'Really?' Ashling stuttered. He'd seemed so against it on Monday night. Hadn't he... ?

'Yeah,' Lisa gloated. 'He did.'

Forty minutes later a seething Ashling finally realized what her response to Lisa should have been. She should have said coolly, 'Marcus doing the column? That must have been because of the great blow-job I gave him last night.'

Why couldn't she ever think of these things at the time? Why did it always have to be ages later?

37.

To Ashling's overjoyed relief, Marcus rang on Thursday and opened the conversation by asking, 'Are you busy on Saturday night?'

She knew she should tease, torment, string him along for ages, play hard to get, make him sweat sweat.

'No,' she said.

'Right then, I'm taking you out for dinner.'

Dinner. On a Saturday night what a meaningful combination. It meant that he wasn't pissed off with her for not sleeping with him. It also meant, of course, that she'd really better sleep with him this time. Anticipation flared. So did a little anxiety, but she'd knock that on the head good and fast.

Cautiously Ashling admitted that this was going well. Marcus was treating her nicely, and even though she'd been riddled with obligatory angst, it wasn't really because of anything he'd he'd done. Since she'd first seen Marcus on stage a regeneration had begun to creep across Ashling's internal landscape. After Phelim's scorched-earth policy she'd been off romance, more interested in recovering from than replacing him. done. Since she'd first seen Marcus on stage a regeneration had begun to creep across Ashling's internal landscape. After Phelim's scorched-earth policy she'd been off romance, more interested in recovering from than replacing him.

But she'd always intended to get back in the game just as soon as she was fit. And Marcus's phone call had nudged through little buds of hope which told her that perhaps that time had come. She was finally out of hibernation.

The funny thing was, there was a lot to be said for hibernation. Once awake she was suddenly seized with an urgency about her age, the ticking of her biological clock and all the usual thirty-something, single-woman angst. The fuck!-I'm-thirty-one-and-not-married! syndrome.

When Joy asked her what she was doing on Saturday night, Ashling decided to try out her new life for size.

'My boyfriend is taking me out for dinner.'

'Your boyfriend? boyfriend? Oh, you mean Marcus Valentine? And he's taking you out for dinner?' Joy sounded jealous. 'All men want to do is get drunk with me. They never feed me.' She paused and Ashling knew she was going to say something gross. She wasn't disappointed. 'The only thing my fella feeds me,' Joy said gloomily, 'is his mickey. You realize that if Marcus is taking you out for dinner on a Saturday night, he means business?... Oh, you mean Marcus Valentine? And he's taking you out for dinner?' Joy sounded jealous. 'All men want to do is get drunk with me. They never feed me.' She paused and Ashling knew she was going to say something gross. She wasn't disappointed. 'The only thing my fella feeds me,' Joy said gloomily, 'is his mickey. You realize that if Marcus is taking you out for dinner on a Saturday night, he means business?... Business Business,' she repeated with emphasis. 'No more stunts like the last time, saying you have to get up for work in the morning.'

'I know. And the hairs have already started to grow back on my legs.'

Ashling knew exactly what she was going to wear on Saturday night. Everything, right down to her nice underwear. It was all entirely under control. Then suddenly she took violently against her lipstick. She'd worn the same colour for what felt like years, buying the same again when one ran out. And all because it suited her! What tosh!

Mag-hags got through lipsticks like they got through men speedily. She needed a new lipstick to redefine her. It was imperative that she track down the right one, and until she did everything felt wrong.

Saturday morning was spent obsessively foraging, but nothing suited. They were either too pink, too orange, too frosted, too shiny, too dark, too pale or too shimmering. Experimenting with being someone else, she tried on a vampy dark-red colour and viewed herself in the mirror. No. She looked as though she'd been on a fourteen-hour spree, drinking red wine which had congealed and solidified on her mouth. Attempting a smile, she looked like Dracula. The sales girl came running. 'That's fabulous on you.'

Ashling managed to escape and the hunt continued. The back of her hand, criss-crossed with red stripes, looked like an open wound. And then, just when hope was fading, she found it. The perfect one. It was love at first sight and Ashling knew with a deep warm conviction that everything was going to be all right now.

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 might go. 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 My friend Clodagh?' 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 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.

Before they left Marcus insisted on washing his teacup.

'Leave it,' Ashling said, as he dashed it under the running water.

'Ah no.' He placed it on the draining-board and turned to her with a grin. 'My Mammy taught me well'

She got that feeling again. More buds poking their heads up.

The place he took her to was intimate and rosy-lit. At a corner table, with their knees occasionally touching, they drank cold white wine so dry it sucked at their teeth, and admired each other, dewy-skinned and flawless in the candlelight.

'Hey, I like your...' And he gestured at Ashling's shell top. 'I never know the right word for women's clothes. T-shirt? I've a feeling I could cause grave offence by calling that a T-shirt. But what do I call it? A top? A blouse? A shirt? A vest? Whatever it is I like it'

'It's called a shell top.'

'So what's a blouse then?'

Ashling took him through the various options. 'You must never, ever say "blouse" to any woman under sixty,' she said gravely. 'You can compliment a woman on her vest if you mean a sleeveless T-shirt. Not if it really is is a vest. In fact if it really is a vest, I'd advise you to leave immediately.' a vest. In fact if it really is a vest, I'd advise you to leave immediately.'

Marcus nodded. 'I see. God, it's a minefield.'

'Hold on.' It had just occurred to her. 'Are you pumping me for info for your act?'

'Would I do that?' he smiled.

The food was unobtrusive, the talk was easy, but Ashling had the feeling that it was all a type of prelude. A trailer. With the main feature to come later.

When the bill arrived she made a half-hearted attempt to contribute.

'No,' Marcus insisted, 'I'm having none of it.'

Because you expect to be having plenty of it later Out on the street he asked, 'What now?'