Marcus was picking Ashling up at eight-thirty, so at seven o’clock she poured herself a glass of wine and let the preparations commence. It had been a long time since she’d gone for dinner with a man. She and Phelim had had a lazy, comfortable routine of takeaways and only ever went to restaurants when they’d had enough of delivered pizzas and curries. Meals out had been strictly utilitarian exercises in nourishment, not seduction – they’d employed other methods for getting each other into bed. When Phelim was in the mood he used to say, ‘Beast with two backs, any takers?’ and when Ashling was instigating matters she’d command, ‘Ravish me!’

And what would sex with Marcus be like? A terrified, excited fizz lit her nerve-endings and she pawed for her cigarettes. Joy couldn’t have picked a better time to arrive.

She complimented Ashling on her clothes, pulled down the waistband on her jeans and admired her choice of thong, then asked, ‘Did you remember to put conditioner on your pubic hair?’

Ashling winced and Joy looked wounded. ‘These things matter! Well, did you?’

Ashling nodded.

‘Good girl. How long is it since you had sex? When Phelim went to Oz?’

‘When he came home for his brother’s wedding.’

‘And you’re really going for it with Mr Valentine?’

‘Why else would I put conditioner on my pubic hair?’ Anticipation rendered Ashling irritable.

‘Excellento! So you like him?’

Ashling considered. ‘I could really come to like him. We get on well, and he’s attractive but not too attractive. People like me never get off with male models or actors or the kind of men that people say, “God, he’s really good-looking.” You know what I mean?’

‘You’re freaking me out. What else?’

‘We like the same kind of films.’

‘And they are?’ Joy enquired.

‘Ones in English.’

Phelim had showed an irritating tendency to think of himself as an intellectual and often talked about going to foreign and subtitled films. He’d never actually gone, but used to distress Ashling by reading aloud reviews and suggesting that they might go.

‘Marcus is just kind of ordinary,’ Ashling explained. ‘He doesn’t go bungee jumping or protest against motorways or anything mental. No insane hobbies, I like that in a man.’

‘What else?’

‘I like…’ Suddenly Ashling turned on Joy and said savagely, ‘If you ever tell this to anyone I’ll kill you.’

‘I promise,’ Joy lied.

‘I like that he’s sort of famous. That he gets mentioned in the paper and that people know about him. Yes, I know, that makes me shallow, but I’m being honest with you.’

‘How are his freckles?’

‘Freckly.’ A pause followed. ‘Look, I’ve one or two myself,’ Ashling said defensively. ‘There’s no shame in them.’

‘I’m only saying…’

‘There’s Ted at the door. Let him in, will you?’

Ted came into the bedroom, obviously excited. ‘Look at this,’ he yelped, and unfurled a poster.

‘It’s you!’ Ashling declared.

It was a picture of Ted’s face on top of an owl’s body with the words ‘Owl Ted Mullins’ across the top of the page.

‘Wow, that’s fantastic!’

‘I’m getting them printed, but what do you think?’ He unfurled another poster and let one hang from between each thumb and index finger. ‘Red background or blue background?’

‘Red,’ Joy said.

‘Blue,’ Ashling said.

‘I don’t know,’ Ted mused. ‘Clodagh says –’

‘What Clodagh?’ Ashling barked an interruption. ‘Who Clodagh? My friend Clodagh?’

‘Yes, I called around to her…’

‘What for?’

‘To collect my jacket,’ Ted said defensively. ‘What’s the biggie? I left my jacket when we were babysitting, it’s hardly a crime.’

Ashling couldn’t explain her resentment. She had no option but to mutter, ‘Right. Sorry.’

A tense silence reigned. ‘Pass me my new lipstick please,’ Ashling said shortly.

She tipped it from its box and twisted up the waxy finger, shiny and new. Gorgeous. But as she admired it, she was afflicted with a sudden, very unwelcome awareness.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she breathed. Quickly she inspected the base of the lipstick, launched a searching scramble in her make-up bag, unearthed another lipstick and checked the base of that also. ‘I don’t fucking believe it,’ she exclaimed, in despair.

‘What?!’

‘I’ve bought the same lipstick. I spent all morning looking for a new lipstick and I’m after buying exactly the same one I had already.’

With a passionate rush of I’m such a failure, Ashling was all set to hurl herself on the bed, except the bell rang. The alarm clock on her dressing table said half past eight. Which meant it was twenty past.

‘That better bloody not be Marcus Valentine at the door,’ she threatened.

It was.

‘What kind of man arrives early?’ Joy asked.

‘A gentleman,’ Ashling said, not at all convinced.

‘A weirdo,’ Joy said, not quite under-her-breath enough.

‘Out, the pair of you.’

‘Make sure you use a condom,’ Joy hissed, then they were gone. Seconds later Marcus appeared up the stairs, all smiles.

‘Hi,’ Ashling said. ‘I’m nearly ready. Would you like a beer or something?’

‘A cup of tea. I’ll make it, don’t worry about me.’

While she hurriedly finished preparing she heard him opening cupboards and drawers in the kitchen.

‘Cute apartment,’ Marcus called in to her.

Ashling wished he’d be quiet. Providing witty repartee while applying lipstick was not one of her strengths.

‘Small but perfectly formed,’ she called back absently.

‘Like its owner.’

Which was nothing near the truth, Ashling thought, but it was nice of him to say so.

And that kind of set the tone. She cheered up, put the lipstick shame behind her, brushed her hair and went forth to meet his admiration.