"Is he that beautiful in real life?" Tamsin asked. "Or has he been Photoshopped?"

Katie swallowed. "You probably won't believe me, but this isn't a great picture of him."

"Christ!"

"He kissed my hand."

"Lucky hand!"

They studied Fionn's square jaw line and golden glow, trying to decide what, if any, color he had in his hair when a twinkle of light sprang from the screen and the five of them reared back.

"Did he just . . . wink?" Danno asked, faintly.

No one spoke.

"Power surge or something."

"Yeah. Power surge." A little bit rattled now, the exodus back to their desks began. They needed to put some distance between themselves and Katie's freaky goings-on.

"He said he's coming to see me tonight."

"What the hell . . ." Lila-May furrowed her forehead. "Why you?"

"I honestly have no idea."

Day 31 . . .

Maeve was sitting on the steps of the Central Bank, eating her sandwich, alert for AOK opportunities. It was the bag she noticed first, a colorful embroidered mini-rucksack that she'd have loved. It was attached to a girl, a slight little thing, with short black hair, ordinary-looking in every way except for the air of isolation that surrounded her. She was alone, very alone, glowing her way darkly through the aimless shoals of shiny people, and the rigid immobile cast to her face was one that Maeve recognized. Though she wasn't close enough to see the girl's eyes, she knew what she'd find if she looked in there. This was today's act and Maeve so didn't want to do it. She'd rather lug twenty buggies up twenty flights of stairs than this. But what choice had she? Suddenly aware of Maeve's scrutiny, the girl twisted her head, and when their gazes met Maeve forced herself to smile. Really smile, right from the heart. The girl looked puzzled-she was wondering if she knew Maeve because why would a total stranger be smiling at her with such warmth? Maeve kept smiling, kept sending out love, but the girl looked at her in alarm, almost fear. Keep smiling, keep smiling. Then Maeve's mouth began to wobble and she had to look away. When she looked back again, the girl had gone, and Maeve felt worse than she would have thought possible. Acts of Kindness were meant to make her feel better, not plunge her into despair. What was the point of doing them? The panic attacks were back, she'd had another one this morning.

She might stop the Acts of Kindness and Trios of Blessings, she decided. They weren't working. But how would she break it to Matt?

Day 31 . . .

Conall pulled in outside 74 Star Street, an impressively adjacent parking spot for number 66. How did he manage it, Lydia wondered. How did people like him always get what they wanted?

"Today went quite well," Conall said.

She already had her seat belt off and her handle on the door but she paused. "I hate the way you do that. Always assessing things and putting values on them."

"So what'll we do for our next date?"

"Bye."

"Describe your perfect night."

"Have you gone deaf ?"

"Go on. Your perfect night."

"You're unbelievable. You only hear what you want to hear."

"Describe it. Everything you've always wanted."

"There you are, doing it again."

He shrugged.

"Arrgh!" She put her head in her heads. "You're one of those people who use silence like a . . ."

Still he didn't speak and eventually she said, "I don't know how you do it. I'll describe it if you swear that I won't have to do it."

"Your perfect night. You don't want to do it?"

"Not with you."

"I hear you."

"You don't. Okay, I'd love to go-"

"Hold on a moment, just before you get started, describe a night that's humanly achievable. There's no point saying you'd like to go to the moon-"

"I won't," she said shortly. Who'd want to go to the moon? "I'd like to go to Float. It's this club with a swimming pool on the roof and-"

"I know it."

"But you have to be a member-"

"I'm a member."

"Mr. Hathaway! Are you really? Savage!" Her face was transformed with a luminous smile.

"We can go there, no problem." He looked happy to have pleased her.

"With Poppy, Shoane and Sissy."

"Who are they?"

"My friends."

His face hardened. "So . . . what? I come too? And pay for everything?"

"Thanks very much, Conall. We like pink champagne."

He watched her, without comment.

"Oh." She furrowed her forehead and shook her head sadly. "Mr. Hathaway no happy?"

He certainly didn't look happy.

"You asked me what my ideal night was," she said. "I told you. Simple as."

He shrugged and wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Are you sulking? At your age? You wanted my perfect night to be something you wanted to do too. But I'm different from you, Hathaway. You can't make people want the same stuff as you."

Something in her words . . . Suddenly, he was hearing echoes from the past, from the day he'd taken Katie to Glyndebourne. What she'd said to him then. I think you're slightly insane.

Adapt! Adapt in order to survive! "Okay. Bring your friends. When do you want to go? Tonight?"

"God, no. We need to get our hair blow-dried. We need time to look forward to it. It's all right for you, going to fabulous places every night of the week, but it's a big deal for us."

"Saturday, then?"

"Saturday!" Such scorn. "Every gobshite goes out on Saturday. We'll go on Monday, that's when the cool people go out."

Monday wasn't ideal. He was meant to be going to Milan on Tuesday. Maybe he could change that to Wednesday. "Right, Monday."

"And Conall?" she said softly.

He looked at her, ready to accept her gratitude.

"You'll be the oldest of us by about sixty years. Just so long as you're cool with that?"

Three years ago Matt and Maeve's wedding had been the full traditional job-a white Rolls-Royce, a sit-down meal for a hundred and fifty, the usual arguments about which cousins to invite. They themselves weren't that bothered about having a big shindig, but both sets of parents had lobbied hard so they went along with the plan to keep the peace.

"I don't care how we do it so long as we do it," Matt said.

"To be honest, I could do without the whole song and dance," Maeve admitted. "Fecking photographers and bridesmaids' dresses and all. But Mam and Dad . . ."

"Yes," Matt was in firm agreement. "Make your peace with it. Reenee and Stevie Deegan's only child-that's you, by the way-is getting a massive white wedding whether she likes it or not."

"I don't like it," Maeve said gloomily, then, almost instantly, she brightened. "Sure, what the hell, it'll be a great party."

Naturally, organizing a big wedding in six months was not without its challenges. Hilary and Walter Geary claimed to find Maeve's parents' accents impenetrable. Meanwhile, Reenee and Stevie Deegan, solid country people, who'd been putting money aside for this event almost since the day Maeve was born, were unimpressed with sophisticated Hilary and Walter.

Tricky as things were when the in-laws weren't meshing, they became a lot trickier when, unexpectedly, Hilary and Reenee formed an unholy alliance whereby Hilary dripped notions into Reenee's ear and Reenee, who was absolutely awash with cash, received them eagerly.

Suddenly, Reenee Deegan was insisting that Maeve have a makeup artist, a wedding hair-specialist, acrylic nails and a dress from Harrods.

"Harrods?" Maeve said helplessly.

"Yes, Harrods," Stevie Deegan said, planting his feet firmly on the floor to deliver his piece. "We're all going to fly to London. Nothing's too good for our Maeve."

"But Harrods is a . . . a . . . joke," Maeve exclaimed.

"It's the most exclusive shop in the world," Reenee said.

"It isn't."

"Hilary says it is."

"And so does Walter," Stevie threw in.

"And you're to have fake tan," Reenee said. "We're all getting it. Hilary knows a woman who'll come and spray us. She brings a little pop-up tent so the bathroom doesn't get destroyed."

"No," Maeve said, with rising panic. "Not fake tan. I wouldn't feel like me."

"Don't shame us, Maeve," Stevie said. "Hilary knows her onions. She says there isn't a bride in Ireland who doesn't get fake tan these days. She knows what's what and we're blessed to have her."

But dresses from Harrods and her mum getting sprayed with Sun FX weren't Maeve's only worries. There was David. His displays of wounded emotion weren't as dramatic as they'd been in the early days, but he still wouldn't talk to either Maeve or Matt. Sometimes, at work, Maeve would find him staring sadly at her, but he'd look away hastily as soon as she noticed him.

"Should we invite David?" Maeve asked Matt, holding a pen and a list of possible invitees in her hand.

"Sod him," Matt said cheerfully.

"Oh Matt."

"He's not my friend. He's not your friend."

"But we hurt him so badly."

"It's been nearly a year now. Time he got over it."

"Don't be so mean." Maeve put a tick beside David's name. "We'll invite him."

"He won't come.'

'He might."

Maeve wasn't sure which would be worse-if he came or if he didn't and she had no idea which way it was going to go because, just like he had with the engagement party, David ignored the invitation, not bothering to reply one way or the other.

The wedding itself was beautiful and Maeve found herself enjoying it even more than she'd expected she would, especially as she'd got her own way on the fake tan and the dress from Harrods. But beneath her joy ran a tiny hum of dread, so faint that she was barely aware of it. Throughout the happy day-and it really was happy-she was waiting for something.

Her dread reached its zenith during the part of the ceremony when the priest asked if anyone knew any reason why she and Matt should not be joined together. David, she thought, and had a sudden, horrible vision of him storming into the church, waving placards and shouting about Matt having colonized Maeve. He might fling paint or cry or . . . or . . .

But the moment passed without incident and Maeve began to breathe again.

And then it was all done. The vows had been said, the rings had been exchanged, and she and Matt were walking back down the aisle, through a sea of smiling faces, while triumphant chords swelled from the organ. Just for a moment, a thought took her away from the present: when she got back from honeymoon she would start looking for another job. It wasn't fair to David, to have his nose rubbed in things, day in, day out.

The decision was made and suddenly Maeve's happiness burst into full flower.

Day 31 . . .

Katie knew how these things worked. Television: they did long hours. Fionn hadn't said what time he'd visit her but it could be as late as nine. Maybe even later, depending on where they were shooting.

She dressed in casual, hey-just-hanging-out stuff. It took several attempts before she got the right combination and even then she worried about her feet. She couldn't wear her gold sandals because who wore four-inch heels at home? But when she put on her flip-flops, she had to take them off immediately, appalled at how stumpy they made her legs look.

The lovely pedicure she'd had for Jason's wedding had worn off and the hard skin on her soles had crept back, but she'd done nothing about it. Just let it happen!