A couple of hours on, the doorbell rang again. This time it was Beck. 'Lisa, do you want to come OUT? We're just kicking a BALL around.'

'I'm busy, Beck.'

'Hiya.' Beck tried a man-to-man nod at Oliver, but couldn't hide his manifest awe. 'How about yourself?'

'He's busy also.' Lisa was getting increasingly pissed off. They were treating Oliver like a freak-show.

'Actually,' Oliver put down his pen and took off his glasses, 'I could do with a break. This is doing me in. Half an hour?' He unfolded himself fluidly and Lisa watched his muscular grace.

'You coming, LISA?'

'Might as well.'

'At the start she used to play dirty,' Beck confided to Oliver, 'but she's stopped now.'

'She plays football with you?' Oliver sounded astonished.

''Course she does.' Now it was Beck's turn to sound astonished. 'She's not bad. For a girl.'

Open-mouthed, Oliver said almost accusingly 'You've changed.'

'I haven't.' Lisa's voice was level.

The thirty minutes spent skidding and scuffling after a ball around the cul-de-sac was a good idea. They were breathless and elated when they returned to the kitchen table strewn with documents.

'Oooo-weee,' Oliver winced when he saw it. 'I'd forgotten.'

'Hey, let's leave it for tonight.'

'Best not, babes. A lot to get through.'

Knocked back but hiding it well, Lisa rang for a couple of pizzas and they started work again. It was midnight before they stopped.

'What's the time-scale on all this?' Lisa asked.

'As soon as we're in agreement over the finances we lodge it in the court, and the decree nisi will be delivered two to three months later. Then the final decree comes six weeks after that.'

'Oh. That quickly.' And Lisa couldn't think of anything else to say.

The day had left her exhausted, sullied and sorrowful. Her neck hurt, her heart hurt and now it was bedtime and she so didn't want to have sex.

Neither did he. They were both much too sad.

He undressed unthinkingly, wearily, letting his clothes lie where they fell, then climbed into Lisa's bed as though he'd been there a million times. He held out his arms to her and she went to him. Skin against skin, they assumed their normal sleeping positions spooned together, her back pressed tightly against his chest, her feet between his thighs. More intimate, more tender than sex. In the darkness she cried. He heard her and could find nothing within him to comfort her with.

The following day they took up their positions at the table once more and worked until three o'clock, when it was time for Oliver to leave. She took a taxi with him to the airport and when she returned to her cavernously empty house, her bed beckoned lasciviously. She was so depressed. But she resisted climbing back in and checking out of things again. Life must go on.

59.

On Monday morning, Monica walked Ashling to work. 'Good girl, off you go.' It was like her first day at school. Ashling walked through the front-doors, then half-turned back and Monica gesticulated Go on! Go on! through the glass. Reluctantly she traipsed towards the lift. through the glass. Reluctantly she traipsed towards the lift.

When she took up her position at her desk everyone looked funny at her, then suddenly they became humiliatingly extra-nice.

'Would you like a cup of tea?' Trix offered awkwardly.

'Trix, you're freaking me out,' Ashling replied, then tried to look at the things on her desk. When she looked up a second later Trix was shaking her head at Mrs Morley and mouthing She doesn't want tea She doesn't want tea.

Jack came flying in, a huge bundle of documents under his arm. He looked stressed and narky but when he noticed Ashling he slowed down and lightened up. 'How are you?' he asked gently.

'Well, I'm out of bed,' she offered. But her plaster-of-Paris rigid face was an indication that all wasn't exactly jolly either. 'Look, the day you came round to my flat... Thank you for the sushi, I was a bit, um, touchy.'

'No problem. How's the Weltschmerz?' Weltschmerz?'

'Alive and well.'

He nodded in encouraging, but impotent silence.

'I'd better do some work,' she said.

'This sadness you feel?' Jack asked slowly. 'Is it free-floating or does it take a particular form?'

Ashling considered and after a while spoke. 'A particular form, I suppose. There's this homeless boy I know. Boo, the one in the photos, remember? He's made homelessness real for me and it's breaking my heart into pieces.'

After a silence Jack said thoughtfully, 'You know, we could give him a job. Start him on something basic like being a runner at the TV station.'

'But you can't offer a job to someone you haven't met.'

'I know Boo.'

'How?'

'I saw him in the street one day. I recognized him from the photos, so we had a little chat. I wanted to thank him, those photos made a huge difference to the profile of Colleen Colleen. I thought he seemed very bright, very keen.'

'Oh, he is, he's interested in everythi Wait a minute, are you serious?'

'Sure. Why not? God knows, we owe him. Look at all the advertising those pictures generated.'

Ashling lifted momentarily, then she slid back into the pit. 'But what about all the other homeless people? The ones who didn't get into the photos.'

Jack laughed sadly. 'I can't give them all jobs.'

With a loud clatter the door opened and a dapper-looking young man beamed around the office. 'Morning campers!' he declared.

'Who's that?' Ashling wondered, taking in his streaked hair, tailored magenta pants, see-through T-shirt and the tiny leather jacket he was peeling from his body.

'Robbie, our new boy. Mercedes' replacement,' Jack said. 'He started on Thursday. Robbie! Come and meet Ashling.'

Robbie fluttered a hand to his almost-naked chest and affected surprise. 'Little old moi?!'

'I think he's gay,' Kelvin hissed.

'No shit, Sherlock,' Trix said with withering sarcasm.

Robbie solemnly shook hands with Ashling then, with a gasp, fell on her handbag. 'Very Gucci! I think I'm having a fashion moment.'

Ashling actually managed to work which came as a surprise. In fairness, she wasn't given anything remotely taxing. And the one thing that resolutely didn't appear on her desk for her to edit, sub-edit or input was Marcus Valentine's monthly article.

At the end of the day, her mother collected her from work and permitted her to go straight to bed when she got home.

On Tuesday morning, with much prodding, poking and motherly encouragement, she managed to get up and go to work again. Same on Wednesday morning. And Thursday.

On Friday, Monica returned to Cork. 'I'd better. Your father will probably have burnt the house down in my absence. Now, keep taking the tablets never mind if they make you feel dizzy and like puking then sort out some counselling and you'll be grand.'

'OK.' Ashling went to work and felt she was doing quite well until midday, when Dylan walked into the office. Immediately, her low-level nausea increased. He'd have information. Information she was hungry for but which would inevitably cause pain.

'Free for lunch?' he asked.

His arrival sent a thrill through the office. Those who didn't know what Marcus Valentine looked like mouthed excitedly to those who did, Is that him? Is that him?. Were they going to be witness to a romantic passionate reunion? So they were very disappointed when those in the know mouthed back, No, that's the friend's husband No, that's the friend's husband.

As Ashling got her bag, Dylan's and Lisa's eyes met in a flare of one-beautiful-person-to-another interest.

Dylan looked different. He'd always been handsome, if a mite bland. But overnight, he'd acquired a glittery hardness, a dissipated magnetism. With his hand on Ashling's waist, he guided her out, the eyes of the entire office burning the backs of the two cuckolds.

They went to the pub next door and found a table in a corner. Though Ashling would only have Diet Coke, Dylan ordered a pint of lager.

'Hair of the dog,' he exhaled. 'On the serious razz last night.'

'Still at your mother's?' Ashling asked.

'Yes.' A bitter little laugh.

So that meant Clodagh and Marcus were still together. It hadn't all blown over and revealed itself as a brief madness. She had a very real, visceral desire to vomit. 'What's been happening?'

'Not much yet, except that we've decided I'll see the kids every weekend and stay in the house on Saturday nights.' Shame-faced he admitted, 'I've told Clodagh I'll wait for her, so hopefully she'll cop on. Though she's actually told me she loves this wanker. God knows why.' A pause of realization. 'Sorry.'

''s OK.'

'How are you you doing?' He turned the spotlight of his concern on to her and momentarily he was like the old Dylan. doing?' He turned the spotlight of his concern on to her and momentarily he was like the old Dylan.

She hesitated. What was she going to say? I hate the world, I hate being alive, I'm on anti-depressants, my mother has to put the toothpaste on my toothbrush in the morning and now that she's gone back to Cork I don't know how I'll manage to brush my teeth hate the world, I hate being alive, I'm on anti-depressants, my mother has to put the toothpaste on my toothbrush in the morning and now that she's gone back to Cork I don't know how I'll manage to brush my teeth.

'Fine,' she said.

He didn't look too convinced, so she promised him, 'Really, I am. Go on, tell me more of what's been going on.'

Dylan exhaled miserably. 'It's the children I'm really worried about. They're so confused, it's desperate. But they're too young for the whole story. And I shouldn't be turning them against their mother anyway, even if I hate her.'

'You don't hate her.'

'Oh, believe me Ashling, I do.'

Ashling found his truculence pathetic. He only hated Clodagh because he loved her so much.

'It might all blow over,' Ashling said, with as much hope for herself as for Dylan.

'Yeah. Let's wait and see. Have you spoken to either of them?'

'I saw Clodagh two weeks ago today on the... that Friday. But I haven't been able to get hold of...' She hesitated. Saying his name hurt. '... Marcus. I've tried ringing him, but he's stopped answering his phone.'

'You could call to his house.'

'No.'

'Good on you. Keep your dignity.'

Ashling shifted forlornly. It wasn't really that. She simply hadn't the heart.

When Oliver returned to London he didn't ring Lisa, and she didn't ring him either. There was nothing to say. They were both going to get approval from their solicitors over their financial situations, then the decree nisi was only a matter of months.

Lisa got through the week but, although she was functioning, she wasn't anything like OK. She'd managed to put the October issue to bed, but it had been like pushing a ball of glue up a hill. Especially with Ashling going round like a zombie.

Robbie was good, though. Full of wild ideas for future issues. A lot of them too too outre, but at least one for a shoot styled like an S&M session was pure genius. outre, but at least one for a shoot styled like an S&M session was pure genius.

When everything had gone to the printers on Friday evening, several people invited her for after-work drinks. Trix and Robbie and even Jack Jack had suggested they go somewhere to celebrate 'closure on October'. But she'd had enough of them all and she went straight home. had suggested they go somewhere to celebrate 'closure on October'. But she'd had enough of them all and she went straight home.

No sooner was she in than Kathy called to the door. Kathy seemed to be around a lot. Or if it wasn't Kathy it was Francine. Or several others from the road.

'Come over to us for your dinner this evening,' Kathy invited.

Lisa almost laughed at the thought, then Kathy said, 'We're having roast chicken,' and suddenly Lisa found herself agreeing. Why not? she thought, trying to justify it. She could start the Scarsdale diet, she hadn't done it in ages and roast chicken would fit in perfectly.

Ten minutes later she walked into Kathy's kitchen and was hit by steam and the noise of the telly and children fighting. Kathy looked frazzled. 'We're nearly ready. Stir the gravy, you useless eejit.' This was directed at John, her benign lump of a husband. 'Drink, Lisa?'

Lisa was about to ask for a glass of dry white wine when Kathy elaborated, 'Ribena? Tea? Milk?'

'Erm, oh, milk, I suppose.'

'Get Lisa some milk.' Kathy levelled a passing kick at Jessica, who was rolling on the floor with Francine. 'In a good glass. Sit at the table, everyone.'

Lisa noticed that she was given about three times as much as anyone else. Kathy had heaped at least four roast potatoes on to her plate before she could protest that she didn't eat them. She tried to pretend they weren't there but they looked and smelt so delicious... She fought it a little harder, then yielded, and for the first time in ten years, a piece of roast potato crossed her lips. I'll start the diet tomorrow I'll start the diet tomorrow.

'Stop kicking the table leg!' Kathy yelled at Lauren, the youngest. Lauren made a face, stopped and started again three seconds later.