It was four o’clock by the time Lisa and Niall decided they were happy with the supermarket pictures.

‘We got some good shots,’ Niall admitted. ‘Great juxtaposing, great irony.’

‘Please can we go home now?’ Trix said in a low, desperate mutter. Ashling agreed. Her arms ached from holding Frieda Kiely’s godawful frocks, she was tired of answering Dani’s mobile phone which rang incessantly, and she was sick of being treated like a skivvy. Run and get batteries for Niall’s flash, go and get coffees for everyone, find the suitcase that had the straw in it.

‘The street scene,’ Lisa reminded Niall.

‘I don’t think we’re going home just yet,’ Ashling hissed angrily.

Miserably, everyone trooped to South William Street, where, on the pavement outside an Indian restaurant, Niall set up his equipment for what felt like the millionth time that day.

‘How about we have Dani rooting through a litter bin, like a homeless person?’ Lisa suggested.

Niall loved the idea.

‘No!’ Dani was close to tears. ‘No fucking way.’

‘But it’s urban,’ Lisa insisted. ‘We need strong urban images to balance these clothes.’

‘I don’t care, I’m not doing it. Sack me if you want.’

Lisa looked sternly at her. Tension thickened the air. If Boo hadn’t chosen that moment to pass by with Hairy Dave, Ashling dreaded to think what the outcome would have been.

‘Hi, Ashling,’ Boo called cheerfully.

‘Um, hello.’ She was slightly mortified. Boo, with his dirty blanket around his shoulders and Hairy Dave by his side, was very obviously homeless.

‘I finished The Blacksmith’s Woman,’ Boo told Ashling. ‘Unputdownable, but the end was a right cop-out, I’d never really believed that fella was her half-brother.’

‘Great!’ Ashling said tightly, hoping that the boys would disappear on their way. When, to her great surprise, she saw that Lisa was studying Boo with hard interest.

‘Lisa Edwards.’ With a wide smile she stuck out her hand and – fair play to her – barely shuddered when Boo, then Hairy Dave, grasped it. Lisa swept her gaze along the horseshoe of waiting people. ‘OK,’ she said with a reptilian smile. ‘Forget the rubbish bin, I’ve a better idea.’

She turned to Boo and Hairy Dave. ‘How would you two boys like to be photoed with this beautiful woman?’ She shunted the sullen Dani forward.

Ashling was rocked by shock. This wasn’t right, it felt like… like some form of exploitation. She opened her mouth to object, but Boo seemed charmed beyond belief. ‘This is a fashion shoot? And you want us in it? Deadly!’

‘But…’ Dani attempted.

‘It’s this or the litter bin,’ Lisa said, steel in her voice.

Dani paused for an angry second, then positioned herself between Boo and Hairy Dave.

‘Genius!’ Niall declared. ‘Love it! No need to smile, er, Dave, just be yourself. And, you, um, Boo, could you give your, eh, blanket to Dani. Terrific! Dani, darlin’, could you drape it across your shoulders. Pretend it’s a pashmina, love, if that makes it easier. We need a styrofoam cup! Trix, run to McDonald’s and get some cups…’

Ashling turned to Mercedes and asked, in astonishment, ‘Surely these pictures will be unusable?’

‘No,’ Mercedes admitted, her dark eyes miserable. ‘They’re inspired. They’ll probably win a fucking award!’

It was eight o’clock before they finished. Ashling raced home to get ready and as she bolted in the door, the phone was ringing – Clodagh, who had spent the day having her hair cut and coloured into such a radical restyle that Dylan wasn’t talking to her. Then she’d bought a pair of white, skin-tight cut-offs in a slender size ten – which she hadn’t been since before she’d got pregnant with Craig. The shoe situation was finally under control (kitten-heeled mules) and she was desperate to go out.

But before she managed to relay any of that Ashling whispered, ‘I’ve never been so tired in my life. I’ve been on a fashion shoot all day.’

Clodagh paused, her exuberance dying on her lips, then she stirred with black rancour. Ashling was a lucky bitch. A lucky glamorous bitch. She was doing it on purpose, just to rub in how boring Clodagh’s life was.

‘I can’t really talk,’ Ashling apologized. ‘I’ve got to get ready, I’m due at Marcus’s five minutes ago.’

Clodagh was crushed. She’d have to sit in with her new hair and her new clothes and her new shoes and watch telly. So foolish did she feel that it was several seconds before she managed to say, ‘How’s it all going with him?’

Ashling was unaware of Clodagh’s bitter disappointment. Her mind was on Marcus as she wondered if she should tempt fate. ‘Great,’ she answered. ‘Fantastic, in fact.’

‘It sounds serious,’ Clodagh needled.

Again Ashling hesitated. ‘Maybe.’ Then added because she felt she should, ‘But it’s early days.’

It didn’t feel like early days, though. They saw each other at least three times a week and shared an easiness and intimacy that seemed to belong to a much longer relationship. And the sex had greatly improved… She barely gave her tarot cards a glance these days, and her little Buddha was sorely neglected.

‘Oh, Ted rang. He’s on next Saturday,’ Clodagh said.

Ashling paused, and tried to push down the eruption of dirty emotion. She did not want to encourage Clodagh to get too friendly with Ted.

‘So he is.’ She tried to sound casual. ‘He’s supporting Marcus.’

‘Call me during the week and we’ll fix on times and all that.’

‘Will do. Must go.’

As soon as she got to Marcus’s she knew something had happened. Instead of kissing her as he usually did, he was sullen and moody.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘Sorry I’m late, I was working…’

‘Look at this.’ He tossed her the newspaper.

Anxiously she read. It transpired that Bicycle Billy had got a publishing deal. Described as ‘One of Ireland’s top comedians,’ he’d been given a two-book contract and a ‘six-figure advance’. A spokesperson for the publishing house described the novel as ‘Very dark, very grim, quite different to his stand-up.’