And I felt foolish for thinking that someone as gorgeous as him could seriously be interested in someone as ordinary as me. What could I have been thinking of?

The only thing I could say in my defense was that I wasn't myself. I'd been through a lot and my sanity was an infrequent caller.

But while we're on the subject of Adam I should admit that I was angry with him.

Not very. But a bit. I was pissed off with him for playing with my feelings.

For making me feel special when I wasn't. And then for giving me that sanctimonious speech about going back to James. He had no business doing that if he didn't care about me. People have to earn earn the right to make me feel guilty. the right to make me feel guilty.388.

It was something that I really should try not to give away as easily as I used to.

But as time passed and I spent more time dozing in the sunny garden, my feelings began to change. I started to see the other side of the coin. In fact, I started to feel downright metaphysical about it. Not something I was normally prone to.

It might have been the excess of sun.

Maybe Adam was sent to me for a reason, I thought. Adam made me feel so good about myself, Adam restored my confidence so much, that it probably gave me the strength to stand up to James. Maybe Adam's judgmental speech was even instrumental in helping me to make the right decision about James.

It would have been nice to think that Kate and I helped Adam to deal with the pain of being separated from his child and his girlfriend. Maybe we'd helped him to realize how important they were to him, depending on whether he had left them or whether they had left him.

It was so lovely to feel the bitterness leave me. I began to feel happy that I had met Adam. I felt that Adam and I had met for a short time for a special reason. It had had to be short lived. And I liked to think that both of us benefited from it. to be short lived. And I liked to think that both of us benefited from it.

This might well be a load of mystical, superstitious nonsense. But I wasn't normally the kind of person who sees signs and portents and reasons and explanations in events. On the contrary. As I said earlier, I was always making fun of people who claimed that everything happens for a reason.

Of course, I wasn't as unkind as Helen, but at the same time I was far from indulgent. Oh, existentialism, thy name is Claire.

My usual approach would have been to say something like "Adam and I had sex because we both were horny. Nothing else to it." But I just couldn't be so cynical, hard as I tried.

Very worrying, of course, but what was I to do?

But it meant that lying out in the back garden was a lot more pleasant now. Every time I thought of Adam I didn't feel as if a knife had been twisted in my gut. Some kind of peace stole over me. I didn't need to feel let down, or lied to, or humiliated or foolish. It had been a pleasure to know him for the short time that I had. Perhaps it was better that way.

You know what it's like. Sometimes, you meet a wonderful 389 person, but it's only for a brief instant. Maybe on vacation or on a train or maybe even in a bus line. And they touch your life for a moment, but in a special way. And instead of mourning because they can't be with you for longer, or because you don't get the chance to know them better, isn't it better to be glad that you met them at all?

There was a very discernible feeling that a chapter had ended in my life. I started preparing myself, both emotionally and sartorially, for the return to London.

I began to pack clothes. I gathered enthusiastically and spread my net widely, visiting all wardrobes in the house, especially Helen's, and leaving no drawer unopened, no hanger unexamined.

Although I continued to bicker with everyone in the family, I knew that leaving them would be awful. It would be especially hard leaving my mother. Not just because she was so handy to have around Kate. No really, I mean it. I knew I was going to miss her terribly. It would be like leaving home all over again. Worse, in fact, because when I'd first left home seven years before, I was delighted to be going, couldn't leave fast enough in my haste to capitalize on my imminent freedom.

It was different now. I was seven years older and wearier. I knew that there was no novelty in ironing my own clothes, paying my own bills.

But I had to go back to London.

After all, my job was there. And I hadn't noticed anyone in Dublin breaking down my front door to offer me a job. Although I hadn't applied for any jobs, to be fair.

But more importantly, Kate's father was in London. I wanted her to see lots of him, to know that she had a father who loved her (well, I was sure he would when he got to know her better), and to grow up with a man in her life. Because if she was looking to me to provide her with a live-in father figure, I wasn't sure that I would be able to oblige. Maybe I would meet another man someday, but I didn't feel very hopeful.

And now that I thought of it, that threw up another entirely new set of worries. What if Kate didn't like the new man?390.

What if she got all jealous and threw tantrums and ran away from home?

Oh God!

Well, I wasn't going to worry about that yet. It was jumping the gun slightly when I already had my hands full worrying about never meeting a man again.

I didn't mean it really. I wasn't agonizing agonizing about never having a man again. about never having a man again.

Just mildly concerned.

I decided that I'd go back to London on the fifteenth of July. I could move into my new apartment and give myself and Kate a couple of weeks to settle in and find a babysitter before I went back to work.

Then, in time-honored fashion, I discovered an entire new set of worries.

How would I take care of Kate when I was all on my own? I'd become very dependent on having my mother around to suggest reasons why Kate wouldn't stop crying, or eating, or puking or whatever.

"You can always call me," promised Mum.

"Thanks," I said tearfully.

"And I'm sure you'll be fine," she said.

"Really?" I asked pathetically. Even though I was nearly thirty I could still behave like a child when I was around my mother.

"Oh yes," she said. "No one knows how strong they are until they have to be."

"I suppose you're right," I admitted.

"I am," she said firmly. "How about you? You haven't managed too badly in spite of all you've been through."

"I suppose," I said doubtfully.

"Really," she said. "Remember, if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger."

"Am I stronger?" I asked faintly, in my most childish voice.

"Jesus," she said, "when you put on that voice, I do actually wonder."

"Oh," I said, annoyed. I wanted her to be nice to me and tell me that I was wonderful and could cope with anything.

"Claire," she said, "there's no point asking me if you're stronger. You're the one who knows that."

"Well, I am then," I said belligerently.391.

"Good." She smiled. "And remember. You said it. Not me."

The Wednesday before I was due to go back, Anna, Kate and I were out in the garden. The weather was still beautiful. Anna was, um, how can I put it, between jobs, so the pair of us had spent the last week lounging around the garden dressed in an assortment of bikini tops and cut-off shorts, trying to get a tan.

I was winning.

I tanned easily, and Anna didn't. But then again, Anna was tiny and dainty and looked lovely in a bikini and I felt like a huge heifer beside her.

I wasn't fat anymore. But she was so petite and delicate that she made me feel huge by comparison. I liked liked being tall. I just didn't like feeling like an East German Olympic athlete. being tall. I just didn't like feeling like an East German Olympic athlete.

So if I was winning in the tanning war, it was really only right and just.

When the genes were distributed she got the cute little body. I got the smooth, golden skin.

She got thin legs. I didn't.

I got breasts. She didn't.

Fair is fair.

Our attention was drawn to the kitchen window. Mum had lifted the curtain and was gesturing and knocking.

"What does she want?" said Anna sleepily.

"I think she's saying hello," I said, slowly raising my head from the lounger to look at her.

"Hello," we both said languidly, and waved our arms limply. Mum continued to knock. The gestures that she made seemed to be a lot more frantic and vulgar.

"You go see what she wants," I said to Anna.

"I can't," she said. "You go."

"I'm too sleepy," I said. "You'll have to go."

"No, you go," she said, closing her eyes.

Mum came marching into the garden.

"Claire, phone!" she roared. "And the next time I knock on the window you're to come in. I don't do it for the good of my health, you know."

"Sorry, Mum."

"Keep an eye on Kate," I told Anna as I ran into the house.392.

"Mmmmm," she mumbled.

"And put some more sunblock on her," I shouted over my shoulder.

I stumbled into the kitchen, almost blinded by coming into the dim house after the blazing sunlight of the garden.

I picked up the phone. "Hello," I said.

"Claire," said James.

"Oh hello, James," I said, wondering what the hell he wanted. If he hadn't called to tell me that he'd sold our apartment, I didn't want to talk to him.

"How are you, Claire?" he asked politely.

"Fine," I said shortly, wishing he'd get on with it.

"Claire," he said, with great weight, "I have something to tell you."

"Well, go ahead," I cordially invited.

"Claire, I hope you don't mind, but I've met someone else."

"Oh," I said. "Well, what do you want me to say? Congratulations?"

"No," he said. "There's no need for that. But I thought I had better tell you, seeing as you made such a fuss the last time."

With monumental self-control I didn't hang up the phone.

"Thank you, James," I managed. "That's very thoughtful of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go."

"But don't you want to know all about her?" he said quickly.

"No," I said.

"Don't you mind?" he asked anxiously.

"No." I laughed.

"She's lots younger than you," he said nastily. "She's only twenty-two."

"That's nice," I said mildly.

"Her name's Rita," he said.

"Nice name," I commented.

"She's an actuary," he said, sounding a bit desperate.

"How lovely," I exclaimed. "You must have so much in common!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I protested.393.

"Why are you acting as if you don't give a damn?" he thundered. "I've just told you I've got a new girlfriend!"

"I suppose I must be acting like I don't give a damn because I actually don't give a damn," was the only thing I could come up with.

"Oh, and James," I continued.

"Yes?" he said hopefully.