"Why don't we both go?" I interrupt.

"I enjoy browsing in bookshops," he says.

"So do I."

"Alone." He smiles. "I'm a bit odd that way."

Paternalistic prat.

"Why don't I meet you later on then? We can both go shopping together."

He stands up. "I'd rather shop alone. Women are always making impractical suggestions about style and colour, and especially about price."

"What women?"

"Women in general."

It drives him bananas, he observes.

"Okay, then, why can't we meet after your bananas? I'd quite like a drink together, late afternoon..."

"Julie, I can't organize my life to fit exactly into your routine."

"Did I just say something wrong?"

He gets up and leaves the room. I follow him out, sticking my foot in the front door to prevent him closing it behind him.

I gaze deeply into his large brown eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I already told you," he replies, staring into the space above my head.

There's a taut, static tug of war going between the two of us, standing on both sides of the door. Me trying to draw him in and him trying to shut me out.

What's the point?

I let him go. First, I extract a commitment from him to return here for seven so that we can spend the evening together like a proper married couple. Given that it is Saturday night.

Sighing, attempting to conceal his annoyance, he agrees.

It is, after all, proper form.

Once he's gone I fetch a small plastic fishbowl and a fishnet from the broom cupboard and bring them into the bathroom where I fill the bowl with water. I fish out Nicole's five surviving fish and drop them into the bowl. Not much room for them to do more than ogle each other like a quintet of stupid Sumo wrestlers. I place the bowl into a plastic bag and carry it down to my car, where I jam it behind the passenger seat to prevent capsize. I drive straight into the aquarist down the road and flog the lot for a ridiculously low twenty quid.

Then I call Nicole.

Yes, she confirms excitedly, she's meeting Ronan at four o'clock this afternoon. But would I like to meet up for a drink first? I'm very welcome to come out to her place for lunch.

If I'd like to.

This is it.

Now is the time to end it all.

25 25.

I walk straight up the white gravel path of number two Cherbury Court and ring the doorbell. The new red stained-glass panel on the front door is pretty, though I must say I preferred the sailing boats. The door opens almost immediately. She's wearing a long red dress patterned with diamonds in sewn goldthe one she bought at the shopping centre yesterday. walk straight up the white gravel path of number two Cherbury Court and ring the doorbell. The new red stained-glass panel on the front door is pretty, though I must say I preferred the sailing boats. The door opens almost immediately. She's wearing a long red dress patterned with diamonds in sewn goldthe one she bought at the shopping centre yesterday.

She gives me such a pleasant smile that I feel this spontaneous blinding urge to throttle her.

She puts her hand on my upper arm, a gesture of shy welcome. I can feel myself deflating like a punctured lung. It's funny: when people are nice to you it's a mighty tough job being a bitch.

And it's even harder when in addition they possess face wounds that would make Frankenstein consider himself lucky. I mean, look at her! Her left eye is peeping out under a slight bulge, which is discoloured, as black eyes generally tend to be. Her thickly made-up face barely conceals heavy bruising.

Still and all, she doesn't exactly look miserable. She manages, in her hour of woe, to look more upbeat than beat up, and this combination, which borders on the side of happy, is managing to cause me intense irritation. I'm thinking: is there something I should know?

"It's really nice to see you again, Julianne."

"Yes. How are you, Nicole," I inquire, "after your beating?"

First she's startled, then she shrugs. "Life goes on, I suppose."

What an odd way to view life, mere hours after mincemeat has been made of your visage.

"Nicole, there's something we have to talk about."

I'm not in the least friendly.

"Oh?"

"Yes, about Ronan."

Hearing this, Nicole smiles lovingly. She takes me by the arm and tries to usher me inside. I pull back violently.

"Julianne, is something the matter?"

"Where's Harry?"

She's frowning now, perplexed as a stranded walrus. "He's gone out."

"When's he coming back?"

"In about half an hour. Why?"

"Half an hour? Good. I can wait."

"Julianne, are you..."

"I'm fine."

"You seem..."

"I said I'm fine."

When my gaze returns from the hedge to Nicole, she is staring right into my soul depths with something bordering on real concern: "Is it...husband problems?"

"What did I just say?"

"I shouldn't ask," she reverses, shaking her head.

"Oh, feel quite free to talk about my spouse."

"I'm sorry."

Unlike Sylvana, Nicole is not the sort to lever gossip out of you with a pickaxe. Nor is she 'the type to shove and kick to get her own way. "What's his name?" she wonders nicely.

Names and addresses again.

"Shithead."

Blank stare.

"He's not in the good books right now," I explain. "Is that okay?"

"I understand." She nods vehemently.

Of course, it's not that Ronan is not in the good books. Put simply, I want to beat him to a pulp, but one doesn't admit these things in polite society.

"But apart from that he's in wonderful form."

"That's good," she replies, relieved.

"Yes, it's very good. He's shagging his mistress like nobody's business."

Tragic face on her now. "Oh, Julianne."

I can't believe this: a canvas of sadness has just descended over her face. She really does look sorry for me. With kindness and sincerity she peers softly into my soul, while I stand here festering like gangrene in my own private marital cesspit.

Now I feel like crying. I am pathetic.

"Enough about me." I sniff, looking around for something to distract my attention. My eyes come to rest on the octagonal disc hanging just above the front door over the porch. "What's that?"

"It's a Bagua Bagua mirror. It's to ward off negative influences." mirror. It's to ward off negative influences."

Wasn't too effective in warding me off last Thursday.

"Before I hung it there," she explains, "I felt these disturbances every morning when I got up..."

"You have neighbour problems too?"

"NoI mean psychic disturbances. I've been told I'm quite sensitive to psychic phenomena. I figured it must be the hospital over there behind those houses across the street. When I put up the Bagua Bagua mirror the disturbances actually stopped." mirror the disturbances actually stopped."

"I get the picture."

"Hospitals create a lot of negative energy because of all the suffering. A prison would be the same. The Fu Fu dogs help." dogs help."

"You keep dogs?"

"Fu dogs." She giggles. "On the gateposts, see?" dogs." She giggles. "On the gateposts, see?"

"You mean the stone dogs."

"They're supposed to deter intruders."

They too seriously failed in their duties.

"And they also stop energy leaking out of a house."

"Whatever you're into."

She opens the door wide for me to enter. I step up and in. The sun-drenched hallway has turned the curtain behind the front door into a bright orange flame. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, from inside I can smell the burning of a scented candle: rose and gardenia, she informs me.

The missing bannister rail has been replaced, I notice. To my right, the painting which I triply dented has been removed and replaced by Foetus Foetus, stuck right in your face in the middle of her hallway. I lean over the small wooden table under the painting and inhale a new and younger jasmine plant with tiny yellow leaves.

"How pretty."

"It's the plant of friendship," says Nicole, eyeing me almost prayerfully.

"Isn't that nice."

She shows me into the living-room. I halt at the door, flabbergasted.

The place is like new. It's almost exactly as it was before I got to work on it last Thursday evening. It is elegant and clean and neat. I look around for signs of my recent rampage.

But I can't find any. Was I hallucinating?

I move inside. Before long, I start to notice tiny differences. The drinks cabinet which I rendered into firewood has been replaced by one not quite identical. There's a new TV set. There are two dark-green-leaved rhododendron plants in ochre pots, one on each side of the television. I was seriously under the impression that I'd decapitated them.

Of course I did. These are new. Replaced in record time. She informs me that they are narcotic, which is of course of interest. She also points out that they absorb some of the chi chi that creates rheumatism. Why does she insist on taking for granted that I know what the hell she's talking about? that creates rheumatism. Why does she insist on taking for granted that I know what the hell she's talking about?

"What a lovely room."

The phrase sticks in my throat like a chicken bone.

"Harry does all the work; I just come up with the colours. Colours are very important. They affect the way you...you know, the spiritual side of life."

"Do you paint?" says I, diverting my eyes to the repolished floor.

"I do my best," she replies.