Open-mouthed, Lisa watched him root around in his trouser pocket for money, his shoulder against his chin as his hand rummaged. For some reason she'd pegged Jack for a meat-n'-two-veg man, the kind of person who'd say, 'If I can't pronounce it, I won't eat it.' But he had lived in the States...

Jack's hand emerged with a car-park ticket and he looked at it sadly. 'That won't do.' He recommenced the search, this time locating a fiver that had seen better days and handing it to Trix.

'They mightn't take this,' Trix complained. 'What've you done to it? It looks like it's been on a tour-of-duty in some war.'

'That must be the one that got washed,' Jack said. 'I left it in my shirt pocket.'

Trix was disgusted. How could anyone forget that money had been left in a pocket? She knew exactly how much cash she had at any given time, to the nearest ten pence. It was too precious to leave in a shirt pocket.

Jack returned to his office, and Kelvin arrived, in for the first time that day. He'd been at a press do.

'Guess what?' he gasped.

'What?'

'It's all off with Jack and Mai.'

'No shit, Sherlock.' Trix's scorn was corrosive.

'No, I mean it. Really, really off. Not Who's-Afraid-of-Virginia-Woolf Who's-Afraid-of-Virginia-Woolf off. Proper over, no more fighting, haven't-seen-each-other-in-more-than-a-week off' off. Proper over, no more fighting, haven't-seen-each-other-in-more-than-a-week off'

'How do you know?'

'I, er, met Mai at the weekend. At the Globe. Believe Believe me,' he nodded with heavy emphasis around the office, 'it's off' me,' he nodded with heavy emphasis around the office, 'it's off'

'God, you're pathetic,' Trix scoffed. 'Trying to pretend you slept with her.'

'No, I Oh, OK, I am. But it's still all off.'

'Why?' Ashling asked.

Kelvin shrugged. 'It just ran its course.'

Lisa was amazed at the transformation this news effected on her. Things didn't seem so bleak all of a sudden. Jack was available and she knew knew she was in with a chance. He'd always liked the look of her, but something had changed on the day last week when she'd cried in his office. Her vulnerability and his tenderness had edged them closer. she was in with a chance. He'd always liked the look of her, but something had changed on the day last week when she'd cried in his office. Her vulnerability and his tenderness had edged them closer.

And she realized something else. She liked him. Not the way she had when she'd first arrived in Dublin, in that hard, aggressive, I-always-get-what-I-want manner. Back then she'd liked his looks and his job and pursuing him had just been a project to take her mind off her misery.

When he came out to use the photocopier, she sidled up to him and said, her eyes dancing, 'I'd never have thought it.'

'Thought what?'

'You. A sushi socialist,' she teased, swinging her hair.

His pupils dilated, instantly turning his eyes almost black, and a look sparked between them.

Fifty minutes later, Trix clumped back into the office, dangling the handle of the sushi bag on her little finger, holding it as far away from her body as she could manage.

'What happened to you today?' Jack asked. 'Taken hostage in a bank raid? Kidnapped by aliens?'

'No,' Trix complained. 'I had to stop off at O'Neill's for a good puke. Here.' She just about threw the bag at Lisa, then put as much distance as possible between it and herself. 'Ugh,' she shuddered elaborately.

Lisa hoped that Jack would suggest that they ate the sushi behind closed doors in his office. She had ambitious visions of them feeding each other, sharing more than just raw fish. Instead, he pulled up a chair to Lisa's desk and she watched his big, sure hands remove chopsticks, napkins and plastic boxes from the depths of the paper bag. Placing a bento box before Lisa, he popped the crackling plastic lid, presenting the rows of pretty sushi with a flourish. 'Madam's lunch,' he said, high-spiritedly. 'Mind you don't puke!'

She couldn't exactly identify the emotions generated by his actions, they shot away when she tried to put names on them. But they were good ones: she felt safe, special, in a circle of belonging. Watched by the rest of the office. Lisa and Jack ate their sushi, like grown-ups.

Ashling, in particular, was appalled, but couldn't keep away. She kept sneaking looks at them, the way you would at a terrible road accident, then wincing as she saw something she wished she hadn't.

From what she could see, it wasn't just raw fish. There were tiny parcels of rice with the raw fish in the middle, accompanied by an elaborate ritual. A green paste was dissolved into what must be soy sauce, into which the underside of the sushi was dipped. Ashling watched fascinated as, with his chopsticks, Jack delicately lifted a pink see-through sliver and laid it expertly along the shiny rice-and-fish package.

The words were out before she could stop herself. 'What's that?'

'Pickled ginger.'

'Why?'

'Because it's nice.'

Ashling watched for a few more intrigued seconds, before blurting out, 'What's it like? All of it?'

'Delicious. You have the piquancy of the ginger, the heat of the wasabi that's the green stuff and the sweetness of the fish,' Jack explained. 'It's a taste like no other, but it's addictive.'

Curiosity stirred Ashling's soul. A part of her yearned to taste it, to try it, but, honestly, raw fish raw fish... I mean, raw. Fish! raw. Fish!

'Try this.' Jack extended his chopsticks towards her, the sushi he'd prepared balanced between them.

An immediate body-swerve from Ashling and hot, high colour spilled across her face. 'Urn, no. No thanks.'

'Why not?' His dark eyes were laughing at her. Again.

'Because it's raw.'

'But you eat smoked salmon?' Jack enquired, unable to hide his amusement.

'I don't,' Trix interrupted mulishly, from the safety of the far side of the office. 'I'd rather stick needles in my eyes.' don't,' Trix interrupted mulishly, from the safety of the far side of the office. 'I'd rather stick needles in my eyes.'

'Going for the last time. Sure you don't want to try some?' Jack softly probed Ashling, his eyes refusing to relinquish hers. Stiffly, Ashling shook her head, and returned to her ham and cheese sandwich, feeling relieved, yet curiously deprived.

Lisa was pleased when Ashling pushed off. She was enormously enjoying this intimacy with Jack, not to mention impressed with the way he used his chopsticks. Expertly, stylishly, as though he was born to do it. You could take him to Nobu and he wouldn't embarrass you by asking for a knife and fork. She was quite good at wielding chopsticks herself. She should be. She'd spent many evenings in training in the privacy of her own home, with Oliver laughing at her. 'Who are you trying to impress, babes?'

Thinking of Oliver squeezed her with pain, but it would pass. Jack would help.

'I'll trade you my eel sushi for a California maki,' Lisa offered.

'The eel too gross for you?' Jack enquired.

Lisa began to protest, then admitted with a smile, 'Yeah.'

As predicted, Jack was happy to eat her piece of raw-eel sushi. Raw eel was going too far, even for a sophisticate like her. But men they'd eat anything, the more revolting the better. Rabbit, emu, alligator, kangaroo...

'We must do this again,' Lisa suggested.

'Yeah.' Jack leant back in his chair and nodded thoughtfully at her. 'We must.'

45.

'You'll never believe it!' It was Thursday night and Marcus had just arrived at Ashling's, a video under his arm. His eyes were ablaze with excitement. 'I'm supporting Eddie Izzard on Saturday night.'

'H how?'

'Steve Brennan was meant to be doing it, but he's gone into hospital with suspected CJD. What a result! It'll be a huge gig.'

Ashling's face darkened with disappointment. 'I can't go.'

'What?' Marcus said sharply.

'Remember, I told you, I've to visit my parents in Cork this weekend.'

'Cancel.'

'I couldn't,' she protested. 'I've put them off for so long that I just can't cancel again.'

They'd been so excited when she'd confirmed that she was finally coming that the thought of telling them otherwise made her break out in a sweat.

'Go next weekend.'

'I can't, I've to work. Another photo shoot.'

'It really matters to me that you're there,' Marcus said evenly. 'It's a big show and I'm trying out some new stuff, I need you there.'

Ashling twisted, trapped by conflicting emotions. 'I'm sorry. But I've psyched myself up to going to see them, and it's been ages... I've bought my train ticket,' she threw in.

As his expression became hurt and closed, her intestines snarled themselves into a tight knot. She hated herself for letting him down, but it was either disappoint him or her parents. She liked to oblige, and this was the worst situation she could find herself in, where whichever way she manoeuvred, she was going to displease someone.

'I'm really sorry' she said, with sincerity. 'But things with my parents are messy enough. If I didn't go it would only damage relations even more.'

She waited for him to ask exactly in what way were things messy with her parents. She'd tell him, she decided. But he just looked at her with wounded eyes.

'I'm sorry,' she reiterated.

''s OK; he said.

But it wasn't. Though they opened a bottle of wine and settled down to watch the video he'd brought, the mood was plastered flat. The wine behaved as though it was non-alcoholic and Ardal O'Hanlon had never been less funny. Guilt subdued Ashling, so that all her conversation start-ups drove straight into a wall. For the first time since she'd started seeing Marcus, she couldn't think of anything to say.

After a strained couple of hours brought them to ten o'clock, Marcus stood up and did a pretend stretch. 'I' better get going.'

Terror plopped a rock into Ashling's stomach. He always stayed the night.

A whole new terrifying vista opened up: perhaps this wasn't just a fight, maybe it was The End. As she watched Marcus make his horrifyingly speedy progress to the door, she found herself frantically reconsidering her options. Maybe she could change her visit to Cork. What difference did a couple more weeks make? Her relationship with Marcus was way more important...

'Marcus, let me have a think.' Her voice wobbled with panic. I might be able to visit them in a few weeks' time instead.'

'Ah, it's all right.' He managed a ghost of a smile. 'I'll cope. I'll miss you, though.'

Relief only lasted an instant. It mightn't be all over, but he was still leaving her flat. 'We could see each other tomorrow night,' she suggested, anxious for the chance to mend things. 'I don't go until Saturday morning.'

'Ah, no.' He shrugged, 'Let's leave it until you get back.'

'OK,' she conceded reluctantly, afraid that if she pushed, it would simply cause a bigger rupture. 'I'll be back Sunday evening.'

'Give me a ring when you get in.'

'Sure. The train is supposed to get in at eight, that's if it doesn't break down, then there's often a queue for taxis, so I don't know what time I'll get home but as soon as I do I'll call you.' The desire to oblige made her voluble.

A quick kissnot long or passionate enough to calm her downand he was gone.

Like an alcoholic who goes back on the sauce as soon as they hit a rocky patch, the first thing Ashling did was reach for her tarot cards. She'd sorely neglected them lately and if it hadn't been for Joy's constant consultation in the wake of Half-man-half-badger's departure, they'd have been covered in dust. But the noncommittal selection gave her no comfort.

Edgy and agitated, Ashling was immersed in familiar resentment of her family. If only she'd had a normal one this wouldn't have happened. She thought for a moment about Marcus. She didn't blame him for being insecure. How he got up on a stage and did what he did was beyond her.

Rancour and regret generated insomnia: she had to talk to someone. But Joy wouldn't do, and not just because her current sole topic of conversation was the 'All half-men-half-badgers are bastards' one. It had to be either Clodagh or Phelim, because both of them knew all there was to know about Ashling's family. They'd understand and come through with the desired sympathy. But Phelim's Sydney answering-machine picked up, so, despite the lateness of the hour, Ashling had no choice but to ring Clodagh. After apologizing for waking her, Ashling ranted her way through the sorry story and finished up by exclaiming, 'And I wouldn't mind, but I hate having to visit them.'

However, the required words of comfort didn't issue from Clodagh. Instead she said sleepily, 'I'll go and see Marcus if you like.'

'No, I didn't mean...'

'I can go with Ted.' Clodagh's tone woke up, as the idea became a possibility. 'Ted and I will go instead of you, and we'll provide moral support.'

This made Ashling feel much worse. She did not not want Clodagh and Ted bonding. 'But what about Dylan?' want Clodagh and Ted bonding. 'But what about Dylan?'

'Someone has to babysit.'

'I don't even want to visit my parents,' Ashling repeated, keen to get her quota of sympathy.

'But your mum's much better now. It'll be fine.'

There's no one in charge here, nine-year-old Ashling had realized, before the end of that strange, horrible summer. She took to standing on the corner at the bottom of the road on Friday evenings, looking into the distance for her dad's car, a churny sickness in her belly. While she waited, she muffled the terror that he would never come by playing games with herself. If the next car is a red one, everything's going to he fine. If the second car's reg plate ends with an even number, it'll all he OK If the next car is a red one, everything's going to he fine. If the second car's reg plate ends with an even number, it'll all he OK.

Eventually the Monday morning came when she asked her father not to leave.

'I have to.' He was terse. 'If I lose my job, I don't know how we'll manage. Do your best to keep an eye on her.'

Ashling nodded gravely, and thought to herself, He shouldn't have said that to me, I'm only a little girl He shouldn't have said that to me, I'm only a little girl '... Of course, Ashling's very responsible. Only nine, but very grown-up for her age.'