'No, no bother at all. He's a good lad.' With that he turned and went back into the house.

We drove straight back to Hartstonge Street. Keith wasn't really checking on his house and I certainly wasn't ironing a suit. I felt a casual day coming on it might only be Monday but my mind was feeling Friday. I'd have to lie low at the back of the office and spend a lot of time in the library. I was getting to the point that I really didn't care any more. I was begining to wonder how far I would push it. Would I risk a big show-down with my boss? Would I risk getting fired? Would I risk liberating myself from a job I hated? Was I capable of doing anything else?

I was thinking back over all the opportunities I had had to get off this ridiculous roller-coaster I could have changed course in college when I saw how monumentally boring law was. Pride had prevented me. I could have not gone to Blackhall Place but it seemed like the obvious thing to do once I had a law degree. I could have left the profession after any one of the three times I'd failed my professional exams. Pride had got me again. I could have not gone into the cushy job my dad had lined up for me when I got back from my year and a half of travelling. I could have left that job on any one of the days that followed on which I felt like an incompetent misfit. Yet I was still at the firm of O'Sullivan and Woulfe, feeling ever more incompetent and ever more of a misfit.

My conversation with Mike was the first time I had ever seriously contemplated packing it in. The idea was so huge, so scary, I didn't know if I had the courage to go through with it.

As soon as we got back to the flat I ran a bath, pouring into it half a bottle of something blue and fragrant that Clarins promised would soothe away my troubles. It dawned on me as I sat on the edge of the tub that I didn't have any troubles, yet I couldn't shake off the general malaise that had overtaken me on the drive home. I felt as if I'd been drinking on an empty stomach all afternoon, and now I'd sobered up enough to feel tired, hungry and slightly hung-over. What was my problem? Sure, I'd discovered that Keith had had a long-term relationship he'd never told me about, but it wasn't like he cared anything for that girl, and I still had secrets I hadn't told him about and I didn't think there was anything wrong in that. Sometimes you can hear too much of the truth. If anything, I had discovered another aspect to my boyfriend, which made him even more appealing. So why hadn't it thrilled me to hear my fiance say that all his pa.s.sion was for me?

Before I had undressed, Keith came into the bathroom. He said nothing, but pulled me off the bath and began to remove my clothes. One by one, he opened the b.u.t.tons on my shirt and placed his hand inside my bra. Then, as he unclipped the hooks, he undid the fly of his jeans. With my bra on the floor he placed his other hand under my skirt and removed my underwear. He moved very slowly, yet very deliberately. We were backed up against the sink, our mouths locked together, our bodies hardly moving as he went deeper and deeper. It was one of the sweetest o.r.g.a.s.ms I had ever had and one of the saddest; Keith had never been more present in my body, or more absent from my mind.

10.

There are a small number of days throughout the entire year on which the whole business of waking up can be accomplished truly successfully. They are usually during holidays and sometimes on festive days like Christmas, but very occasionally, for no reason, you wake up in the morning and everything runs perfectly.

I had a Wednesday, towards the middle of July, that started like that. I must have got to bed early the night before because I woke feeling as if every cell had been swept liberally with oxygen, the cobwebs and stale air flushed out. The little alcohol detox I had been giving myself contributed, no doubt, to the effect. Keith was already gone and had left his side of the bed almost as if it hadn't been slept in. It led me to reflect that we hadn't had much s.e.x lately. But I presumed that was part of living together, or living together with my sister in the way, and that it was only temporary. I sat up in bed and drew the curtains to allow the morning light to flood the room. It was still early so there was no need to rush into the shower straight away. I could just be be for a while. for a while.

Part of this sense of calm had to come from the fact that I had given notice at work and it had been accepted with a distinct touch of regret on my boss's part. But he wished me well, said he would be sorry to lose me (I had always brightened up the office, apparently) and a.s.sured me he would do anything he could to facilitate my 'change of direction'. It was, as they say, a weight off my mind. And to add to that, I had made several enquiries regarding undergraduate and post-graduate courses. It looked as if I'd have a lot to choose from and I'd be able to start in September. Suddenly waking up was a whole other business.

Thus my morning continued. The water temperature in the shower was perfect (always difficult when the ambient temperature starts to rise), and the new shampoo I was trying out left my hair silky smooth and tangle free as well as sweetly fragrant. As I dressed I contemplated the joy I would soon have in climbing into my jeans whenever I felt like it or going all out in some crazy creation I had put together with Lucy. I might even wear a suit from time to time, just to play a role it was all in the joy of not having to. What I saw in the mirror that morning was a young woman quite happy with herself. Her navy linen trousers and crisp linen blouse, offset with an ethnic necklace, gave the impression of someone at ease with her life choices. She might be in transition, but she was confident of her new direction. I could smile at myself and feel that, finally, I was taking charge.

My mind was also at ease because I had made an overdue visit to Mum and Dad. Mum greeted me with deserved coolness but Dad was visibly delighted and started bustling about with a wine he had just opened, one of the best white burgundies, he said, that he'd had in years. We sat out on the lawn, which was impeccably trimmed, and after listening to news of the aunts and cousins, I told them about my future career plans.

'Well, dear, that's so unfortunate,' Mum said, 'after all the years you were studying, and you have no idea how much your father and I spent. No idea. I hope no child of yours ever wastes money in the same way. Do you know that your cousin Sheila financed the whole of her college courses? Every penny? Her parents didn't have to sh.e.l.l out a single sou sou! But she's always been a considerate girl. When she was young she used to come in from school and tell her mother to go and have a lie-down while she put on the dinner. Imagine that! And she was only in primary school! But they've been blessed in all their children. Donny, her eldest, takes them both away to '

Here, Dad cut her off. 'So,' he said, 'you've finally done it. Well done. It was a brave thing to do. Can't have been easy. You won't regret it.'

'Thank you, Dad. I'm really glad I did it, and if I'd listened to you in the first place I wouldn't have had to. And you, Mum,' I acknowledged.

'Honestly, David, congratulating her when she's throwing up her whole career. And what an age to go back to college! Honestly, in our day you were lucky if you got a job at all, not to mind this business of finding careers that suit you. I suppose you'll have that boy supporting you now.'

'If you mean Keith, Mum, then no. I'll support myself. I'll get a part-time job.'

'Oh, well, do whatever you want to. You always do.' With that she charged back into the house. I knew she wasn't really in a temper. She'd bang about in the kitchen for a while, then reappear with a beautifully made-up tray laden with delightful shop-bought goodies.

'It's a good decision,' Dad said, and when Mum was safely inside the house, he added, 'and you know if you need a little bit of help to get you sorted, you can rely on me.'

'Thanks, Dad. And thanks for the offer, but I'm going to try to do this myself. Oh, Keith won't throw me out if I can't find my half of the mortgage every once in a while. I'm sure it'll be fine.'

'And what does he think of it?' asked Dad.

'Ahm,' I fudged, 'he thinks it's great. He's delighted.'

In fact Keith wasn't one bit pleased. We'd had a huge row about it and for the moment we were refusing to discuss it.

'That's good,' Dad said. 'You need to have your man behind you.'

Mum reappeared presently with said tray, china and a plate of a.s.sorted Mr Kiplings. She had brushed her hair and reapplied lipstick. This little ritual helps her composure. 'You're very nearly thirty,' she began. 'At your age I had three children and no career.'

I was about to remind her that she had always said raising children was the most rewarding career a woman could have but I figured that now wasn't the time. I'd have to let her say her piece. After all, I deserved it.

'It's about time you started being responsible. And how long has it taken you to tell us? We haven't seen you out here in over a month. If it wasn't for Marion calling to tell us a bit of news, you might all be dead and we wouldn't know it.'

By 'all', she meant Lucy, Jean and me. Ruth checks in daily.

'Jean used to be much better before she moved in with you. We used to see her and Mike regularly.'

Neither would it have been helpful to point out to Mum that the reason she wasn't seeing so much of Mike and Jean might have been because Jean had walked out on Mike, thus ending their marriage, not because Jean was now living under my roof.

'Well,' I said innocuously, 'Jean might be moving out soon, now that their house is sold.'

'Their house is sold?' she snapped. 'When is anyone going to tell me what's going on in this family? Did you know?' she asked Dad.

'No,' he said wisely, although apparently Mike had asked his advice on a few things regarding the sale.

'Well,' she said, biting into a French fancy, 'I'm glad I have other daughters to rely on to tell me news. Did you know that Ruth's thinking of getting a new kitchen? The one she has was never great it's too small. And she's so creative in the kitchen, she needs s.p.a.ce. She was thinking of knocking through to the dining room and making one big room of it, but it's nice to have a formal dining room. It's so civilized. So now she's thinking of extending out the back. They have plenty of room it wouldn't take from the patio at all. She was here earlier today, you only just missed her. She was getting ideas from my kitchen. She's going to have an architect draw up proper plans and she was wondering if she should ask Mike or not. She'd like to give him the business but he might be embarra.s.sed. She was wondering what I thought.'

Since she paused here, I figured she was wondering what I thought. Which was that Ruth should have her head flushed down the toilet, getting my mother involved in her shady speculations like that. Yet again, I resisted saying what was on my mind.

'Mum, Mike isn't likely to be embarra.s.sed either by Ruth or her kitchen, no matter how small it is. And he's a fabulous architect, so he doesn't need the business. Tell Ruth to do whatever her conscience tells her is right.'

Mum clearly saw my lack of sympathy for Ruth's dilemma, but she didn't scold me as she might. My mother has more sensitivity than her favourite daughter gives her credit for. 'Oh, yes,' she said, after a long pause in which she refilled our cups and started on her second fancy, 'I knew there was something else.'

'Oh.' Was somebody having new wardrobes fitted?

'Yes,' she said. 'Anna's paying us a visit.'

'Anna?' I said amazed. 'Our Anna in New Zealand?'

'Of course our Anna. She's coming with Tommy and the kids in August. It'll be around the time of your birthday. Won't that be nice?'

I had to agree that it would. I hadn't seen Anna in about four years, and that had been at Ruth's wedding so I'd blocked most of it out. She hadn't had the rest of the family with her, either. Wow! It would would be nice to see her again. be nice to see her again.

'Did you know about this?' It was my turn to accuse Dad.

'I knew,' he said, 'but family news is your mother's domain.'

'So when exactly is she coming?' I asked.

'The details aren't clear, but some time in late August. You know the way it is with New Zealand it's the other side of the world so you're losing days or gaining them, I never know which. But I remember thinking that it would coincide with your birthday so I was thinking of having a party for all the family. Though why I keep having parties for you, I don't know.'

'Oh, Mum, that's a lovely idea,' I responded, genuinely enthused, 'but you know what would make it really special for Anna, I mean? If you kept it to the immediate family. Just you and Dad and the six of us and the husbands and kids. Any more might be too much for Anna. We never get the chance to have time together, just the six of us it's always something crazy like a wedding where you never get to talk. What do you think?' I was surprised by my own enthusiasm but I'd meant everything I said.

'Well, actually,' returned Mum, 'that's what I was thinking myself.'

'Oh.'

'Yes. And your father agrees.'

'Great, then. That's settled. It'll take the harm out of turning thirty.'

'You don't look thirty,' she said, 'and you certainly don't act it.'

I took this as a compliment but decided not to thank her.

Yes, sometimes it's good to touch base with the family and rekindle a little excitement. Marion would be delighted: Anna and she have always been great friends. I was a little surprised that Mum was throwing me another party, especially after my disappointing news, but I suppose she needed an excuse and n.o.body else was having a significant birthday any time soon. Nor was I bothered about turning thirty, not really. I was about to be married and I was finally starting to take hold of my 'professional' life. I don't think there's very much grey under the swamp of colour in my hair and my skin seems to be justifying the expensive creams I slather on it. All in all, not too bad for a girl at the beginning of the new millennium.

All these pleasant thoughts were swooshing about in my head as I walked the two blocks to work under a brilliant blue sky lightly studded with high c.u.mulus clouds. I was already thinking about getting something new to wear I hadn't ventured back into Party Dress Land since my last abortive attempt. Lucy might come with me: we could make a day of it.

And so my morning continued. Now that I was leaving, I was finding work pleasant. I even seemed to be manoeuvring my desk-top with improved efficiency and there was a feeling in the air that I might, at any moment, do or say something very clever indeed. However, by lunchtime I needed to get out of there.

One of the things I'd always enjoyed about my job was lunchtime. Because so many of my colleagues' lunches involved taking clients to restaurants, there was a long-lunch tradition. I wasn't usually involved in the client lunches so often I'd slip out to the local Spar, buy a sandwich and stroll up to the People's Park. It was one of my favourite things I loved to sit there in the middle of all that lush greenery, nodding conspiratorially to refugees from other offices. It was a great way to decompress after a stressful morning.

I had just reached the top of the queue with my Hawaiian chicken sandwich and a bottle of water when I noticed that Mike was at the top of the adjacent queue.

'Hey,' he said. 'Fancy meeting you here.'

'Hi,' I said. 'I thought you had your lunch specially prepared by a team of imported chefs.'

'Oh, I give them the day off on Wednesdays.' He paused. 'Are you in a hurry to get back?'

'Me? No way. I was on my way up to the park. Care to join me? Or are you in a hurry?' I added quickly.

'No, no,' he said. 'I was going to take a leisurely lunch at home. Would you... like to stroll up and see the house? It's still a bit of a mess but...'

I'd heard from Jean that he'd bought a small mews house on Charlotte Avenue just off O'Connell Avenue, only up the road from me. I'd been dying to call but somehow it didn't seem appropriate with Jean living at my flat.

'I'd love to,' I said. 'I've heard loads about it.'

'Well, great then, let's go.'

We walked up the remainder of O'Connell Street, through The Crescent and on into O'Connell Avenue. He made a point of walking on the outside and each time we crossed the road his hand, unconsciously, I presume, went up as if to prevent me running straight across. I am the world's worst jay-walker; I'd forgotten what it's like to stop and wait.

His house was on a cul-de-sac just off the main avenue. It was at the back of the row where you'd hardly see it from the road. A wrought-iron railing and gate enclosed a small but neat front garden and a winding paved path led to his front door.

'Welcome to my new abode,' he said, somewhat ornately, as he opened the gate for me. 'Don't be too harsh it's a work in progress.'

'You're forgetting who you're talking to,' I said. 'You've seen my flat. I've been in it for years and it's still the same as it was when I moved in.'

He was wearing khaki-coloured Wranglers, brown Dr Martens shoes and a loose-fitting off-white shirt. He was the essence of casual cool, but as he fumbled for his keys and struggled with the lock, he seemed nervous.

'Voila !' he said, and waved an arm while letting me step into the house before him. It certainly was a work in progress: there were beams sticking out of places they couldn't possibly be meant to stick out from; there was a workman's bench covered with tools; plastic sheeting was strewn about the floor, which was being ripped apart to reveal what seemed to be original wooden boards. The place was a building site. The whole of the downstairs had been made open-plan and the remains of the walls that had been torn down lay everywhere. I couldn't imagine how he was living in this mess.

'You were going to have a leisurely lunch here?' I asked, in not-quite-mock amazement.

'Oh, it's not that bad,' he said, 'or maybe I've got used to it. Upstairs is a lot better. I'm kind of living in one room at the moment.'

'Can you even make me a cup of coffee?' I asked, pretending to be appalled.

'As a matter of fact, madam,' he said, 'I can make you a very fine cup of coffee with my very excellent coffee machine, which is plugged in upstairs. Follow me.'

He led the way up a flight of stairs that definitely wasn't fastened to anything.

'Hold on tight,' he said, 'but not too tight, or you'll make the whole thing sway.'

He held out a hand and guided me up.

Things were a little better up here. It had originally been a three-bedroom house with a bathroom downstairs but he had already converted one of the bedrooms into a sizeable bathroom and in one of the others, as he'd said, he had set up camp. There was a mattress on the floor, surrounded by a desk lamp, a pile of books, a small stereo, and a.s.sorted bags that seemed to contain his clothes. How could he emerge from this chaos so well put together? The coffee machine was on the floor by the window, along with a toaster, a kettle and a miniature microwave. A portable TV stood on a shaky-looking chair.

'You see?' he said. 'All a man could want in one small room.'

I suspected he was enjoying living like this. It was probably a nice change from a house that had more rooms than its occupants could use.

'Wow!' I said. 'Very cosy. I don't know why you're bothering to do up downstairs you need never leave this room. Everybody should live this way.'

'You practically do!' He was grinning broadly. 'Don't think it hasn't been noticed, the way you gather your bits round you on the couch and hibernate for the winter.'

'That's not true,' I retorted. 'I only do that when it gets very cold, or at Christmas. My flat can get very very cold.' cold.'

'Oh, I know, and you can get very comfortable in your pyjamas and sleeping-bag with your videos. The Princess Bride The Princess Bride? w.i.l.l.y Wonka w.i.l.l.y Wonka?'

He was really laughing now.

'Hey!' I said. 'I came here to laugh at your house, not the other way round. How did you know about w.i.l.l.y Wonka w.i.l.l.y Wonka anyway?' anyway?'

'Oh, you know me, I notice everything.'

'You're a b.o.l.l.o.c.ks,' I said.

'Why, thank you. Does that mean you don't want to see the rest?'

'What? There's a rest? How big is this house?'

'Oh, not very,' he said, getting up off the floor where he had been putting on the coffee. 'That's why I decided to convert the attic.'

'Mmm,' I said. 'An attic conversion. Ruth would be well impressed. She's doing her kitchen. Expect a garbled phone call from her one of these days. Or from my mother. Oh, by the way, Anna's coming home in August.'

'Anna? It's been a while.'

'Yeah. Mum's throwing a party for her. Well, for me as well. I don't know if you keep abreast of these things,' I added, rather sheepishly, 'but I have a slightly significant birthday coming up soon.'

'Yes, indeed I keep abreast. I know exactly what age you are. It's the end of everything, you know. It's as well someone's marrying you.'