Day 59 . . .

Maeve had barely sat down at her desk when Matt rang her. "I've already done today's act of kindness!"

"It's not really about how fast you do it, Matt." But she was smiling.

"It is for me. Do you want to hear?"

"Course."

"I let someone out of a side turning on the way to work."

"Matt! They're always traffic-related!"

"But Maeve, it was hard! I had to hold up a queue of cars behind me! They went mad beeping me! I thought I was going to be lynched."

She had to laugh. He was so cute.

Four and a bit years ago . . .

David and Maeve were in bed reading the Observer when, in the middle of an article on aid to Africa, Maeve suddenly thought of something. "Hey, David, wasn't it funny Matt coming to the gig last night?"

"Matt Geary," David said thoughtfully. "A Young Man Going Places." He made it sound like a really shameful thing to be.

"Oh! I think he's really decent," Maeve said. "He's an outstanding boss."

"Yeah?"

"He keeps morale high. He's excellent at giving you confidence."

"So he can get more work out of you."

"He buys the pints on Friday nights, he never forgets a birthday . . ." He was always the first to lead the telling off of a difficult client, and if Maeve had had to sum Matt up in one word it would be yummy. Not that she and the rest of the team sat around giggling about Matt's yumminess. They were serious about their jobs; it wouldn't be cool.

And she certainly wasn't going to tell David.

"He's always laughing and joking," David said, contemptuously.

What's wrong with that, Maeve wondered.

"Anyway," David said. "I want to talk to you. Next Friday, you've got Mahmoud's leaving party. But Marta and Holly are going away for the weekend." Marta and Holly were his flatmates. "We've the place to ourselves. So how about you skip the drinks?"

She shook her head. "I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I mean I can't do either thing. I've to go down home for the weekend. I've got my driving test tomorrow week and I can't afford any more lessons and I need some sort of vehicle to practice on."

"Right."

There was a funny pause, then David spoke. "Can I come?" he asked. "Down home with you?"

"'Course you can." She didn't know why she hadn't thought of it. "It'd be nice." Maybe. "It's just that Mam and Dad are, like, you know, farmers. Country people. Not a smarty, like you. You won't laugh at them?"

"Laugh at them?" He was indignant. "Why would I laugh at them?"

How could she explain? David was so erudite and knew so much about everything, and Mam and Dad . . . well, their world was small and uncomplicated. Cows' udders played a large part in their day-to-day life and they'd probably never heard of Darfur so they wouldn't know what to say if David started going on about it.

"It's about time I met your mum and dad," David said. "I've been thinking . . ."

"Mmmm?"

"Why don't we move in together?" He fixed her with that intense look of his and she was lost for words.

". . . Ah . . . you mean, like, the two of us? Just the two of us?"

It wouldn't be the first time Maeve had lived with someone. Four years ago, when she'd gone to Australia with Harry, her boyfriend at the time, naturally they'd shared a flat. But that had been more for practical reasons than for romantic ones-they'd traveled there together from Galway, they were eking out their funds, they were slightly adrift in a strange new place and they needed each other for emotional back-up. More importantly, it wasn't real life. Their visas were for two years and Maeve knew that when they had to leave Australia, everything would change. The whole business had a limited life span built into it and sure enough, by the end of their time there, she and Harry were well and truly done with each other. Friends still, in a way-if they ever saw each other, which they didn't-but no hint of a romance remaining.

This, what David was suggesting, felt very different. Serious. Almost scary.

"Well?" He was still gazing at her, waiting for her answer, his pupils pinpricks of concentration.

". . . the thing is, I'd have to think about it, David."

"Think about it?" He looked confused, then hurt.

"It's a big thing," she protested.

"Hardly. We've been together for five months."

"It's only four."

"Four and a half."

"David, it just feels a bit . . . fast."

"Fast? "

"Yes. Fast."

He stared at her in silence. "Okay." He waved his hands in defeat. "Take whatever time you need. Let me know when it doesn't feel so . . . fast."

Day 59 . . .

"Did Slasher turn up?" Danno yelled at Katie as she came into the office.

"What?" God, she was barely in the door!

"I said," Danno repeated with elaborate patience. "Did Slasher turn up for your birthday dinner?"

"Yes."

"Really? Shite!"

Across the office, George crowed with delight. "Told you he would! Where's my tenner?"

Katie watched Danno open a strange-textured wallet-he claimed it was made from human skin-and pass a ten-euro note to George.

"You're taking bets?" On whether Conall would turn up or cancel?

"I was sure he wouldn't show," Danno said. He gestured at his screen. He kept a graph of all the times that Conall canceled on Katie. Initially, it had been an average of one in four, then one in three. "Extrapolating from the data that he canceled on you three times in succession, that your relationship was in essence fl atlining, I calculated that he wouldn't come. Any mathematician would have done the same."

"But I'm an intuitor, I work from my gut," George said. "I feel the three-cancellations-in-a-row was a blip. Also it was your birthday, he couldn't let you down. Finally, because the dinner was to facilitate him, on account of him being away for your actual birthday, he had to be there."

"A fallacy." Danno raised a finger knowingly. "He could have rung the restaurant from Mogadishu or wherever he was slashing jobs, and given them his credit card number. Katie's family and friends could still have had their dinner and expensive wine without him actually having to be there. Everyone else would probably have preferred it, no? Katie?"

"Probably," she admitted.

"Lots of tension?" George asked, striving for sympathy.

"Yes," she said. "He showed up at my flat with champagne."

"Kih!" Danno scoffed. "That's so over! No one drinks champagne. It's all Prosecco, these days."

George gazed at his screen with exaggerated intensity; George adored champagne. If he overlapped all of his fantasies, he would spend his days drinking Veuve from a pair of black patent Christian Louboutin platforms that had once been worn by Nicole Kidman.

"Charlie-" Katie said.

"That's her brother," Danno told George.

"I know."

"Charlie wouldn't accept a glass because champagne makes him fart."

George winced at such crassness.

"And Ralph-"

"That's her brother-in-law," Danno told George.

"I know."

"-wouldn't have any because only girls drink it."

"Honestly!" George rolled his eyes. "And did your mother ask Conall if he has any intention of marrying you?"

"Not out loud. But you could still hear it."

"And did Conall answer her?"

"Not out loud. But you could still hear it. I'd better do some work," Katie said, going to her desk, but then she seemed to change her mind. "Show me the graph," she said to Danno. "Print it out."

"Why torture yourself?" George said.

"Let her torture herself if she wants! Let her enjoy the few pleasures that are left to her. She's forty in two days' time."

Danno laid his graph before her and Katie looked at the pattern over the last couple of months. She had to admit it was a good graph, very easy to follow.

"See these black areas here," Danno said. "That's where he's let you down. As you can see, he missed MaryRose's baby's christening, your mother's seventieth birthday and the dinner to make up for missing your nine-month anniversary."

"Thank you, Danno," she murmured. "You've set this out very clearly."

"Working backward-" he tapped with his pen-"we're soon into another black area. That would be the night he missed the charity ball followed by the time you tried to surprise him with the Coco de Mer knickers."

That had been a particularly mortifying one, Katie admitted. She had let herself into his house, strewn the place with rose petals, climbed into the ridiculously uncomfortable underwear and waited for Conall to come home. And waited . . . and waited . . . and eventually discovered that he wasn't stuck in traffic but in Schipol airport, waiting for a connection to Singapore. An emergency, apparently.

"What are these gold bits?" George asked.

"Those areas correlate to the times Conall actually did turn up."

Katie studied the graph. There were sizable gold bits, but also sizable black parts. She thought about the mirror, still on the floor, the text that she'd fired off and still hadn't had a response to . . .

"Did Conall give you a birthday gift?" George interrupted her introspection.

She raised her hand in the air, so her sleeve fell to her elbow.

At the sight of the watch, George went pale. "Platinum? Diamonds? Tiffany? Oh girlfriend. This man is in looooove."

"Not at all," Danno said briskly. "Slasher Hathaway marks his territory by spending money. He might as well have pissed on her. It means nothing."

Day 59 . . .

More things Lydia hates: Golfers

Socks with holes in the big toe

People who say, "Thanking you."