Ashling shook her head.

‘No, neither did I,’ Boo said with dignity. Then he smote his forehead at his rudeness and swung his arm to encompass the two men who were with him. One was young, straggly haired and skeletal, the waistband of his sweatpants barely clinging to his starved hips. The other was older and had his face buried in a huge beard and insane hair, as if wild cats had been Sellotaped all around the border of his face. He wore once-white plimsolls and a dinner suit that had manifestly been tailored for a much shorter man.

Boo, by comparison, looked almost normal.

‘Sorry! Ashling, this is Johnjohn,’ he indicated the younger of the two men. ‘And this is Hairy Dave. Lads, this is Ashling, my sometimes neighbour and all-round decent human being.’

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Ashling shook hands with both of them. What if Clodagh saw her now – she’d have a fit! Chewbacca in particular looked filthy and when his crusty hand clasped Ashling’s she fought back the urge to shudder.

A passer-by nearly twisted his head off as he took a good look at the unlikely quartet, Ashling so fresh and fragrant, the other three anything but.

‘You look deadly,’ Boo remarked, with naked admiration. ‘You must be meeting a man.’

‘I am,’ she said. Then, provoked by sudden fondness for Boo, she admitted, ‘You’ll never guess who it is.’

‘Who?’ All three of them gasped and leant in closer. Ashling had to hold her breath.

‘Marcus Valentine,’ she said, tying it in with an exhalation.

Boo erupted into merry-eyed laughter.

‘Is he the comedian?’ Hairy Dave asked in a slow, thick growl. Ashling nodded.

‘The one who does the stuff about owls?’ JohnJohn got all excited.

God Almighty! Had Ted’s fame spread so far that even marginalized citizens knew about him? Wait until she told him!

‘That’s Owl Ted Mullins you’re thinking of,’ Boo explained to JohnJohn. ‘Marcus Valentine does the stuff about butter and snowflakes.’

‘Don’t know him.’ JohnJohn was disappointed.

‘He’s cool. Ashling, this is deadly news! Well, I hope you enjoy yourself.’

‘Thanks. I’ll leave you to have your dinner in peace.’ Ashling indicated the sandwiches they’d stopped eating when she showed up.

‘Marks & Spencer,’ Boo said. ‘They give us whatever they haven’t sold. I know their clothes are gone a bit boring, but the sangers are delicious!’

Suddenly the three men stiffened as if sensing danger. Ashling looked. Two policemen at the top of the road seemed to be the problem.

‘They look bored.’ JohnJohn sounded worried.

‘Come on!’ Boo urged, and they scooted away. ‘Bye Ashling.’

When she arrived at the pub, Marcus was there already, sitting in combats and a T-shirt, a pint of Guinness in front of him. Something jumped in Ashling at the sight of him. He’d turned up. This was really happening.

Ambiguity wrestled within her – how did she feel about him? Was he the enthusiastic freckled eejit whom she’d refused to bellez? Or the confident performer whose phone call she’d longed for? His appearance didn’t do anything to clear up the confusion, being neither wildly attractive nor laughably geeky. There was no getting away from it – he looked ordinary. His hair was an auburny-brown buzz-cut, his eyes weren’t any obvious colour, and of course there was the small matter of the freckles. But she liked ordinary. She deserved ordinary. No point flying too close to the sun.

And even though he was ordinary, his height meant that at least he was the deluxe version of it. He had a nice body.

When he saw her he stood up and beckoned. There was a space beside him on the bench and she squeezed in.

‘Hello,’ he said solemnly, when she was settled.

‘Hello,’ she replied, equally solemnly.

Then they both sort of giggled. Now he was at it.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

‘You can. A vodka-and-tonic, thanks.’

When he came back with her drink she flashed him a relaxed grin. He was so friendly-looking it was hard to take this seriously. Which trickled a dispiriting stream of disappointment through her. She didn’t fancy him. All that anxiety waiting for his phone call, wasted. She probed a bit more, leapfrogging from his freckles to her feelings and back. No, she definitely didn’t fancy him. The hairs could have stayed on her legs. Ted could have been spared the humiliating trip to the chemist. Ah, well. But maybe they could be friends. In fact, he could probably help Ted’s stand-up career, after all.

Brazenly she smiled at him and demanded, ‘So what have you been up to lately?’

Abruptly she remembered that this was the man who was about to, in Lisa’s words, ‘go stellar’, and there and then her lighthearted disrespect evaporated. Only seconds before she’d have gaily told him her most embarrassing moments, but perplexingly her brain had just wiped itself clean of all topics of conversation.

‘A bit of this, a bit of that,’ he replied.

Her turn. What should she say? The last thing, the very last thing she should mention was his career as a comedian. It would be naïve, and because he was so successful he must be sick of being praised and commended.

So it came as a right surprise when into the tongue-tied silence he said, ‘So you enjoyed the gig last Saturday?’

‘I did,’ she said. ‘Everyone was very funny.’

She sensed an anticipation from him, so she continued carefully, ‘I thought you were fantastic.’

‘Ah, it wasn’t one of my best,’ he twinkled, with a shadow of his on-stage goofy vulnerability. The air of relief from him was palpable.

Ashling’s turn again. ‘Do you have a job, you know, apart from, er, being funny?’

‘I write software for Cablelink, to do with upgrading the network to fibre optics.’

‘Er, is that so?’

‘Fascinating stuff,’ he smiled ruefully. ‘No wonder I have to do stand-up. And what do you do?’

Oh-oh. ‘I work for a women’s magazine.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘Ah, er, Colleen.’

‘Colleen?’ His expression changed. ‘They’re on at me to write a column. Lisa someone.’

‘Edwards. Lisa Edwards. She’s my boss,’ Ashling admitted, feeling guilty even though there was no need.