‘Right, I’m going to talk to them.’ Dylan went into the room where Craig and Molly were watching telly. They obviously sensed something was wrong because they’d been bizarrely subdued all afternoon.

When Dylan emerged he said coldly, ‘I’ve just told them I have to go away for a while. I need time to think what the best way to deal with this long-term should be.’ He rubbed his hand over his mouth and suddenly he looked exhausted.

But Clodagh’s aching compassion for him vanished when he added, ‘I could tell them their mother is an adulterous bitch who’s ruined everything, but it would do more harm than good, I’m told. Right, I’m going. I’m at my parents’. Ring me –’

‘I will –’

‘If there’s anything up with my children.’

She watched him hug them fiercely, his eyes clenched shut. This was so fucking awful. This time yesterday things couldn’t have been more normal. She’d made stir-fry for dinner, Craig had spat it all back out on to his plate, she’d watched Coronation Street, she’d nagged Dylan into changing a light-bulb, Molly had smeared her bedroom wall with peanut butter. In retrospect it seemed like a golden era, untouched by pain or worry. Who would have thought that so quickly their lives would be thrown up in the air and utterly rearranged, mired in bitterness?

‘Bye.’ Dylan closed the front-door behind him. She’d seen him pack his bag, he’d told her he was leaving, but she hadn’t been able to imagine it until presented with it as a fait accompli.

This isn’t happening, she thought as she stood in the hall. This isn’t happening.

She turned away from the door and found Craig and Molly standing gazing at her in silence. Shamed, she turned away from their questioning eyes and reached for the phone.

She listened to Marcus’s phone ring and ring, then click into answer-machine mode. Where was he? Then she remembered that he’d asked for her to ring, hang up, then ring again. Reluctantly she did so – it made her feel like a type of outlaw.

On the second set of rings, Marcus answered and instantly her pain lessened and was replaced by a soaring, giddy sensation.

‘Is Dylan gone?’ he asked.

‘Yes –’

‘OK, I’m on my way.’

‘No, wait!’

‘What?’ His voice was suddenly unfriendly.

‘I’d love to see you,’ she explained, ‘but not tonight. It’s too soon. I don’t want to confuse the kids. You see, Dylan’s talking about all kinds of terrible things like making sure I don’t get custody of them.’

All was still, then in a low voice Marcus asked, ‘Don’t you want to see me?’

‘Marcus, I would give anything! You know I would, but I think it’s better if we leave it until tomorrow. Hey, I bet you’re sorry you ever got involved in this,’ she sniffled, with a little laugh.

‘Don’t be mad,’ he insisted, as she’d known he would.

‘Call over tomorrow afternoon,’ she invited shyly. ‘There’s a couple of people I’d like you to meet.’

The following afternoon Marcus arrived with a Barbie for Molly and a big red truck for Craig. Despite the presents, the children greeted him with suspicion. They both sensed that their world was horribly askew and were further unsettled by this newcomer. Battling their resistance, Marcus patiently played with them both, solemnly brushing Barbie’s hair and shoving the truck back and forth, back and forth along the carpet to Craig. It took an hour of full-on dedication and the production of a bag of Percy Pigs before Molly and Craig began to slip into unselfconsciousness.

Sick with hope, Clodagh watched, hardly daring to breathe. Maybe things would get better. Maybe everything would work out. Her head reeled off into the future. Perhaps Marcus could move in here, he could pay the mortgage, she’d get custody of the children, Dylan would be unmasked as a paedophile or a drug-dealer so that everyone would hate him and forgive her…

While Craig and Molly were briefly distracted, Marcus took advantage of the gap to gently touch her. ‘How are you?’ he asked softly. ‘Bearing up?’

‘Everyone hates us,’ she laughed tearfully. ‘But at least we have each other.’

‘That’s right. How soon can I get you into bed?’ he murmured, sneaking a hand under her T-shirt and cupping the breast furthest from the children. He pinched her nipple and her mouth went slack with desire.

‘Muuuummmeee,’ Craig set up a wailing, clambered to his feet and tried to push Marcus off his mother. He flailed wildly with his new red truck and managed to catch Marcus on the outer reaches of his left testicle. Not near enough to cause any real damage but enough to send eddies of nausea through his abdomen.

‘Darling, you’re going to have to learn to share,’ Clodagh said softly.

‘Don’t want to!’

After an awkward pause, Clodagh said, ‘Marcus, I was actually talking to Craig.’

56

Lisa crouched on the floor, clutching her divorce petition. The wave of depression that had lapped and receded, lapped and receded since she’d first arrived in Dublin had finally broken over her head.

I’m a failure, she acknowledged. I’m a big, fat failure. My marriage is over,

Crazily, she’d never really thought it was going to happen. She saw that now with painful clarity. It was why she’d never got herself a solicitor. Throughout the entire break-up with Oliver she’d behaved uncharacteristically: she’d always been proactive and dynamic. She got things done, and quickly. But, for whatever reason, not this.

Well, she’d better get herself a solicitor now.

But if she’d been in denial, then so had Oliver, she insisted, keen to stop feeling so… so…foolish. He’d left her in January and was paying rent elsewhere but continued to pay his half of their mortgage. That wasn’t the behaviour of a man keen to sever links.

She caught a glimpse of herself crouched on the floor in all her pathos. Feeling silly, she clambered to her feet – then immediately ran out of steam. She made it as far as her bedroom, fell into bed and dragged her duvet over her.

Something about the way the duvet wafted and softly wrapped itself about her burst open her swollen emotions, and she cried tears of loss, of failure and – yes! – of self-pity. She was entitled to feel sorry for herself, dammit. Look at all the shitty things that had happened. Being rejected by Jack – though it wasn’t up there with the pain of losing Oliver – contributed to the mix. And Mercedes, if she’s got a job at Manhattan, I’ll, I’ll… Well, what could she do? Precisely nothing. She’d never been so keenly aware of her own powerlessness. And though she’d got Trix to make a thousand phone calls to the shop, her wooden blind still wasn’t ready. Would probably never be ready, at this rate.