Angrily I stride through the trench windows and across the living-room, ignoring them totally. I slam the front door of the apartment behind me, wondering if they'll try to follow. They don't. So I go straight to my MG, get in and drive to my new apartment, making sure to power off my phone.

I don't have to come to terms with shit if I don't want to.

The first thing I do when I arrive back in my apartment is dump the keyring Nicole gave me down the kitchen rubbish chute.

The next thing I do is go out to the balcony and smash the easel against the floor until small bits of wood come off, then I fling the loose skeleton into a heap in the corner.

I go around the apartment with a plastic bag now, looking for every sniffable item I can find. In four minutes flat I've come up with a jar of hair lacquer, anti-perspirant spray, nail varnish, nail varnish remover, hair spray, Tipp-Ex, shoe conditioner, a bottle of surgical spirit, a can of Brasso, a small bottle of paint remover and a tiny tube of superglue.

Everything goes into my sack of death.

Paint. Nicole's oils. I storm out to the balcony and grab a handful of her tubes. Her tubes. Ha!

And, silly me for forgetting, the good old cigarette lighter.

I go straight into the kitchen, sit down at the table and start experimenting.

The hair spray and the anti-perspirant are more of a nuisance than anything else. Being new to the technique, I aim the nozzle up my nostrils but end up blasting my brains out instead. I get an old dishcloth then and spray a corner of it until it's damp, and I start sniffing. I need something stronger.

I pull the hair lacquer out of the bag, twist open the cap and sniff that, but after a while it makes my skull feel like it's on liftoff.

The shoe conditioner? Unpleasant smell.

The paint remover is too sharp: one inhalation and it feels like the lining of my lungs is on nuclear meltdown. Nicole's paints are okay, but I can't get the colour green out of my head.

And why, oh why did they have to make Brasso so sickening?

The butane gas is okay, but I'm put off when the tip of my nose gets burnt.

At the bottom of the bag is the nail varnish.

At last I am home. Even the superglue doesn't come close. It's that super scent I have known since I was a small girl, watching my mother paint her fingernails and her toenails red; that sharp, pungent scent which bespoke beauty, glamour, power.

Like an undernourished dog, I sniff away at my discovery. At first I draw in several deep breaths but this makes me dizzy and light-headed. I go more slowly after that, inhaling at a more normal rate.

After a few minutes my nerve endings are beginning to dull. I'm finding it a little hard to breathe. I could topple off the chair on to the floor and not feel a thing. I start sneezing. Nausea fills my mind like thick, black, odourless smoke and I put my head between my knees.

I want to die.

I open my eyes. I'm surprised to find myself lying on the couch in the living-room. Mother is sitting in a chair near me, reading a magazine. I ask her what she's doing in my apartment and she says Sylvana brought her here.

Which doesn't exactly answer my question.

Now I remember everything.

My arms are aching and I have a thunderous headache. I feel torn apart as if a tornado has somehow managed to get into me and whirl me round like a ferocious demon, ripping away every ounce of strength and resilience I had inside me. The poisonous spores of germ warfare have invaded my body and sucked its strength dry, leaving it as it is now: a shell, empty and broken. I never thought love could hurt like this. I want a heart transplant. I want someone to donate me a muscle that beats in my chest and keeps me alive, something without feeling or memory, something new and dull and clinical. I don't know how long I can stand this.

Ronan is everything to me.

He's my lover. He's my protector. He's my best friend. He understands me. He listens to me, in his own way. He loves me. He's good for me.

I should have listened to Sylvana, that Thursday by the pool. I should have confronted them. At the hospital, when her face was all punched up. Or at her place in front of Harry. I had my chance. Each time I met her I could have come clean. I could have threatened her. I could have punched her in the gob.

I did nothing.

I fucked up.

"He's gone," says I, whimpering.

"I know, dear."

"What did I do wrong?"

"You did nothing wrong."

"Mother."

"Yes, Julie?"

"I've disappointed you, haven't I?"

"Don't be silly."

She turns away and I am amazed and alarmed to see a tear emerge on to her cheek.

"Mother!" I cry out. "I'll be okay."

"Of course you will." She sniffs. "I didn't bring you up a softie."

She takes out a handkerchief from her sleeve, pats her eye and stuffs it back in.

I so badly wanted to protect her from the truth. I wanted her to think I was a success in every aspect of my life. I wanted her to be proud of me. Not just in my career, but in my personal life. I wanted to show her I'd made the right choices, that our joint experience of the same manher husband and my fatherhad made me discerning. That her painful marriage was not all in vainafter all, look how sensible and wise I was with the men in my my life. life.

I failed.

There is a sad, vacant expression on her face, which I haven't seen in years.

"You were right about Ronan all along," I tell her.

"I shouldn't have interfered," she replies.

"But you were right. I should have listened to you. Trouble is, when you love someone you don't want to let go."

"Don't I know it."

"Do you remember the time Father returned home, all those years ago, and you let him back?"

"I remember."

"Do you remember what I said?"

"What did you say?"

Pause.

"I told you you were crazy to have him back. I told you I'd have handled things differently."

Understatement of the century, Julie. You told her you hated her for being a coward. You told her she was weak. That you couldn't respect her. That you would never take a man back if he did that to you. You told her she could never be your role model. You knew it all.

"Do you remember I said that?"

"It was a long time ago," she murmurs finally.

"Not that long ago."

"When people are in love," she replies, "they do things for reasons the rest of the world doesn't understand. I took your father back. I loved him: it's that simple."

"That's what I could never understand."

"You were only a child."

"I know."

She says that only I I know what is in Ronan's heart and in my own heart. She adds that if I want to take Ronan back, she won't try to put me off. I tell her I desperately want to take Ronan back, but I don't see how I ever can. know what is in Ronan's heart and in my own heart. She adds that if I want to take Ronan back, she won't try to put me off. I tell her I desperately want to take Ronan back, but I don't see how I ever can.

But for Mother, I'd be wandering in outer Mongolia, lost, lonely, hungry, cold, bewitched, bewildered and bolloxed.

"Whatever you decide, dear, I'll be behind you. And so will Sylvanashe's a sterling girl, she really is. And you know how wonderful I think you are, how beautiful and intelligent and pretty and principled you are, and I think that in the end there is nothing in life that you can't get through when you put your mind to it'. 'Principled?" I choke, crying.

54 54.

Later that evening, after a mixed grill prepared by Mother during which we discuss what I'm going to do with my new apartment now that Ronan has eloped, I call Aer Lingus.

With my Visa card I book two tickets to Paris for tomorrow, Friday, boarding at four thirty a.m. I dial a number for international information. Eventually I get put on to Tourisme France. Four minutes later I have booked one night's accommodation for two at the Hotel Cadet in Montmartre.

"Does that mean I'm going to Paris, Julie?" she enthuses.

"No, Mother. I'm taking Sylvana."

Friday, 24 June, Paris

We descend from our plane at seven a.m. on to the sun-warmed concrete of Charles de Gaulle Airport. We are led into a bleak, modern area, eerie as an abandoned hospital. Signposts in French and English goad us up stairways and along lengthy conveyor-belt corridors, which transmit us eventually to Terminal One, a huge round concrete building filled with shops bustling with a multi-racial, multi-class cast of characters and eventually we locate a sign saying bagages bagages.

Recovering our bags finally from the carousel, we pass through the nearby arrivals gates into the arrivals hall. There, we locate some empty seating beside the thick glass walls forming the outer perimeter of the circular building.

Bursting, I rush to the toilets.

Once inside a cubicle I slam across the lock. A minute later it occurs to me that I should phone Nicole. I flip out my cellphone and input her number.

"Julianne! Is it really you?"

"You could say that."

"You'll never guess what happened!"

"Try me."

"Julianne," she gushes, breathless, "I don't know where to start. I'm in Paris."

"Go on."

"When I met Ronan at the zoo at three he said we were going to France. Just like that. We had to leave immediately because he'd just booked tickets on the catamaran from Dun Laoghairecompletely without warning. He was a bit annoyed because he'd been trying to get in touch with me but I had my mobile switched off. I was never great on technology."

"You're more of an artist."

"I told him I couldn't leave without telling you first. He said there was no time. We had to leave there and then. I drove in my car straight back to the B&B where I packed my bags."

"I take it there was no time for a quick shag."

"Julianne, I'm really sorry we missed each other when you went to the loo in the zoo."

"Don't mention it."

"Ronan said he couldn't stand it at home with his wife and her mother any more. He was furious at what she did to his surgery. But I think what really did it was when she destroyed Chi Chi. Still, that doesn't matter now because I've just finished my new copy of Chi Chi and I think it's actually quite good, although Ronan isn't so sure. Julianne, my life has suddenly changed beyond recognition. Do I really deserve this? Do I really deserve Ronan?" and I think it's actually quite good, although Ronan isn't so sure. Julianne, my life has suddenly changed beyond recognition. Do I really deserve this? Do I really deserve Ronan?"

"You do, actually."

"I didn't mean to upset you like that, Julianne, when I told you I was pregnant. I didn't realize...Imelda told me you wanted a child of your ownit was really insensitive of me and I'm sorry..."

"Yes. I want a child of my own. But for various reasons I can't have one."

"I'm really sorry for bringing it up in the zoo."

"Forget it."

"I'd love it if you came and visited us here some time, although I know you probably won't."

"I'd like that. Where will you be tonight?"

"Tonight? We're going out to eat soon, to a place called the Cafe de Flore."

"At what time?"