She permitted a certain warmth to creep through her, but more important than any magazine success was the coming weekend with Oliver. She had to look utterly spectacular she'd have to organize a haul of fabulous clothes and get her hair done. And her nails. And her legs. She'd eat nothing, of course, so that she could eat normally with him...

'It's the Sunday Times Sunday Times,' Trix waved the phone at Lisa. 'They want to know what colour knickers you're wearing.'

'White,' Lisa said absently, and Kelvin almost came.

'I'm only joking,' Trix bleated. 'They just want to ask about your hair-care...'

But Lisa wasn't listening. She was on the phone to the DKNY London press office. 'We want to do a spread for our Christmas issue, but we need the clothes by Friday by Friday.'

'Lisa, can we talk about Mercedes' replacement?' Jack asked.

Mercedes leaving them in the lurch burst another firework of rage in her, which she had to work to disperse. 'Trix, ring Ghost, Fendi, Prada, Paul Smith and Gucci! Tell them we'll run some pages on them for the December issue but only if they get the threads to us by Friday. Come on.' She beat Jack to his office.

'She's up to something,' Trix observed to thin air. She missed Ashling and Mercedes, it wasn't nice having no one to play with.

Jack and Lisa looked at the four unsolicited applications for fashion editor and decided to interview all of them.

'And if they're pants, we'll run an ad,' Lisa said. 'Can I ask you something? How do I find a solicitor?'

Jack thought for a moment. 'We have a legal firm on retainer. Why don't you go and see them? If they can't do your, um, stuff, they'll recommend someone who can.'

'Thanks.'

'And I'll do whatever I can to help you,' Jack promised.

Lisa eyed him suspiciously. There was no getting away from it. She liked him. He was continuing with the warm, supportive relationship he'd been offering since the day she'd cried in his office over not going to the shows. It wasn't his fault she'd chosen to over-interpret it.

On Tuesday afternoon Ashling's phone rang. She snatched it up. Be Marcus Be Marcus, she prayed. Be Marcus Be Marcus.

But her heart sank when she heard a woman's voice. Her mother. 'Ashling love, we were wondering how your launch went and I rang you at work. They said you were out. What's wrong, are you sick?'

'No.'

'What then?'

'I'm...' Ashling hovered over the taboo word, then gave in, feeling both fear and relief. 'I'm depressed.'

Monica knew immediately that this was not a simple case of 'I'm depressed because I forgot to record Friends Friends last night.' Ashling had taken great care never, last night.' Ashling had taken great care never, ever ever to use the word depression with regard to herself. This was serious. History repeating itself. to use the word depression with regard to herself. This was serious. History repeating itself.

'My boyfriend got off with Clodagh,' Ashling explained weakly.

'Clodagh Nugent? Nugent?' Monica sounded furious.

'She's been Clodagh Kelly for the past ten years. But anyway, it's more than just that.'

Monica considered anxiously. 'How bad are you?'

'I'm in bed. It's my fifth day. I have no immediate plans to leave.'

'Eating?'

'Nope.'

'Washing?'

'Nope.'

'Suicidal thoughts?'

'Not yet.' Goody, she had that to look forward to.

'I'll get the train up tomorrow morning, love, and I'll mind you for a while.'

Monica waited to be told to fuck off, as usual. But instead all she got was a weary, 'Fine.' Fear clutched its cold hand around her heart. Ashling must be very bad indeed.

'Don't worry, love, we're going to get help for you. I won't let you go through what I went through,' Monica promised vehemently. 'Nowadays things are different.'

'Less of a stigma,' Ashling said through unresponsive lips.

'Better drugs,' Monica retorted.

Joy and Ted were trying to tempt Ashling with a fresh consignment of chocolate and magazines on Tuesday evening when her doorbell rang. They all froze.

For the first time in days, Ashling's listless face became illuminated. 'It might be Marcus!'

'I'll go and tell him to fuck off.' Joy was already moving to the door.

'No!' Ashling said fiercely. 'No. I want to talk to him.'

Within seconds Joy was back. 'It's not Marcus...' she hissed.

Ashling immediately eddied back into the mire.

'It's Divine Jack.'

This bizarre visit jolted Ashling a little from her torpor. What did he want? To sack her for missing work?

'Wash yourself, for Christ's sake!' Joy urged. 'You smell dodgy.'

'I can't,' Ashling said heavily. So heavily that Joy knew she was wasting her time. As a compromise she insisted that Ashling put on a clean pair of pyjamas, comb her hair and brush her teeth. Then Joy considered two bottles of perfume. 'Happy or Oui? Oui? Happy,' she decided. 'Let's try the power of suggestion.' She drenched Ashling in a haze of Happy then pushed her, as though she was a wind-up toy, in the direction of the living-room. 'Off you go.' Happy,' she decided. 'Let's try the power of suggestion.' She drenched Ashling in a haze of Happy then pushed her, as though she was a wind-up toy, in the direction of the living-room. 'Off you go.'

Jack was on her blue sofa, his hands hanging between his knees. It was the weirdest sight. Depressed as she was, that thought burrowed through her stupor. He belonged to the world of work, yet here he was, making her flat look even smaller than it already was.

His dark suit, messy hair and askew tie gave him the aspect of a careworn and distracted man. She hovered in the doorway, watching him exchange thoughts with her maple laminate floor. Then he cocked his head to one side, saw her and smiled.

The light in the room changed as he stood up.

'Hi,' Ashling said. 'I'm sorry for missing today and yesterday.'

'I only came to see how you are, not to hustle you back to work.'

Then Ashling remembered. Jack had been unexpectedly gentle and kind after Dylan had delivered his terrible news.

'I'll try and come in tomorrow,' she offered. There was as much chance that she'd climb Kilimanjaro.

'Why don't you take the week?' he suggested. 'Try and come back on Monday?'

'OK. Thanks.' The relief that she didn't have to attempt to face the world was so great that she didn't even argue. 'My mother is coming to stay for a few days. If anything will drive me back to work, that will, I'm sure.'

'Oh yes?' Jack's smile was empathetic. 'You'll have to tell me all about it sometime.'

'Yes.' She couldn't imagine having the energy to even tell the time.

'And how are you now?' he asked.

She hesitated. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing you discuss with your boss, but fuck it, what did it matter? What did anything matter? 'I feel very sad.'

'That's to be expected. The end of a relationship, the loss of a friendship.'

'But it's more than that.' She was trying to make sense of her overwhelming grief. 'I feel a sadness about the whole world.'

She watched Jack. Did he think she was a nutter?

'Go on,' he urged gently.

'All I can see is the sad stuff. And it's everywhere. We're the walking wounded, the entire human race.'

'Weltschmerz,' he said. he said.

'Bless you,' she said absently.

'No,' he laughed softly. 'Weltschmerz. It's German for "world sadness".'

'There's a word for this?'

She knew she wasn't the first person to feel like this. She knew her mother had too. But if a word had actually been invented to describe the feeling, lots of others must have felt it. It was a comfort. Jack rustled a white paper bag. 'I, ah, brought you something.'

'What? Tissues? I could open a shop. Or grapes? I'm not sick. Just, just... humiliated.'

'No, it's... well, actually it's sushi.'

She paused, stung. 'Are you having a laugh?'

'No! It's just that you seemed interested when we got it in the office.' When Ashling remained mute he laboured on, 'I thought you might enjoy it. There's nothing scary, not even raw fish. It's mostly vegetarian cucumber, avocado, a little bit of crab. A sushi-for-beginners kit. I could take you through it...'

But at Ashling's suspicious expression he backed off. 'Ehm, fine, I'll just leave you to it then. Hope you feel better. See you on Monday.'

After he'd gone Ted and Joy appeared in the living-room.

'What's in the bag?'

'Sushi.'

'Sushi! That's a weird thing to bring.'

They circled the white paper bag warily, as if it was radioactive.

'Will we take a look?' Ted eventually asked.

At Ashling's, ''f you want,' he slid out the lacquered black box and stared, fascinated, at the little rice rolls arrayed in pretty ranks.

'I didn't think it would look like this,' Joy remarked.

'And what are all these other things?' Ted poked at a silver sachet.

'Soy sauce,' Ashling said uninterestedly.

'And this?' Ted peeled the lid off a short styrofoam container.

'Pickled ginger.'

'And this?' He indicated a mound of green putty.

'I forget what it's called,' Ashling admitted sullenly, 'but it's hot.'

After more time was spent in cautious exploration, Ted took the bull by the horns. 'I'm going to try some.'

Ashling shrugged.

'This looks like a cucumber one.' He popped it into his mouth. 'Now I'll cleanse my palate with a slice of ginger, then I'll '

'That's not how you do it,' Ashling said irritably.

'Well, show me then.'

58.

The gentle knock on her window made Clodagh jump to her feet. Happiness flooded through her. He was here. She flew to the front-door and opened it quietly.

'The cock crows at dusk,' Marcus said in a thick Russian accent.

'Sssshhh.' She put her finger to her lips in an exaggerated gesture but they were both bubbling over with laughter and delight.