‘It depends…’

‘Five?’ he asked irritably. ‘Six?’

‘Six.’ If she was lucky.

He hung up and handed her a page. ‘Every Tuesday at six. If you don’t go, there’ll be no more Prozac.’

Bastard!

Returning listlessly through Temple Bar she heard a shout of ‘Hey Ashling!’ A young fashion-victimy man in absolutely ludicrous shoes was clumping after her and it took a second to recognize him as Boo. His hair was shiny, his face had colour and, unexpectedly, she laughed.

‘Look at you,’ she said, in delight.

‘I’m on my way into work, I’m on the two-till-ten shift.’ He promptly lapsed into convulsions. ‘Can you believe I just said that?!’

Then he launched into breathless, effusive thanks. ‘Everything’s going great at the telly station. They’ve even given me an advance on my wages so I can stay in a hostel.’

‘And the work’s not too difficult?’ Ashling had been vaguely worried that after a life without boundaries, Boo wouldn’t be able to adapt to the disciplined, responsible world of work.

Boo scoffed. ‘Being a runner? Piece of piss! Even in these shoes.’

‘Cool clothes,’ Ashling remarked, taking in his over-tailored jacket, his frantic shirt and his very peculiar shoes. They looked like the Starship Enterprise times two.

‘I look like a tool’ Boo started laughing again. ‘The shoes are the worst. Kelvin at your office gave me all the mad things he didn’t want, but at least they’re clean, and I can buy normal clothes when I get paid. Hang on! I’m just going to say those words again.’ Smacking his lips he repeated with relish, ‘When I get paid.’

His glee was contagious. ‘I’m delighted everything’s working out for you,’ Ashling said, with sincerity.

‘Well, who do I thank? Only you.’ Boo gave his gappy grin. Kelvin hadn’t got round to kitting him out with a new tooth, it seemed. ‘And thanks to Jack too. He’s great!’

Boo’s face was alight with anticipation as he waited for Ashling to agree.

‘Great.’ But she was confused. When exactly did Jack Devine get so nice?

‘Did you hear about me thinking I was going to be reviewing books for him?’ Boo yelped.

‘Er…’

‘I had it all arseways. I don’t even want to review books any more.’

‘Um…’

‘I want to be a camera-man. Or a sound-man. Or a newsreader!’

Back in the office, Ashling had to brace herself to tackle Lisa about leaving early on Tuesday evenings. ‘The doctor won’t give me any more Prozac unless I go for counselling.’

Lisa was clearly annoyed. ‘I’ll have to OK it with Jack and you’d better come in early to make up the time,’ she said resentfully.

But then it passed. Ashling was a good girl really.

And she could afford to be charitable. At least I dont have to go for counselling, she thought smugly. Or take Prozac.

61

One Saturday night, about a month after everything had fallen apart, Ted did a comedy gig. Marcus was also on the bill.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Ashling said with ton-weight gaiety, ‘but I won’t be going along to support you.’

‘No problem, no bother, not at all, who’d expect you to!’

‘But you will have to start going out again sometime,’ Joy urged.

Ashling shuddered. The very thought.

‘There are no strangers,’ Ted wheedled, ‘just friends you haven’t met yet.’

‘Better still,’ Joy said, ‘there are no strangers, just boyfriends you haven’t met yet.’

Sullenly Ashling said, ‘There are no strangers, just exboyfriends I haven’t met yet.’

She remained clenched with tension until she next saw Ted on Sunday afternoon. She tried very hard not to ask, but eventually gave in. ‘Ted, I’m sorry, but was he there?’

When Ted assented, Ashling asked in an even more subdued voice, ‘Did he ask about me?’

‘I wasn’t talking to him,’ Ted said quickly. Why did he feel he was advancing through a minefield?

Ashling was annoyed. Ted should have talked to him, so that Marcus could have asked about her. Although if he had talked to him, she’d have felt betrayed.

In a voice even more diminished she forced herself to enquire, ‘And was she there?’

Feeling somehow to blame, Ted nodded confirmation.

Ashling slid into morose muteness. Even though she’d hoped otherwise, she’d known Clodagh would be at the gig because Dylan spent Saturday nights with the kids, thus providing a built-in babysitter. Ashling cursed her memory, which had managed to retain every little detail Dylan had provided her with about the lovebirds. She was better off knowing nothing. But it was irresistible, like picking at a scab.

In forlorn silence she imagined Clodagh staring adoringly at Marcus and Marcus staring adoringly back at Clodagh. The stillness extended so long that Ted began to think that he was in the clear and that there would be no more questions. Little by little he began to let himself relax – too soon! In a choked voice, Ashling asked, ‘Did they look mad about each other?’

‘Ah, not at all,’ he scoffed, electing not to mention that at the start of his act Marcus had said, ‘This is for Clodagh.’

After they’d been caught in bed by Craig, Marcus had persuaded Clodagh that she might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. He now stayed almost every night, and things had worked out better than expected. The children seemed to have accepted him and there were times – like now – when Clodagh felt everything was in harmony.

They were all gathered around the kitchen table, Molly drawing flowers (actually on the table), Craig doing his homework, assisted by Clodagh, and Marcus working on some gags.

The air was benign with unity and honest endeavour.

‘Hey, Clodagh, can I run this piece by you?’ Marcus asked.

‘Give me ten minutes. I just want to finish helping Craig.’

Some time later Marcus cut in as Clodagh demonstrated for the umpteeth time how to do a big letter Q. ‘Can I show you now, Clodagh?’

‘Ten more minutes, darlin’, then I’ll be right with you.’

Next the kitchen door slammed shut and Clodagh’s head jerked up. What had happened?