Astonished, Ashling gaped at him. 'What is wrong wrong with you?' with you?'

'Nothing.' Marcus was suddenly humble. 'God, I'm sorry.'

'It's because I'm working so hard, isn't it?' Ashling grasped the nettle. They'd been having a few too many little spats of late, generated by his feeling ignored. 'Marcus, if it's any consolation, you're the only person I see. I haven't seen Clodagh, Ted, Joy or anyone else and I haven't been to salsa in ages. But in two weeks this magazine will be launched and life will go back to normal.'

'Right,' he said quietly.

'Come over tonight,' she urged. 'Please. You're going to Edinburgh in a few days and I won't see you for a week. I promise not to fall asleep.'

He conceded a half-smile. 'You have to sleep at some stage.'

'I'll stay awake long enough for, um I'll stay awake long enough,' she promised, with innuendo.

She had had been neglecting him. She couldn't actually remember the last time they'd made love. Probably only a week or so ago, but that was too long. She couldn't help it though: she was so stressed, and knackered. It was actually a relief that he was going away. been neglecting him. She couldn't actually remember the last time they'd made love. Probably only a week or so ago, but that was too long. She couldn't help it though: she was so stressed, and knackered. It was actually a relief that he was going away.

'If you're too tired I don't want to put you under pressure.' His eyes were concerned.

'I'm not too tired.' She could manage one night, couldn't she?

Roll on August the thirty-first. After that, everything would be back to normal.

Red-eyed and agitated, Clodagh surveyed the kitchen table. There was nothing left to iron. She'd done everything: Dylan's T-shirts, his shirts, his underpants, even his socks.

The guilt, the guilt, the horrible corrosive guilt. She could hardly bear herself, she wanted to tear her skin off with self-hatred.

She was going to make it up to all of them. She was going to be the most devoted wife and mother there ever was. Craig and Molly were going to eat everything on their plates. She moaned softly what kind of mother had she become? Giving them biscuits on tap, letting them stay up as late as they wanted. Well, no more. She was going to be so strict. Borderline dangerous, in fact. And poor Dylan. Poor devoted, hardworking Dylan, he didn't deserve this. The betrayal, the terrible cruelty, the cold withdrawal of her love: she hadn't been able to let him touch her since she'd started this affair.

Affair. Her breath spasmed in her chest she was having an affair having an affair. She swayed with vertigo at its enormity. What if she got caught? What if Dylan found out? Her heart nearly seized up at the thought. She was going to stop this now. Right now, She hated herself, she hated what she was doing, and if she stopped before anyone found out, she could make everything all right, almost as if it had never happened. Fired by resolve, she picked up the phone. 'It's me.'

'Hi, me.'

'I want this to stop.'

He sighed. 'Again?'

'I mean it, I'm not going to see you any more. Don't ring me, don't call to the house. I love my children, I love my husband.'

After a crackly pause, he said, 'OK.'

'OK?'

'OK. I understand. Goodbye.'

'Goodbye?'

'What else is there to say?'

She replaced the phone, unexpectedly cheated. Where was the warm reward for having done the right thing? Instead she felt dissatisfied and empty and stung. He hadn't put up much of a fight. And he was supposed to be crazy about her. Bastard.

Earlier, she'd entertained a daft notion that she was going to darn the holes in Dylan's socks in another desperate attempt to demonstrate her love for him. But as she desultorily returned to the kitchen, all her housewifely resolve melted. Fuck it, she thought listlessly, Dylan could buy new socks.

Almost against her will she ran back to the hall, snatched the phone and pressed the redial button.

'Hello,' he said.

'Get over here now.' Her voice was tearful and angry. 'The kids are out, we have until four o'clock.'

'I'm on my way.'

It was eight-thirty before Ashling left the office. Nauseous with exhaustion, she couldn't face the ten-minute walk home, so she got a taxi. Slumping back, she checked the messages on her mobile. Only one. From Marcus. He wouldn't be coming over tonight, something about having to go to a gig. Thank God, she exhaled. Now she could ring Clodagh, then go straight to bed. And in two weeks' time, when all this was over, she'd make it up to Marcus...

As she got out of the taxi she met Boo, who was sporting a black eye.

'What happened to you!'

'Saturday night's all right for fighting,' he quipped. 'A few nights ago. Bloke, drunk, looking for aggro. Oh, the joys of life on the streets!'

'That's awful!'

The words were out before Ashling could stop them. 'Do you mind me asking, but why are you, er, homeless?'

'Career move,' Boo deadpanned. 'I make two hundred quid a day begging, all us homeless people do, didn't you read about it in the papers?'

'Really?'

'No,' he scoffed sarcastically. 'I'm lucky to net two hundred pence pence. It's the old story. No job without an address, no address without a job.'

Ashling was familiar with the concept, but she'd never really believed it actually happened.

'But don't you have a, you know, um, family to help you? Like parents?'

'Yes and no.' With a slight laugh he expounded, 'My poor ma isn't in the best of health. Mentally speaking. And my da did a very good impression of the invisible man when I was five. I was brought up in foster homes.'

'Oh God.' Ashling was sorry she'd ever opened the discussion.

'Yeah, I'm a walking cliche,' Boo said ruefully. 'It's very embarrassing. And I couldn't really settle in any of the foster homes because I wanted to be with my ma, so I managed to make my way through the educational system without passing a single exam. So even if I got an address, I probably still wouldn't be able to get a job.'

'Why don't the corporation house you?'

'Women and children first. If I could get pregnant I'd stand a better chance. But childless men are meant to be able to take care of themselves so we're their lowest priority.'

'What about hostels?' Ashling had heard such things existed.

'No room at the inn. More homeless people in this city than you can shake a stick at.'

'Oh. Oh, that's terrible. All of it.'

'Sorry, Ashling, I've ruined your day now, haven't I?'

'No,' she sighed. 'It wasn't going very well anyway.'

'Hey, I finished Sinister Days,' Sinister Days,' Boo called after her. 'Those serial killers sure do know how to mutilate. And I'm halfway through Boo called after her. 'Those serial killers sure do know how to mutilate. And I'm halfway through Sorted! Sorted! and I counted the word "shag" thirteen times on one page.' and I counted the word "shag" thirteen times on one page.'

'Imagine that.' She hadn't the energy for Boo's book 'reviews'.

Ashling trudged up the stairs, poured herself a glass of wine and listened to her answering machine. After a lengthy absence, the messages from Cormac were back. Apparently, the hyacinth bulbs would be delivered next weekend, but the tulips would take a bit longer.

Then, sheepishly, Ashling rang Clodagh. She hadn't spoken to her in a couple of weeks, since the weekend she'd been in Cork, actually.

'I'm really, really sorry,' Ashling prostrated herself. 'And I'm probably not going to be able to see you until after this fecking magazine is launched. I'm there most nights until nine and I'm so tired I hardly know my own name.'

'That's all right, I'm going to be away anyway.'

'Holiday?'

'I'm going away by myself for a few days next week. Health spa in Wicklow... Because I'm stressed and overworked,' Clodagh finished, with grisly defensiveness.

Suddenly Ashling remembered with ghastly clarity Dylan's concern about Clodagh, the conversation they'd had earlier in the summer. All at once she was visited with a very, very bad feeling. A presentiment of disaster. Clodagh was in some sort of trouble and was hovering on the verge of a great unravelling.

Guilt and fear savaged Ashling. 'Clodagh, something's up, isn't it? I'm so, so sorry I haven't been around. Let me help, please let me help, it's good to talk about these things.'

Clodagh began to cry softly, and then real fear took hold of Ashling. Something genuinely was was wrong. wrong.

'Tell me,' Ashling urged.

But Clodagh just sobbed, 'No, I can't, I'm horrible.'

'You're not, you're fantastic!'

'You don't know, I'm so bad, you've no idea, and you're so good...' She was crying so hard her voice became incoherent.

'I'll come over,' Ashling offered wildly.

'No! No, please don't do that.' After sobbing some more, Clodagh sniffed and announced, 'It's OK. I'm fine now. Really.'

'I know you're not.' Ashling felt her slipping away.

'Yes, I am.' She was almost firm.

As soon as she hung up the phone, Ashling began to shake. Ted. Fucking Ted. She just had a feeling... With trembling fingers she dialled his number and accused, 'I haven't seen a lot of you lately.'

'Whose fault is that?' He sounded hurt. Or was it defensive?

'Yeh, look, sorry, it's the job. Why don't we go out on the piss?'

'Great! Tonight?'

'Er, how about next week?'

'No, I can't.'

'Why not?'

Don't say it, dont say it...

'I'm going away for a few days.'

Oh God. Her breath disappeared as if she'd had a blow to the stomach. 'With who?'

'No one. I'm going to the Edinburgh Festival to do some stand-up.'

'Are you, indeed?'

'Yes, I am, actually.' Hostility poisoned the phone lines.

'Well, good luck on your trip to Edinburgh Edinburgh with no one,' Ashling said, sarcastically, and hung up. She'd ask Marcus to keep an eye out, to report back on any sightings of Ted and Clodagh, or even more tellingly, no sightings of Ted at all. with no one,' Ashling said, sarcastically, and hung up. She'd ask Marcus to keep an eye out, to report back on any sightings of Ted and Clodagh, or even more tellingly, no sightings of Ted at all.

51.

In a blur of fraught, hysterical days and sleepless nights, the thirty-first of August, the day of the Colleen Colleen launch, rolled around. Far, far too soon. launch, rolled around. Far, far too soon.

Ashling was woken by the familiar agony, stabbing in and out of her ear like a hatpin. She might have known. Her bargain-basement ear could always be relied upon to play up at the most inopportune times the initial exam of her Leaving Cert, her first day at a new job. If it hadn't let her down today 'The most important day of your working life,' according to Lisa she'd almost have been disappointed.

Almost, but not quite, Ashling thought grimly, as she swallowed four Paracetamol and shoved a lump of cotton wool into the side of her head. This shagged everything. She couldn't wash her greasy hair herself in case she splashed water into the ear, she'd have to go to the doctor before work, then she'd have to cram a hair appointment into the lunch-hour she hadn't planned on taking.

She had to plead with Dr McDevitt's receptionist to get an early appointment, then she had to implore implore the doctor to give her some decent painkillers. 'The antibiotics take a couple of days to work,' she begged. 'I can't think straight with the pain.' the doctor to give her some decent painkillers. 'The antibiotics take a couple of days to work,' she begged. 'I can't think straight with the pain.'

'You shouldn't have to think at all,' he scolded. 'You should be at home in bed.'

As if! As soon as she'd picked up her prescriptions she had to race to a film preview, where everyone she met conducted their conversations with her greasy hair. The film lasted three endless hours, during which she fidgeted irritably, thinking of all the work she could be getting through at the office. Imagine that she'd once thought this sort of thing was glamorous!

As soon as the credits began to roll, she snatched the press release from the publicist and hit the ground running. A record-breaking ten minutes later she burst into Colleen's Colleen's almost deserted office, tripping over party sandals and walking into dresses hanging from doors and filing cabinets. Lisa's phone was ringing, but by the time she got to it, the person had hung up. She threw herself upon her own phone, only to discover there wasn't a hope of getting a hair appointment on a Thursday lunchtime. Not even when she tried the salons that were beholden to almost deserted office, tripping over party sandals and walking into dresses hanging from doors and filing cabinets. Lisa's phone was ringing, but by the time she got to it, the person had hung up. She threw herself upon her own phone, only to discover there wasn't a hope of getting a hair appointment on a Thursday lunchtime. Not even when she tried the salons that were beholden to Colleen Colleen.

The first one said, 'Emergency? Yeah, we know about tonight. Lisa is here.'

Well, that was the end of that one. Lisa would be getting a Freebie Deluxe, using up the entire quota. Calls to further hairdressers established that Mercedes, Trix, Dervla, even Mrs Morley and Honey Monster Shauna had all used the Colleen Colleen name to bag themselves appointments. name to bag themselves appointments.

Excuse me? What kind of fucking eejit am I?

But she couldn't spare the time to berate herself she was starting to panic. Her hair felt rancid rancid. She'd have to wash it here. Luckily the office was overrun with hair-care products there was even something as basic as shampoo. But she needed help and literally the only person in the office was Bernard, decked out in his best diamond-patterned tank-top in honour of the occasion.