'Chablis or Chardonnay?'

'Oh ah, Chardonnay.'

She lit a cigarette and scanned the throng. By the time she'd finished the cigarette and glass of wine, Ashling still hadn't appeared.

Perhaps her watch was wrong. Lisa saw a group of lads standing nearby, selected the best-looking one and asked, 'What time is it?'

'Twenty past nine.'

'Twenty past?' It was worse than she'd thought. past?' It was worse than she'd thought.

'Been stood up?'

'No! But the arrangement was for nine.'

The boy heard her accent. 'You're English?'

She nodded.

'They'll be here soon enough. Definitely before ten. But you see, round here, nine o'clock is only a figure of speech.'

Lisa felt her black demon stir. This fucking country. She fucking hated it.

'But we'll talk to you until they come,' he offered with a gallant smile. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, gave a piercing wolf-whistle and beckoned back the friends who'd drifted away.

'No need...' Lisa attempted.

'No bother,' he assured her. 'Lads,' he told his five pals, 'this is ' He flourished his hand at Lisa, waiting for her name.

'Lisa,' she said sulkily.

'She's from England. Her friends are late and she feels like a thick standing on her own.'

'Well, stick with us,' a small, ferrety boy urged. 'Get her a drink there, Declan.'

'Irish hospitality,' Lisa muttered contemptuously.

The six boys nodded with enthusiasm. Though if they were honest, it had nothing to do with legendary Irish hospitality and everything to do with Lisa's caramel hair, slender hips and long, smooth brown shins sticking out of the end of her artfully ragged jeans. If Lisa had been a man, she'd be staring into her pint, completely ignored.

'Deal's off, here she is.' In relief, Lisa saw Ashling coming through the door.

As soon as Ashling saw Lisa, the glory of her new clothes disappeared and she felt lumpish and diminished. Nervously she introduced Joy and Ted, then to Ashling's horror, Joy turned to Lisa and said, her chin tilted challengingly, 'Jim Davidson, Bernard Manning or Jimmy Tarbuck and you must must sleep with one of them.' sleep with one of them.'

'Jo-oy!' Ashling shoved her. 'Lisa's my boss boss.'

But Lisa got it immediately. She went into thoughtful mode and after detailed consideration, said, 'Jim Davidson. Now, let me see. Des O'Connor...'

This took Joy aback no end.

'... Frank Carson or... or... Chubby Brown.' Lisa's eyes were narrowed with glee and malice as Joy flinched.

After some thought, Joy sighed heavily, 'Des O'Connor, then.'

'She's not so bad,' Joy muttered to Ashling, as they bagged some seats.

Ted was on first, and although it was only his third public appearance, there was a crowd of people already firmly on his bandwagon. His earlier emotional episode in Ashling's flat had been quite unnecessary. When he opened his act by shouting into the audience, 'My owl has gone to the West Indies,' a hard-core of about six studenty types yelled back, 'Jamaica?'

'No,' Ted replied, and several people chorused along with the rest of the gag, 'She went of her own accord.'

Ted had added loads of new owl stuff, all of which went down a bomb.

'What do you call a funny owl? a hoot!... What do you call a stupid owl a te-wit!... What do you call a stupid owl who's coming on to a girl who isn't into him a te-wit to woo!... Now for some political stuff. That Charlie Haughey I mean, where did he get all them owls from?'

Though most of the room was in kinks of laughter, Lisa saw straight through Ted. 'I know he's your friend, but this is a clear case of the Emperor's New Hugo Boss suit,' she said scathingly.

'He's only doing it to get a girlfriend,' Ashling explained humbly.

'Perhaps that's all right then.' Lisa knew about the end justifying the means.

There were two other comedians on after Ted, then it was Marcus Valentine's turn. The chemical make-up of the air seemed to alter, becoming charged with piquant anticipation. When he finally took the stage the audience went hysterical. Ashling and Lisa both sat up and paid attention, but each for very different reasons.

For a male stand-up Marcus Valentine was a strange sort of beast. His act contained no references to masturbating, hangovers or Ulrike Johnson. Most irregular. Instead his skill was being A Man Perplexed by Modern Life. The kind of person who pops into a supermarket because he's run out of butter and goes into a tailspin because he can't decide between spreadable butter, unsaturated butter, polyunsaturated butter, salted butter, unsalted butter, reduced-fat butter, low-fat butter and stuff that wasn't butter at all and was only pretending to be. He was charming and likeable, in a freckly kind of way. Baffled and vulnerable. And he had a very nice body. Ashling catalogued all this in alarm.

Hastily she enumerated the reasons she'd rejected Marcus Valentine. One his enthusiasm. There was nothing sexy about bright eyes and lack of cynicism. Sad, but true. Two his freckles. Three his keenness on her. Four his stupid name.

But as she stared up at him, long-legged and broad-chested, she realized she was in mortal danger of falling foul of the man-on-a-stage rule. Coupled with the fact that he'd said he'd ring her and hadn't. It was a fatal combination. I'm not going to do this not going to do this, she told herself, I'm just not going to do this... The mental just not going to do this... The mental equivalent of sticking her fingers in her ears and going, 'LALALALA I can't hear you, I can't hear you...' equivalent of sticking her fingers in her ears and going, 'LALALALA I can't hear you, I can't hear you...'

'Snowflakes!' Marcus declared, his eyes wide and guileless as he scanned the room. 'They say that no two are alike.'

He let a pause build, then bellowed, 'But how do they know? know?'

As people writhed with hilarity, he asked in bewilderment, 'Have they compared each of them? Have they checked? checked?'

Then he moved on to his next piece.

'There was a young lady I wanted to ask out,' Marcus told his besotted audience.

Maybe that's me? Ashling found herself wondering. Ashling found herself wondering.

He strolled across the stage, as if deep in thought. The overhead lights hit the hard planes of his thighs.

'But the last time I asked a young lady for her phone number, she said "It's in the book." The problem was I didn't know her name and when I asked her, she said ' He paused and with impeccable timing went on, '"Oh, that's in the book too."'

The venue erupted, but the laughter was sympathetic and of the at-least-it's-not-just-me type.

'So I decided I'd act a bit cool.' He gave a klutzy grin and everyone melted. 'Thought I'd model myself on Austin Powers and ask the young lady to call me me. So I wrote my name and number on a bit of paper and then I asked myself what would Austin Powers say.' He closed his eyes and held his fingertips to his temples, to show that he was communing with Austin Powers. 'And suddenly I knew. Bellez-moi!' Marcus declared. 'Suave, slick, sophisticated. What woman could resist? Bellez-moi!'

I'm famous famous. Ashling had an hysterical urge to stand up and tell everyone.

'And guess what?' Marcus scanned the audience with a cute, goofy expression. His connection with each person was taut. They strained towards him, full of love, as he stretched the anticipatory silence to its furthest reach, holding his public in the palm of his freckly hand. 'She never rang!'

No doubt about it, Marcus Valentine had loser star-quality.

Lisa was out of her seat the minute he left the stage. He'd already refused to have lunch with her when Trix had rung his agent but she hoped that extreme flattery and herself in person would change his mind. Ashling watched her block him off at the edge of the stage and wondered if she should follow. She didn't want to get too near to Marcus, in case he saw her. In case he thought... But Ted was besieged by fans and Joy had just seen Half-man-ha ... Mick Mick talking to another woman and had gone to investigate. After sitting alone for a while longer, Ashling got up. talking to another woman and had gone to investigate. After sitting alone for a while longer, Ashling got up.

With curiosity, she watched Marcus watching Lisa as she did her pitch. His head was to one side and he had a perplexed quirky way of turning down his mouth that was delightful. Then Lisa stopped talking and he began. He was in the middle of something that looked very like a refusal, when his eye snagged Ashling's and he stopped abruptly.

'Hi,' he mouthed, and gave her a huge smile, holding her eyes, projecting warmth. As if we have some understanding, Ashling thought uncomfortably. He thinks I came here specially to see him.

He continued talking for a short time longer, but kept sneaking looks, then touched Lisa's arm in valediction and came over.

'Hello again.'

'Hello.'

'What are you doing here?'

She paused, looked up from under her lashes and smiled. 'I thought Macy Gray was playing.' Fuck! Fuck! she realized. I' she realized. I'm flirting with him.

His laugh was appreciative. 'Did you enjoy the show?'

'Uh-huh.' She nodded and did that eyelash look again.

'Will you let me take you out for a drink sometime?'

Now that that would teach her. She was like a rabbit caught in headlights, who'd bitten off more than she could chew. As it were. would teach her. She was like a rabbit caught in headlights, who'd bitten off more than she could chew. As it were.

I can't fancy him just because he's famous and admired. That would make me very shallow.

'OK.' Her voice had decided to go on ahead without her. 'Call me.'

'Your number...?'

'You have it.'

'Give it to me again to be on the safe side.'

Marcus began an elaborate pantomime of patting himself, vaguely seeking a pen and paper.

Luckily, Ashling had the equivalent of a small stationery cupboard in her bag. She scribbled her name and phone number on a page torn from a notebook.

'I'll treasure this,' he said, folding it small and shoving it deep into the front pocket of his jeans. 'Next to my heart,' he promised, in a tone dense with innuendo. 'I'm leaving now, but I'll be in touch.'

Confused with herself, Ashling watched him leave. Then, aware that Lisa was looking at her with amusement, she escaped to the ladies'. Where her path to the wash-basin was partially blocked by a small girl with tragic eyes who was standing in front of the mirror, renewing her eye-liner and making herself look even more tragic. As Ashling turned the tap on, the tragic girl turned to her taller friend, who was idly doing circle after circle of jammy pink lip-gloss on her mouth, and said, 'Frances, you'll never believe it, but that was me, you know.'

'What was?'

'The girl who Marcus Valentine gave that Bellez-moi note to.'

Ashling jerked violently, hooshing water down her front. No one noticed.

Frances did a slow, incredulous body-turn, her lip-gloss applicator frozen against her mouth. Her tragic friend elaborated, 'It was last Christmas, we stood next to each other for two hours in a taxi-queue.'

'But why didn't didn't you bellez him?' Frances levered her lip-gloss wand away from her mouth and vigorously shook the tragic girl by the shoulders. 'He's yummy. Yummy!' you bellez him?' Frances levered her lip-gloss wand away from her mouth and vigorously shook the tragic girl by the shoulders. 'He's yummy. Yummy!'

'I just thought he was some freckly eejit.'

Frances surveyed the shorter girl for a long, thoughtful time before delivering judgement. 'Do you know something, Linda O'Neill? You deserve your unhappiness, you really do. I'll never feel sorry for you again.'

Ashling, still washing her hands like someone in the terminal stages of obsessive compulsive disorder, was mesmerized. She spent her entire life looking for Signs, and if this wasn't a Sign, then she didn't know what was. Give it a lash with Marcus Valentine, the celestial oracle was urging her. Even if he was was handing out Bellez-moi notes like they were flyers, she had a good feeling about this. A very good feeling. handing out Bellez-moi notes like they were flyers, she had a good feeling about this. A very good feeling.

When Ashling re-emerged, Lisa was about to leave. Now that she'd got what she wanted, she saw no reason to hang around this low-rent club any longer.

'Bye then, see you at work on Monday,' Ashling said, awkwardly, not sure how chummy she should be.

Lisa wriggled through the crowds, her face satisfied. Not a bad night's work. Seeing Marcus Valentine had convinced her that he was certainly worth pursuing. Though it wouldn't be easy. He wasn't half as guileless in real life. In fact, he was smart and slippery. Lisa suspected he had no objection to writing a column per per se, but that he was holding out for a quality newspaper. To combat which she could feed him some bollocks about possibly syndicating his column to Randolph Media publications worldwide. se, but that he was holding out for a quality newspaper. To combat which she could feed him some bollocks about possibly syndicating his column to Randolph Media publications worldwide.

And there was that surprise twist he seemed to fancy Ashling. Between both women, they could launch a pincer approach. The column was as good as in the bag.

But best to move fast and get it all sewn up before he dumped Ashling. Because he would would dump Ashling. Lisa knew his type of old. Catapult a nondescript man to a form of stardom and he can't help availing himself of the extra-curricular girls. dump Ashling. Lisa knew his type of old. Catapult a nondescript man to a form of stardom and he can't help availing himself of the extra-curricular girls.

It could get messy Ashling seemed like one of those pathetic women who took heartbreak hard and the last thing Lisa needed at this busy time was an assistant editor going off the rails. She couldn't understand weak people who cracked up. It was the sort of thing she'd never never do. Of course, this was all based on the assumption that Ashling would go out with Marcus. Perhaps she wouldn't, and who could blame her? In Lisa's opinion, he was gross. Those freckles! And making a roomful of pissed people laugh did do. Of course, this was all based on the assumption that Ashling would go out with Marcus. Perhaps she wouldn't, and who could blame her? In Lisa's opinion, he was gross. Those freckles! And making a roomful of pissed people laugh did not not cancel them out. cancel them out.

'Lisaaa, see yaaa. Bye Lisaaa.' The lads who'd 'minded' Lisa at the beginning were waving to her. 'Bye.' To her surprise, she smiled.

At the door, she passed Joy, deep in argument with a man with a grey streak through the front of his long, black hair. On a wild whim Lisa whispered as she passed, 'Russ Abbott, Hale or Pace, and you must must sleep with one of them.' sleep with one of them.'

Joy whirled around, but Lisa was headed for home. As she strode through the streets, she was aware that there had been something about tonight. She had felt... it had been... Suddenly she knew. Fun! It had been fun.

20.

And then Lisa woke up the next morning and felt that she couldn't go on. Just like that. She'd never felt so hopeless. Even in the terrible ugly dying days with Oliver she hadn't felt so full of despair back then she'd flung herself into her work, taking bitter comfort that one area of her life was still working.

The thing was that Lisa didn't really hold with depression as a concept. Depression was a feeling other people got when their lives were insufficiently fabulous. Same as loneliness. Or sadness. But if you had enough nice shoes and ate in enough amazing restaurants and had been promoted over someone who deserved it more than you, there was no need to feel bad.

That was the theory, in any case. But as she lay in bed she was shocked by the extent of her depression. She blamed the curtains and the plethora of pine it was enough to send any style-conscious person over the edge. She hated the stillness beyond the gauzy light of the room. Fucking garden Fucking garden, she thought savagely. What she wanted was the purr of taxis, the slamming of car doors, the sounds of well-dressed people coming and going. She wanted life life outside her window. She had a hangover from the night before she'd lost count of the number of white wines she'd had and ensuring that every second drink is a mineral water tends to lose its benefit when you're on your twentieth round. She blamed that Joy. outside her window. She had a hangover from the night before she'd lost count of the number of white wines she'd had and ensuring that every second drink is a mineral water tends to lose its benefit when you're on your twentieth round. She blamed that Joy.

But the real hangover was emotional. She'd enjoyed herself, had fun, and something had been triggered by the high-spiritedness of the night before, because she just couldn't stop thinking about Oliver. She'd been doing so well until now. Always managing to block out thoughts of him in the last she let herself count back nearly five months. In fact, once she wasn't resisting thinking about it, she actually knew how many days it had been. One hundred and forty-five. It's easy to keep track when someone chooses New Year's Day to leave you.

Not that she'd done much to persuade him to stay. Too proud. And And too pragmatic she'd decided that their differences were irreconcilable. There were some things that she wouldn't couldn't back down on. too pragmatic she'd decided that their differences were irreconcilable. There were some things that she wouldn't couldn't back down on.

But on this terrible morning, all she could remember were the nice bits, the early days, bubbling with hope and love-to-be.