‘He did some new stuff about children. I reckon he’s only riding Clodagh for the material,’ Ted swaggered. And it was such a patent lie that Ashling was touched to the heart.

‘And apparently,’ Ted warmed to his theme because Ashling seemed to be enjoying it, ‘reading between the lines, I think Dylan is giving Clodagh almost no money, ‘cos Marcus did a gag about his girlfriend’s – sorry.’ He paused to let Ashling wince. ‘About his girlfriend’s ex-husband giving her an allowance that was more of a forbiddance.’

Joy arrived. ‘What are we talking about?’

‘Marcus’s gig last night.’

‘What a dick.’ Joy curled her lip, then put on a goofy voice. ‘I want to dedicate this to Craig and Molly. How wanky is that?’

Ashling’s face bloomed a pale-green colour. ‘He’s dedicating his act to her children?’

In confusion, Joy looked at Ted. ‘I thought that was what you were telling… oh fuck! I’m always putting my foot in it.’

Ashling felt a wash of humiliation, as fresh as the first one. ‘Happy families,’ she observed, trying to sound wry.

‘It can’t last,’ Joy said stoutly.

‘No, they’ll stay together,’ Ashling insisted. ‘Men always stay with Clodagh.’

Then Joy asked a funny question. ‘Do you miss Marcus?’

Ashling considered. She felt many emotions, all of them unpleasant, but in amongst them there was no longer a yearning for Marcus. Anger, yes. And sadness, humiliation and a sense of loss. But she didn’t actually miss him, his company, his physical presence, the way she once had.

*

‘Of course I care about your children!’ Marcus insisted. ‘Didn’t I dedicate my act to the two of them last night?’

‘Well why won’t you read Molly a bedtime story then?’

‘Because I’m busy. I’ve two full-time jobs.’

‘But I’m knackered. It’s impossible to cope with two children entirely on my own.’

‘But you said Dylan was never here anyway, that he was always working.’

‘He wasn’t always working,’ Clodagh said sullenly. ‘He was often here.’

She handed Marcus an illustrated copy of Little Red Riding Hood, which he refused to take. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to put in an hour on my novel.’

She stared at him long and hard. ‘My marriage has broken up because of you.’

‘And my relationship with Ashling broke up because of you. So we’re quits.’

Clodagh was raging. She didn’t even believe that Marcus had liked Ashling that much, but he insisted he had, so what could she do?

62

And then, taking everyone by surprise, as it did every year, Christmas arrived. All and sundry drank their heads off for most of the month and on the twenty-third of December Colleen’s office closed for eleven days. ‘Compassionate leave,’ Kelvin called it.

Phelim came home from Australia and expressed mild surprise when Ashling wouldn’t sleep with him. Nevertheless he took it well and still gave her the didgeridoo he’d brought for her. Ashling went to her parents for Christmas – an event worthy of comment, as she’d stayed in Dublin with Phelim’s family for the previous five years. Ashling’s brother Owen came home from the Amazon basin and made his mother’s Christmas by not having a plate in his lower lip. Ashling’s sister Janet flew in from California. She was taller, slimmer and blonder than Ashling remembered. She ate a lot of fresh fruit and refused to walk anywhere.

Clodagh spent the day alone. Dylan took the children to his parents and she boycotted her own parents when they said Marcus couldn’t come with her. But at the last minute Marcus decided to spend the day with his parents.

Lisa went to Hemel and was grateful for the fuss her mum and dad made of her. She’d signed and posted the final divorce papers a few weeks before Christmas and still felt ridiculously fragile. The next part of the process was the decree nisi.

*

The night Ashling returned from Cork, she found she had a new neighbour. A blond, wiry boy was huddled in her doorway, tucking into a sandwich and a can of Budweiser.

‘Hiya,’ she said. ‘I’m Ashling.’

‘George.’ He noticed her looking at the can of Bud. ‘It’s New Year’s Eve,’ he said, defensively. ‘I’m having a drink like anyone else.’

‘I don’t mind,’ she said softly.

‘Just because I’m on the streets doesn’t mean I have a problem with booze,’ he explained, relenting slightly. ‘I’m just a social drinker.’

She gave him a pound and went inside, where despair threatened to overwhelm her. Homelessness was like a many-headed monster – cut off one head and two more appear in its place. Boo was sorted, with a job, a flat and even a girlfriend, but he’d been one of the few lucky ones: intelligent, presentable-looking and still young enough to have the capacity to adapt to a mainstream life. There were so many others who had nothing, and who never would – beaten by the life which had catapulted them on to the streets in the first place and further beaten by hunger, despair, fear, boredom and other people’s hatred.

Her doorbell rang. It was Ted, proudly sporting a small, tidy girl. ‘You’re back,’ he announced, then turned to encompass the girl by his side. ‘This is Sinead.’

Sinead extended a neat little hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, with prim self-confidence.

‘Come in.’ Ashling was surprised. Sinead didn’t look like your usual comedy groupie.

In Ted swaggered, then smoothed the couch cushions before solicitously inviting Sinead to sit down.

She placed herself daintily on the couch, her knees and ankles aligned, and graciously accepted Ashling’s offer of a glass of wine. All the while Ted watched her like a soppy hawk.

‘You, um, met Ted at a gig?’ Ashling tried to make conversation, as she scouted on the floor for the corkscrew. She was sure that’s where she’d left it the night before she went to Cork…

‘A gig?’ Sinead sounded as though she’d never heard the word before.

‘A comedy gig.’

‘Oh no!’ Sinead tinkled.

‘She’s never seen my act, says she never wants to.’ Ted gazed at her with isn’t-she-great? fondness.