in underwear and shirts. Nothing had prepared her for how shocking it was.

‘But…’ she tried, her eyes flicking back and forth, seeing ties, his shaving stuff, then some socks hop into the bag. Everything was happening very quickly.

Suddenly the bag was bulging-full. Then Dylan was zipping it with a high-pitched whizz. ‘I’ll be back for the rest later.’

He swung from the room, and after a panicky second Clodagh dragged on a dressing-gown and ran down the stairs after him.

‘Dylan, I still love you,’ she implored.

‘So what was that all about?’ He jerked his head upstairs.

‘I still love you,’ she repeated, her voice more subdued, ‘but…’

‘You’re no longer in love with me?’ Dylan finished harshly.

She hesitated. But she had to be honest. ‘I suppose…’

He shuttered his face. ‘I’ll be back tonight to explain things to my children. You can stay here in the house for the time being.’

‘For the time being?’

‘The house will have to be sold.’

‘Will it?

‘I can’t afford to pay the mortgage on this place and another. And if you think you’re staying on here while I’m in some smelly shoebox in Rathmines, you’re very much mistaken.’