She shifted helplessly and, aided by her mother’s elbow, eventually came up with the goods. ‘I feel awful.’

‘Her boyfriend left her for her best friend,’ Monica elaborated when it became clear that Ashling wasn’t going to.

Dr McDevitt sighed. Being jilted by a boyfriend, well, it’s life, isn’t it? But people wanted Prozac for everything-if they lost an earring, if they knelt on a piece of Lego.

‘It’s not just the boyfriend.’ Monica pressed Ashling’s case. ‘She’s had family problems.’

Dr McDevitt could well believe it. Overbearing mother, perhaps?

‘I suffered from depression for fifteen years. Been hospitalized several times –’

‘No need to boast,’ he muttered.

‘– and Ashling’s acting the way I did. Flung in the bed, refusing to eat, obsessed with homeless people.’

Dr McDevitt perked up. This was more like it. ‘What about homeless people?’

Another prod and a hissed, ‘Tell him!’ from Monica before Ashling raised her pale, stiff face and mumbled, ‘There’s a homeless boy I know. I was always bothered about him, but now I’m sad about every single one of them. Even the ones I haven’t met.’

This was enough to convince Dr McDevitt.

‘Why do I feel like this?’ Ashling wondered. ‘Am I going mad?’

‘No, you’re not, but, ehm, depression is a peculiar beast,’ he dissembled. In other words, he hadn’t much of a clue. ‘But at a guess, it sounds from your, eh, mother’s testimony that you could have inherited a tendency towards it and that the trauma of losing your earri-I mean boyfriend, triggered it.’

He gave her a prescription for the lowest dose, ‘On the proviso,’ he scribbled something on a pad, ‘that you also go for counselling.’

He approved of counselling. If people wanted to be happy let them put their backs into it a bit.

*

Outside the surgery Ashling said, ‘Can I go home now?’

Monica had only been able to inveigle her to the doctor by getting a taxi. ‘Just walk to the chemist with me, then we’ll go back.’

Disconsolately, Ashling let Monica link arms with her. She kept being made to do things she didn’t want to and was too subdued to resist. The problem was that Monica had made Ashling’s happiness her project, because she was so overjoyed to get an opportunity to make up for years of unavoidable neglect.

It was an early-autumn afternoon and, as they walked slowly through the benign sunshine, Ashling leant against her mother’s elbow, thick and soft from layers of clothes.

After the chemist, Ashling found herself being walked through Stephen’s Green, where she was forced to sit on a bench and watch the lake through slanting sunshine. Birds splish-splashed on the water and Ashling wondered when she could go home.

‘Soon,’ Monica promised.

‘Soon? Good.’ Then she recommenced watching the birds. ‘Ducks,’ she observed leadenly.

‘That’s right! Ducks!’ Monica was as animated as if Ashling was two and a half. ‘Getting ready to fly south for the winter… For the warmer weather,’ she added.

‘I know.’

‘Packing their bikinis and sun-tan lotion.’

Silence resumed.

‘Ordering their traveller’s cheques,’ Monica elaborated.

Ashling continued to stare straight ahead.

‘Painting their toenails,’ Monica suggested. ‘Buying sunglasses and straw hats.’

It was the sun-glasses that did it. The image of a duck wearing shades and looking like a mafioso was comical enough to elicit a half-smile from Ashling. Only then was she allowed to go home.

*

On Saturday morning, when Liam picked Lisa up in his taxi to drive her to the airport, his admiration was blatant.

‘God above, Lisa,’ he exclaimed paternally. ‘But you’re looking fantastic!’

Scamtastic, actually. ‘I should do, Liam. I’ve been preparing since seven.’

She had to admit that she’d pulled it off. Everything was perfect: her hair, skin, eyebrows, nails. And clothes. On Wednesday and Thursday couriers had delivered some of the most magnificent garments on the planet, she’d cherry-picked the choicest pieces and was now wearing them.

On the drive, Lisa explained a little of what was happening, which upset Liam.

‘Getting divorced,’ he muttered. ‘Your man must be mad. And blind.’

To get near the door, Liam parked in a spot that was both illegal and dangerous. ‘I’ll be waiting here for you.’

Lisa was already breathless, even before she ran into the arrivals hall. Although the monitor said that Oliver’s flight had landed there was no sign of him, so she stood at the meeting point, trained her eyes on the double glass doors and waited. Her heart was pounding and her tongue kept sticking to the roof of her cotton-wool mouth. She waited some more. People appeared in regular spurts, traipsing self-consciously through those who were waiting, but no sign of Oliver. After a while she jumpily rang home to check that he hadn’t left a message saying he was delayed, but there was nothing.

She was almost convinced that he wasn’t coming when finally she saw him moving gracefully towards the glass doors. Her head went light and the ground see-sawed slightly. He was all in black. A long-line black leather jacket over a black polo neck and lean black pants. Then he saw her and smiled his thousand-yard smile. The only man-made object they could see from space, she used to say to him in another life.

She rushed forward. ‘I’d almost given up on you.’

‘Sorry, babes,’ his lips curved around his shockingly white teeth, ‘but I was stopped by Immigration. Only person on the whole plane to be.’ He put his hand on his hip and said with exaggerated curiosity, ‘Now, I wonder why that was.’

‘Bastards!’

‘Yeah, just couldn’t seem to convince them I was a British citizen. Despite having a British passport.’

She clucked with concern. ‘Are you upset?’

‘Nah, I’m used to it. The same thing happened the last time I visited here. You look great, babes.’

‘So do you.’

Kathy was just finishing a mighty clean-up when Liam dropped them home. She tried to slip away discreetly but Lisa stopped her.

‘Oliver, this is Kathy, she lives across the road. And Kathy, this is Oliver, my hus – friend.’