This hung in the air until Ashling said anxiously, ‘You don’t think he’s… up to something?’

‘No!’ Clodagh chuckled. ‘I didn’t mean that. I just mean I envy his, his… freedom. I’m stuck here with the pair of them while he’s in some fancy hotel getting an uninterrupted night’s sleep and a bit of privacy. What wouldn’t I give…’ She trailed off wistfully.

Later on in bed, after she’d nervously locked doors and windows, Clodagh found herself thinking about what Ashling had said about Dylan being up to something. He wouldn’t, would he? Have an affair? Or the occasional anonymous, away-from-home shag? Fast, furious and faceless? No, she knew he wouldn’t. Apart from anything else, she’d kill him.

But in a strange little way, the thought of Dylan having sex with someone else turned her on. She thought about it some more, shuffling through a few familiar fantasies. Would they do it like she and Dylan did? Or would it be more inventive? Wilder? Faster? More passionate? As she visualized the porn-movie scenarios, her breathing quickened, and when she was ready she gave herself a couple of quick, intense orgasms. Then fell into a deeply contented sleep until she was woken by Molly needing to do a wee-wee.

12

Ashling spent all Saturday afternoon traipsing around the shops, looking for a smart, sexy suit for work. What she actually wanted, though she was only dimly aware of it, was to look like Lisa. Perhaps then she’d feel deserving of her new job and the anxiety that dogged her might lift. But no matter what she tried on, Lisa’s lacquered élan eluded her. As closing time loomed, she made a couple of desperation purchases and staggered home, exhausted and dissatisfied.

The boy wasn’t actually in her doorway, he was crouched beside it on his orange blanket. It was the first time Ashling had seen him awake. Some passers-by threw him a coin, some more threw him a look that was a mix of disgust and fear, but most people genuinely didn’t see him. They had airbrushed him out of their reality.

She had to pass within inches of him to get to her front-door and was uncomfortably unsure of what the correct etiquette was, but felt she should say something. After all, they were neighbours.

‘Um, hi,’ she grunted, her eyes sliding quickly over his.

‘Hiya,’ he grinned up at her. He was missing a front tooth.

As she hurtled away from him, he nodded at her glossy shopping bag. ‘Did you get anything nice?’

She froze, halfway between him and her door, desperate to escape. ‘Ah, not really. Just a couple of things for work, you know.’

She wanted to cut her tongue out – how would he know?

‘What’s that they say?’ He squinted his eyes in thought. ‘Don’t dress for the job you have, dress for the job you want. Is that right?’

Ashling was too mired in embarrassment to focus. ‘Would you…?’ She shrugged her rucksack off her shoulder, her progress to her purse impeded by the large, glossy bag strewn across her. ‘Would you like…?’

She gave him a pound, which he accepted with a gracious inclination of his head. Flushed with shame at the disparity between what she’d given him and what she’d just spent on a shirt and a handbag she didn’t even need, she thumped angrily up the stairs. I work hard for my money, she fumed. Extremely hard, she amended, thinking of the week she’d just had. And I haven’t bought anything in ages. And it’s all on credit anyway. And it’s not my fault he’s an alcoholic or a heroin addict. Although, in fairness, she hadn’t smelt alcohol from him and he hadn’t seemed out of it on anything.

Safe in her flat, with the door slammed protectively behind her, she exhaled. There but for the grace of God go I, she thought. I could have ended up on the streets. And then she scolded herself for such melodrama. Things had never been that bad.

She flung her bags on the table and her shoes on the floor, wrecked after her day. And now she was expected to put on her party clothes and go out with Joy. She’d love not to. Being a thirty-something was like experiencing adolescence in reverse. Her body was changing and often she was struck by strange, sometimes shameful urges. Like wanting to stay in on her own on a Saturday night, with only a video and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s for company.

‘But you’ll never meet a man if you don’t go out,’ Joy regularly complained.

‘I do go out. Anyway, I’ve got Ben and Jerry. They’re the only men I need.’

But tonight she had to go out. For the first issue of Colleen, she and Joy were going to a salsa club to report on the chances of meeting men there. She’d never had to do anything of the sort for Woman s Place and there were times, like right now, when she dearly missed her old job. Not just because she’d never had to give up a Saturday night for her old job. But because she could have done her stuff in Woman’s Place in her sleep while her duties in Colleen still weren’t entirely clear. She feared she could be told to do anything and her stomach was twisted into a knot as she waited to be told to do something that she wasn’t able to. Ashling liked certainty and the only thing certain about working at Colleen was that she hadn’t a clue what was coming next.

Nerve-wracking!

Exciting, she corrected. And glamorous. And it was a great laugh working with so many new people – in her old job there had only been three other full-time staff. But then again, they’d all been sweethearts. No awkward types like Lisa or Jack Devine. But none as good fun as Trix or Kelvin either, she reminded herself firmly. Now was not the time to go all nostalgic and pathetic.

She stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave, then flung herself on the couch, watched Blind Date and prayed for Joy not to come. She’d been up till six in the morning playing with Half-man-half-badger, perhaps she’d be too unwell to go out.

No chance.

Though she was more fragile than usual.

‘I’d like a cup of tea,’ she said, when she arrived. ‘Plenty of sugar.’

‘That bad?’

‘I’ve the shakes. Worth it, though. I’m mad about Half-man-half-badger, Ashling. But he was supposed to ring me today and – oh no, this milk tastes sour. Fuck! I bet I’m pregnant. In nine months’ time I’ll give birth to a half-baby-half-badger.’

‘No,’ Ashling said, looking into her cup in which little white flecks were floating. ‘I just think the milk is sour.’