

Lucinda's List

by

Olive Collins

Copyright © 2012, Olive Collins

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

# Contents

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

Other Titles by Olive Collins Include:

# CHAPTER 1

Lucinda ignored the rapid beeping of an incoming text message. She tried to concentrate on the job at hand. It was strangely comforting that life for her would end with this short note. She would like to write one of those beautiful lyrical farewell letters with rhyming verses or some profound statement, something Seamus Heaney might offer. She was not sad or sorry that she was about to expire so suddenly. In fact Lucinda was quite relieved she'd finally found a solution. When death struck her as an option, she was overcome with a deep feeling of gratitude. It was like one of those light-bulb moments that only occur every few years. Glorious death would envelop her with finality. Since the idea of taking her own life had occurred to her, a wonderful sense of acceptance followed, and then an even greater sense of relief. Finally she would depart from a world where she felt like an intruder.

The Blackberry beeped again. She hoped she would not lose her train of thought especially when she was beginning to enjoy her sad songs and morbid mood. Lucinda paused to think of her own dearly departed. There were a few local men and aged women, friends of friends, and a distant grandmother. She had never experienced deep grief. Sitting in an upright position on her bed she flexed her fingers, bundled the previous letter into a ball and jammed it down the side of her bed. She had consumed half a bottle of gin and two bottles of wine since noon, yet Lucinda found it remarkable that she was still capable of thinking with such reason. If she had chosen to prolong her life, G&Ts would be the new drink to recommend for self-analysts. She would be adding bottles of gin to her weekly shopping list and inviting the girls round for one of their long chats when they'd lay bare their innermost secrets, talk about men who had rejected them, and relive the lighter moments, but none of that concerned her anymore.

Irritated by the beeping Blackberry, Lucinda checked the messages; not to satisfy her curiosity, but to give her suicide note her undivided attention. As she stretched for the mobile, she noticed that her hands were dry, the flesh on her knuckles wrinkled, on the verge of cracking wide open. Premature aging, number 13 on her "Reasons I Hate the World List".

She was reminded of the crow's feet, cellulite, and shadows under her eyes; they were all problems of her previous life.

'U dead or alive booked Thai meal 7.30 tomoro nite A.'

Lucinda chuckled quietly, if only Alice knew. She deleted the message.

The second one was also from Alice, 'need to know ASAP for reservations.'

She deleted that message too; it felt quite liberating, as if she was silently giving those who had abandoned her the two fingers.

Just to gather the momentum again, Lucinda replayed the second track from Coldplay. It seemed apt for the moment. The lead singer was singing about buying a place and burning it down, then getting a gun and starting a war. She had listened to that very song hundreds of times during the past few days of soul searching. Mildly pleased that someone else out there was having a bad day, she raised the volume and tried to concentrate on her suicide letter. The blank page stared back. She might just write a short story with some mind-blowing prose, like leaving a clue, then name Vincent O'Donnell as the culprit.

'He caused me to commit suicide' she wanted to scrawl across the page in big angry red ink. Just when she thought that Vincent was finally ready to progress, she discovered he had other plans. Plans that eliminated her from his happy-ever-after idyllic life.

Of course she wasn't killing herself because a man dumped her. It was an accumulation of problems. Naturally it was an enormous contribution, but it was more to do with her disappointments, exhaustion and the undeniable fact that life didn't fit anymore. It had become like a pair of useless shapeless baggy jeans from the eighties; discarded and hideous. Three weeks ago the jeans fitted, only because Vincent had lulled Lucinda into a false sense of security.

Three weeks ago the element of urgency in his voice was clear, 'It's time we moved this relationship further, we've got to see each other more often.'

It was a Saturday afternoon, they were lying in her bed and Vincent was on his side with his hand resting on her naked belly. Numerous times that day he had reaffirmed how much he had missed her. According to Vincent, he'd spent the entire week anticipating their reunion.

'Knowing you are waiting for me makes the difficulties so much easier.'

Lucinda shook her head in disbelief that she could have believed such tripe. Yet she knew he set a precedent by skipping a family gathering to be with her. Nobody would ever know what satisfaction that gave her. Rather than spending the day with his family to celebrate his father's birthday, he had spent the day with her. They'd walked around the Blessington Lakes hand in hand, and he had kissed her with an unnerving passion. They were like a teenage couple snatching hungry moments alone. Towards evening they found a secluded spot on the edge of the lake. The immense body of clear water embedded in the centre of the untouched valley momentarily silenced them. The stillness made them feel like a marooned couple.

'We're going to play a shipwrecked pair. I'll be Daddy and you'll be Mammy,' Vincent teased, getting more aroused as she reacted to his setting, 'And I'll show you what Daddy does to Mammy.'

It was easy for Lucinda to get absorbed in the game. She relished the idea of being alone with Vincent forever and ever. It was another one of her secret fantasies. Later that night he had presented her with two airline tickets to Prague.

'Look on it as an early Christmas present,' he beamed, showing her their itinerary.

With only a fleeting glance at the documents, Lucinda memorised the flight number, departure time, arrival time, the name of the hotel and the peculiar spelling of the street. Vincent had then returned the tickets to the blue and white envelope that held so much hope for a shared future together. Tingling with a new sense of optimism, Lucinda believed the moment had come when she could at last see her life as their life. Albeit a small step, it was the most gigantic, momentous leap since their relationship began. They had planned to travel together on the first weekend of February; their trip would coincide with one of his business meetings.

That Saturday afternoon, Vincent promised to introduce her to some of his friends based in Prague. 'We'll stay in the Radisson Blue Alcron Hotel, it's off Wenceslas Square. It's surrounded by so many historical monuments and quaint pubs, you'll love it. We'll have a dinner cruise on the Vltava, preferably at night when it's so much nicer with the lights.'

Lucinda hated the silly needy type of girls! They were easy to ridicule because those foolish type who hung on their boyfriends' every word deserved to be ridiculed. It was a terrible realisation to stumble on the fact that she had become the type she abhorred, the type who lost her self-worth to a man who could never truly respect her. For the first few years of their relationship, she had been the one dismissing Vincent, she was the one who did the dumping, pretended to be moody and adored the element of secrecy and daring of their affair. She was naughty and bold, elevated with self-importance because she had gotten Vincent. Feeling every bit the adult; proud to be in the throes of an illicit affair until it took on a new meaning: she fell in love. That night Vincent had discussed the Prague trip. He was clearly eager to be with her, and Lucinda was bowled over by his flattery. He'd wanted to show her Prague, the same restaurants and bars he frequented on his monthly trips. He wanted to visit the museums with her. Had she become so vulnerable that she needed his approval?

'You'll love it.' He had said those very words with clear conviction.

Only a man who knew his girlfriend so intimately could predict her preferences. She could not compare the exhilaration to any other event in her life. Lucinda had been dying to tell one of the girls. So many times she contemplated telling them about a man she'd met who made her so happy. She'd change his name and some of the obvious details but when the time came, Lucinda could not risk it. It was always so awkward with Fiona, nobody would want to hear about their brother's infidelities. Or what marks out of ten she'd give him for his performance in the sack. Of course Vincent had always been adamant that nobody must ever find out. Only now did she realise why. Perish the thought if the girls ever did find out what had been going on for ten long years and with whom. Lucinda knew best friends eventually forgave most wrongdoings, but if the truth ever did come out, dating Vincent was not something any of them would get over quickly or quietly.

Intent on making an impression on Vincent's friends in Prague, she spared no expense while shopping for the trip. Each evening after work, armed with one of her lengthy lists Lucinda trekked to Dundrum Shopping Centre in south Dublin. For two weeks she spent all of her free time either shopping or mentally coordinating her outfits and jewellery for each occasion. Eventually she had three sets of clothes, two pairs of shoes and three changes of lingerie for one day alone. Quietly she eyed the wardrobe where her untouched new clothes hung. Not only had she not seen the relationship coming to a close, his brief email did not have enough detail. Although Lucinda knew it was pointless rereading the message for the umpteenth time she read it anyway. It had been two days since she'd received Vincent's message. Since then she had spent most of her time refusing to accept what glared back at her from the screen on her Blackberry.

"It's over. Time to go separate ways. I hope you will respect my wishes. Vinc"

Vincent usually phoned her at 8.00pm on Tuesday nights. Each night he liked to tuck his children into bed and read them a story. Then he would turn his attention to Lucinda. When the expected call didn't arrive she had emailed him a simple question mark. A few moments later he replied with the bombshell. Naturally she tried phoning him, if anything, just to reason with him. Why now? Had she done something? Surely they could talk about it? His mobile was switched off and his land-line was ex-directory. She drove by his house four times after she received the message. The first time she was sober, each time after that her distance from sobriety had widened. She had debated kicking in his front door and telling his wife, but there was some semblance of reason that told her whatever chance she had of a reunion, there would be no chance whatsoever if she started acting like a Bunny-Boiler.

Lucinda spent a few hours thinking Vincent would come to his senses and finally arrive banging on her door. By Wednesday he had not arrived or retracted his short message. His mobile was still switched off so Lucinda drove to his office in town. She sat in the cafe across the road from noon until 3.00pm and knew he was not at work. He always went out for lunch. She had a few more drinks and mulled over the options reeling round in her head. By evening and still with a little courage she drove to his home again. She parked opposite his house and watched his perfectly groomed wife, Barbara, leaving their home with their children. His car was still not there. Lucinda walked around his house peering in the windows and tried to open the door to his office at the back of their house. The door didn't even rattle as she shook it.

On Thursday, Lucinda took another day off work and lay in bed until midday, too depressed to crawl out from under the duvet, she finally she moved to the living room and lay on the couch. The same couch where she and Vincent had lain three nights previously. Once again she reread the short email. She felt unable to accept that the man who gave her the best reason for living now wanted out of her life. He could continue with his family life, content to leave her alone, more alone than she had ever felt. She couldn't muster the energy to feign it any longer. The words of the email were playing like a piece of familiar background music, over and over in her head. Her concentration alone could alter the volume. Despite its simplicity and after reading it, analysing it, re-analysing it, and re-reading it again, Lucinda still read it again, just in case she could have missed the real meaning. Initially she thought it was a joke and had waited for a follow-up email with the crucial punch line. With no other messages forthcoming, and after a prolonged nervous wait, she began to realise the implications of the email.

Lucinda looked at the blank page, trying to find the words to write the literary suicide note of the year. Unsure where to begin, she thought about describing in a romantic picturesque way how Vincent and she had both grown up in Tipperary, she could explain how they were only acquaintances until Lucinda bumped into him on the night of her graduation from UCD. Although he was ten years her senior, he had said they were mentally the same age.

'You're streets ahead of your peers. You're so mature you could be older and wiser than me.'

He said they were two of a kind.

'You and I know how to appreciate the finer aspects of life,' he said, sipping the Moet Champagne she had bought him as a gift for his birthday the first year they started dating.

Every girl had heard about the man with the glad eye using the clichéd line, 'My wife doesn't understand me,' but she had really believed him. They had seemed so genuinely suited. Lucinda could readily admit to her intolerance, selfishness, and self-obsession yet she managed to put all of those to one side for Vincent. She made allowances. Sometimes due to Vincent's family commitments or other circumstances, meeting would be impossible for a full week, when they were reunited, they would spend an entire night talking and making love until their bodies ached.

There had been so many times that he'd apologised for breaking dates, 'I lead the life of a parent and workaholic. I go from home to work and back to home. I'm not complaining. I'm a Father before anything else.'

Lucinda was filled with admiration for his unwavering paternal instincts, his explanation made her even more tolerant. Admittedly, the mention of his wife's name was enough to aggravate her for hours. Although Lucinda had been delighted to learn that there had never been anything to that marriage after their first child was born six years ago. Lucinda found out all she needed to know from Fiona O'Donnell. Lucinda's best friend in Tipperary was Vincent's sister. As well as that, she always took great care to protect their affair by asking one of the other girls casually, 'How is that brother of Fiona's, does he go home often?'

Startled by the ringing mobile, Lucinda checked the caller I.D. On recognising Alice Ruane's name she laid the phone back on the bed without answering. The last thing she wanted was Alice insisting she get out and enjoy herself, which was Alice's solution to every problem. Instead she opted to return to the world of Coldplay and her flowery suicide note.

'Honey, all the movements you're starting to make, see me crumble and fall on my face, and I know the mistakes I've made.'

It was as if he wrote the lyrics of the song specifically for her. In fact, she decided to check her CD collection for more sad songs. She was really beginning to enjoy wallowing in her final night of self pity. Lucinda refilled her drink and once again complimented her great constitution for alcohol. Almost a full bottle of gin and two bottles of wine, and she remained as coherent as if she'd just begun. After a few moments she checked her voicemail.

'Hi Lucinda, Alice here . . .' she hesitated, 'I haven't met you for a while . . .I'm in town and was thinking of calling on the way, I picked up something small for you from Tunisia.'

Quietly Lucinda admitted that she had neglected her friends while planning her Prague trip. The adrenalin from the preparation was sufficient to fill every hour of her day. In fact she had shamefully neglected the girls. If things had been different she'd love to have brought Alice or Fiona shopping with her for the trip, but of course she couldn't risk the endless questions. It had slipped her mind that Alice was on a week's holiday in the sun. Lucinda had also missed Alice's birthday dinner the week previously, despite the fact that she gotten three different reminders. The week had passed by the time it occurred to Lucinda to phone Alice with an explanation, by then it was too late. A few weeks before that she had planned to go to Tipperary for Rose's parents' 40th wedding anniversary. After spending the previous night holed up with Vincent, Lucinda was too exhausted to make the journey. Once again she feigned sickness. There had been one or two different events that just didn't interest her, like a play in the Gaiety Theatre and a fashion show Alice's employers had organised for charity.

Lucinda listened to the rest of Alice's phone message, 'Call me back, it's just that nobody has heard from you for the last few days.'

'Fuss pot,' Lucinda replied before she heard the rest of the message.

Alice had called from the car; it sounded as if the windows were rolled down, making the noise of traffic louder and more difficult to hear her, 'Call me back, because . . .' she hesitated again, 'actually I'm going to call anyway, so put the kettle on. I'll be there in ten minutes.'

Immediately Lucinda returned the call. Alice couldn't call over now, especially with the smell of drink, and the fact that she was about to kill herself in an apartment that looked like a bomb hit it. Neither did Lucinda want company. What about her suicide note? How would she ever resume her train of thought after Alice's visit? Alice would regale her with stories of her sun holiday, possibly even make her think of living again. She had so much to do before she died.

Alice answered her phone after two rings, 'The dead have arisen,' she said jovially.

'And spoke to many,' Lucinda replied, trying to match Alice's light heartedness.

'You got my message?' Alice enquired.

'Yes, I'm just on the way out the door, I'm going to watch a DVD and eat a pizza with one of the girls from work.' Lucinda knew she was a gifted liar, although she could do without this added pressure on top of everything else.

'OK, we'll see you tomorrow night in Tipp?'

As always, Alice was persistent, Lucinda thought.

'Absolutely,' she answered, and then conjured up an image of her immaculate corpse. Hopefully one of the girls would remember to use the Bobby Brown makeup on her corpse, it produced a flawless finish.

Lucinda tried to sound disappointed, 'Pity I made these plans this evening, I'd like to have met up. Anyway, we'll have all weekend to do that.'

'Anything else?' Alice was fishing for information, 'is everything alright, you sound awful.'

'I'm fine, just a few problems at work . . . and . . . I've got the flu again.'

Lucinda tried to fob her off. She didn't want to have this conversation or justify her recent absence. Perky people like Alice knew exactly how to wreck her buzz.

'What kind of problems? Nobody locks themselves away like you, you sound exhausted.' Alice did not disguise her annoyance.

'I was sleeping earlier, the phone woke me, and I'm having a few minor problems at work, you know the usual,' Lucinda repeated, fumbling her words, conscious that she sounded insincere with her litany of excuses.

'Right . . . I see . . . OK,' Alice droned, not sounding the least bit convinced, much to Lucinda's annoyance. Lucinda bit her lip while Alice went off on one of her tyrannies on how to enjoy life.

'Jesus Christ, we all have problems,' Alice continued, 'just get on with it.'

'What's the plan for Tipp this weekend?' Lucinda knew how to distract Alice.

Immediately Alice mellowed. She lived for her social life and weekends, 'Well,' she almost sang like a child about to describe what Santa was bringing. 'I picked up a few bits and pieces for you guys in Tunisia. Rose was telling us about the new Thai restaurant, seemingly the food is excellent so we thought we could start there at 7.00pm, then there's a party in The Stand for the Joyces', it's their Ruby wedding anniversary. Fiona O'Donnell reckons it'll be a good night, you know the usual, plenty of old faces, any excuse to get dressed up and have a good night.'

Alice continued, 'It will do you good to get out. You know, meet a few of the old crowd. Maybe we could do a bit of shopping on Saturday?'

Lucinda couldn't help thinking Miss Let's-All-Have-Fun should motivate herself with some of her happy-clappy lingo. Unashamedly Alice told stories about the student she was meeting except nobody had ever seen him. Judging from the cheap items of jewellery Alice had started wearing and going to student bars, he was probably a total loser. Chances are he was pig ugly, or maybe he didn't exist at all. Alice really knew how to go from one extreme to the next, for ten years there wasn't a peep out of her. She wore the most boring clothes and almost married the biggest bore from Tipperary, then dumped him and started screwing all kinds of men. She changed her style and began dressing like Kate Moss, wearing the most outlandish outfits and going with a bloke who wrote pornographic poetry for her. Then Alice, the gullible fool, thought it was romantic. Alice's skinny body was another validation that she could not be happy. Any woman older than thirty and that thin had issues. But none of it need bother her anymore, she reaffirmed.

Without a hint of resentment, Lucinda responded, 'Yes, I'll be down tomorrow evening.' Anticipating Alice's response, she quickly added, 'I'll take my own car because I have a few bits and pieces to get in the afternoon.' Lucinda knew Alice would suggest they all travel together like one big happy family.

'Oh,' Alice wanted more information, 'Sounds very mysterious.'

This conversation was proving more difficult than Lucinda had anticipated. Friends were wonderful but sometimes such a nuisance, they wanted to know every little detail.

'There's a new accounting computer application that I want to see.'

Alice automatically lost interest in anything that involved work, 'That's a real Tipperary Ted job,' Alice said, referring to their personal joke about one of Alice's ex-boyfriends.

'You're right,' Lucinda agreed wishing Alice would just get off the phone and let her die graciously. 'I've a dull few hours ahead of me, but these are the little things a girl has got to do for the love of her job.'

'We'll see you tomorrow then.'

Lucinda did not get angry after the call. Neither did she throw her mobile phone against the furthest wall. If anything, the call solidified her decision. Lucinda decided she would not miss her best friends.

After the initial shock of her death, they would resume their lives, possibly without the worry of their troubled friend Lucinda, who never learned to shake off old wounds. One of these friends, Rose Morrison, had laid her roots firmly in Dublin. Never one for image, Rose was the only person Lucinda knew who had such a horrendous blind-spot with fashion. Rose bought an outdated cottage and she now preferred to sit by the fire like an old professor reading nerdy books on science and sipping tea from her china cup. Rose would need to find her own way, she was a bit of a misfit who had lost all pride in her appearance a decade ago, not that she ever did anything with herself but now she was ballooning into a mountain of a woman. Along with that, her hair was a disgrace; she wouldn't go to a stylist if there was a gun put to her head. The milk bottle glasses she wore while reading also made her look deformed. Lucinda most definitely would not miss the O'Donnell's, total glorified scumbags. Fiona even proved it by marrying and having a child with the greatest scum of them all, Simon Keogh. Even her child was a big muck savage who couldn't control his bladder, and once urinated all over Lucinda's bed on a trip to Dublin.

Lucinda poured the last of the gin into her glass. Andrew was another friend whom she was tired of, one of her only allies at work was beginning to get on her nerves lately. They had been such good friends, now he too had begun to take life so seriously. He did not have the manners to respond to her earlier text message. No doubt he was playing happy families with his wife. Andrew was another recent disappointment in Lucinda's eyes. He and Rose were behaving equally as settled and boring. While in such good form to die Lucinda decided to tackle the job at hand and forget the literary suicide note. She positioned herself on her bed lying on her back with her hands clasped over her chest in what she hoped was a beautiful angelic pose. To capture the essence of the moment, she replayed the Coldplay song. Allowing the music to sway her deeper into self pity, slowly she dropped the tablets into her mouth, with great delicacy at first, as if each one was about to be her last. Then she got bored with the dramatics of it all and emptied the contents of the vial into her mouth. She washed them down with the remainder of her drink.

Before bowing out and while the medication took effect, she brushed her straight hair grateful that she'd only had her highlights done the weekend before. At least her crown and glory would be shinning in the coffin. She rubbed a little beige and brown eye-shadow around her hazel eyes before applying pink lipstick to match her pink Paul Frank t-shirt, then Lucinda lay back to envisage her funeral. People would say what a terrible tragedy, they would discuss her age, what she did for a living, where she lived in Dublin. Locals would pretend to have known her intimately. They'd say they only spoke to her last week before offering their own snippets of information on her death. It would appear she had everything to live for, and then, the burning question: what made her do it? She would be laid out in the morgue in Tipperary for the town to see her. Hopefully all of her friends will go hysterical at the sight of her in the coffin, at least then people would think of her as being enormously popular. She wouldn't mind if there were a few women to wail around her remains, just to add to the atmosphere. The funeral will be colossal as people loved to attend tragic young funerals, then it would appear she had the world of friends. Hopefully the girls would insist the choir sing some tear-jerking music as the coffin was led out of the church. Vincent will blame himself and hopefully the trauma of the whole tragedy will turn him off sex for the rest of his life. All of the incriminating evidence will be there to piece the events together. The pictures of Vincent and her taken in Scotland a year previously will be left for the authorities to find when they search her wallet for clues. Vincent's final rebuff had proven too much. She closed her eyes willing death to take her and silence the memories she never learned to shed.

'Just how much will they miss me?' she asked and before drifting off her final thought was, 'When I wake, I will be dead.'

# CHAPTER 2

Three hours after another mother-daughter discussion, Rose Morrison was still annoyed. Why couldn't some people leave well enough alone?

'Earth to Rose,' Aengus called. Rose was too distracted by her mother's words. Sensing her distance, 'I could come over and discuss the end of the world?'

His humorous suggestion went over her head.

'No thanks, I still have a few things to do before going to Tipperary,' her tone remained serious. 'Thanks all the same.'

Rose was not going to burden Aengus with problems to which he had no solutions. It would have been pointless explaining to the most uncomplicated person she knew, that her mother had called her during lunch hour to rebuke her for not having a boyfriend and for not maintaining her appearance although she was well into adulthood.

'OK, whatever suits you,' Aengus said casually. 'If you're not in the DT's after you're trip to Tipp with the girls, there's a lecture on Monday night in Dublin Castle. It's on the effects of Electromagnetic Fields if you fancy coming along?'

Aengus was a doctor of chemistry and constantly got invitations to insightful lectures which Rose found equally fascinating. She adored Aengus's mind and both could spend hours discussing everything from the basic psychology of celebrity gossip to the scientific fields. Since they first met in college, they escorted each other to various functions and occasionally slept together. Although it hadn't happened for several months, Rose was afraid it could jeopardise their friendship. After their last encounter, she suggested that it should not happen again. Rose wasn't attracted to him; their occasions of sin were usually a case of too much wine.

'That sounds great. I read an article on it this morning.' Rose said.

'I'll meet you in Thomas Reid's at 6.00pm.'

Maybe on Monday night after the lecture she and Aengus could explore the mother-daughter relationship. He was wonderful at delving, and they both came to interesting conclusions during their discussions. Hopefully Aengus would say something that would restore Rose's crumpled ego. Aengus knew, and Rose thought her mother Doreen also knew, that she didn't need to fit into the category of women who felt like a lame duck without a man. Neither was she the type who needed a good figure to feel worthwhile or desired. But after the conversation with her mother, for the first time she was beginning to doubt herself.

Rose threw out the cold tea. She made a fresh pot and grabbed a few mini-bars. Maybe her mother was right, she was turning into a settled old lady, too young to have found contentment with relaxed evenings in by the fire, reading and drinking tea from her favourite china cup. Trying to justify her single status, Rose felt too preoccupied with her career and new home to be bothered with marriage, or men, or any of the family matters her mother seemed so intent on discussing. Granted she was in her mid thirties and most of the time she was more than happy with her lot.

Recently she had bought her first home. A dotty little cottage on the South Circular Road in Dublin that she got for a bargain, and judging from the decor Rose guessed it had not seen an interior decorator since pre-World War II. Much to the dismay of her friends, Rose loved the conflicting colour schemes just the way it was, she thought it homely. All of the rooms had been wallpapered with the appropriate patterns and colours. The kitchen had yellow flowers on a red background, the bedroom was ivory and the sitting room was beige with brown lines running from top to bottom. The colour of the carpets clashed with the floral patterned curtains. The suite of furniture was purple, although Rose suspected its original colour was blue before years of usage darkened it. There were tea stains on the arms of the chairs and it had that comfy lived in quality. Thankfully the previous owner had left all of the furniture, including her big bulky bed complete with its feathered eiderdown, stacks of old books and cute ornaments. There was even a picture of the Sacred Heart complete with its burning lamp in the kitchen. Rose liked its aged ambience and felt its authenticity was cosy. She believed like all fashion, in a few years the stylists would revert to the '20s. When Rose pointed this out to her friends, they were horrified that she would contemplate leaving the cottage as it was.

'Interior decorators will be wallpapering over their brightly painted walls to recapture what I already have,' she declared with genuine pride. 'Don't you agree?'

'Yes, if you're on a permanent LSD trip.' Lucinda had said.

With nothing planned for the evening, Rose lit the fire and initially intended on having a nice relaxing few hours reading and nibbling on her favourite minibars, but her mind drift back to her mother's earlier phone call. Strangely her mother had phoned during her lunch hour. Rose knew Doreen was bursting to tell her about another engagement as she always waited until evening to call. Rose's mother had been a chiropodist in Tipperary in the centre of the town for almost 40 years now. Every year for the past decade she made provisions for her retirement but never sealed her decision. Apart from being gifted at her occupation, she was equally gifted at extracting news from every customer. Her recent specialities were engagements and weddings. At this rate Rose was beginning to suspect her mother terrorised the customers for news of engagements along with scouring the town and local newspapers to put further pressure on her daughter's slack approach to all things matrimonial. Every second day Doreen had news of an engagement, usually she knew the happy couples' age, occupation, addresses, and where and when the duo first met, all the time dropping subtle clues to Rose. Her daughter's single status was her mother's current obsession. Doreen had gone as far as suggesting internet dating. Only a few months previously she had branded dating agencies 'a ridiculous media inspired frenzy attracting misfits.'

Foolishly, Rose had said she had little interest in meeting anybody at the moment. 'I'm quite happy with the way things are,' Rose informed Doreen.

'It's not natural Rose,' Doreen said, 'we all need companionship.'

'I have plenty of friends and confidantes,' Rose's assertiveness was beginning to wilt under her mother's bossiness.

'You need a man.'

Rose was aghast how her mother's tune had changed completely. A few years ago she was instilling in her daughter the need to develop a career and independence. Another indication of her mother's desperation was when the normally conservative Doreen enquired if Rose was a lesbian.

'You could tell me if you are that way inclined.'

Rose blushed. It was the first time she ever heard Doreen utter the word, not to mind suggesting her own flesh and blood could be having it off with another woman. Rose knew her mother was of that generation who thought women were wasted if they hadn't wed, they were the left-over's. Rose thought her mother was a little embarrassed that her only daughter was so slow to find a suitor. Admittedly this latest engagement had jolted Rose. Or maybe there was method in Doreen's madness; Rose was beginning to feel uneasy with all of these bustling engagements. Hearing Doreen's shrill voice on the end of the phone could only mean one thing.

'I have some news,' she gasped down the line.

Rose was beginning to believe that there was no end to her mother's persistence, 'Another engagement,' she dryly replied continuing to read her newspaper as she listened.

'Helen O'Connell is getting married,' Doreen paused waiting for the impact, 'to a man with two hotels and three pubs.' She paused again waiting for a reaction.

When Rose didn't respond, Doreen continued, 'Eileen called today.'

Poor Mother, Rose thought. What she wouldn't give to be phoning her sister Eileen with news like that. It would solve all her mother's problems to report that, her Rose is getting married to a man that drove a Mercedes and owned a string of hotels. Or Rose was getting married to a doctor with brains to burn. Or Rose is getting married to a man who loves to dress up in women's clothes, he only buys the best of make-up and drinks and gambles every penny, but he's good to her. Anything would be better than not having sight or sound of a man at her age.

Her mother continued, 'They even have a wedding date set, June Bank Holiday Weekend.'

'That's nice, I'll send a card of congratulations,' Rose wearily massaged her temples knowing where the conversation was leading; Helen O'Connell and Rose were first cousins. Although close as children and students, they had only met a few times a year since graduating. Living at opposite sides of the country kept them apart. She was aware Helen was seeing someone but hadn't thought it serious.

'Eileen showed me a picture of the pair of them, she looks stunning, not a pick on her.'

This was another hint at Rose's weight problem.

'Not a single solitary pick of weight on her,' Doreen emphasised when she was met with silence.

Rose knew the weight issue was coming next. Their recent conversations usually ran in that order.

'Good for her,' Rose answered absentmindedly trying to recall what Helen's fiancé looked like.

Her mother felt all this news was falling on deaf ears, 'Rose, Helen is two years younger than you,' she finally said accusingly.

'We've had this discussion before and as I've said, some women are into marriage and relationship, and I've studied and worked hard for the last few years. Marriage or being thin has never been high on my list of priorities,' Rose said, trying to remain calm.

Doreen continued as if Rose had not spoken, 'If you lost a few pounds and got a good stylist to revamp the hair, then get a good makeover from one of those beauty parlours, you'd have no bother finding a husband. With your qualifications and earnings, you'd be every man's dream, although,' she hesitated, 'you wouldn't want to tell him how well qualified you are, sometimes men are intimidated by that sort of thing.'

'Really?' Rose was rendered speechless that her mother was going that far.

'Yes,' she continued, 'I was reading all about that sort of thing in Marie Claire, or was it Image? You should read those magazines; they're supposed to be for your generation.'

The only reading material in her parents' home was The Irish Independent and The Tipperary Star. Rose wanted to ask her mother when she actually started reading Marie Claire or Image. Next she would rent The Lovers Guide to advise her daughter how to keep your man satisfied, that's if she ever managed to find a man. So that's where she got words like 'revamp' and 'makeover'. Rose almost laughed down the phone at the notion of her 70 year old mother flicking through the pages on fashion, sex and relationships. How could one woman be so desperate not to have an unwed daughter?

'What other news was in your magazines?' Rose thought she might as well hear it all now.

'Well, now that you ask, in one particular issue there was an article on women asking men out, you know. If you like someone there's no need to wait for the man to do the asking for the date, women can ask too. Also I was thinking of you when I read about the GI Diet, it's all about low carbs and high protein,' Doreen explained vaguely. 'One woman lost four stone in eight months. You'd want to see the pictures of before and after. You should try that.'

Speechless, Rose listened as her mother continued like an Agony Aunt. 'You'd have the perfect figure for Helen's wedding if you start now. You'd never know, maybe you'd find a man at it at the wedding,' she giggled in anticipation, and then added more seriously, 'but with a bit of luck you'll have found someone at that stage.'

Rose realised desperate times meant desperate measures on her mother's part. She could picture Doreen sitting at her office desk looking out the window at the passers-by. As always she would be wearing her pleated skirt, curled grey hair, a necklace which she always fiddled with when on the phone, while her wide green eyes would sparkle with excitement.

Doreen had it all figured out, it was high time someone took Rose in hand. Doreen proudly credited herself at having the foresight to see what was about to happen to Rose. Not that any man didn't want her, of course she'd be a fine catch, maybe a little too brainy for her own good. With her daughter's best interests at heart, she could see Rose getting stuck in a rut the longer she remained alone. Since she bought her first home, Doreen knew she slept late and was happier staying in rather than socialising with her friends. If she kept it up, Rose would learn to love her own comforts too much and develop an unhealthy independence. It would get to the irreversible stage where she would view every man as an intruder and her own friends as an interruption. If she wasn't careful she'd turn into the local daft old lady as odd as two left feet. Added to that, while living alone she would lose pride in her appearance and her great manners would fall by the wayside. Doreen could just imagine the cut of her, dressed in her pyjamas all day when not working, belching and breaking wind and eating whatever she pleased. And by God, Rose Morrison would want to cop herself on. No man wanted a woman who would eat him out of house and home. Like every mother it was her place to keep her daughter in check. She justified her harshness because in years to come when Rose had a few children she would thank her, but at this rate she'd want to hurry up about finding the fellow. Doreen replaced the receiver pleased after their little chat. She might discuss it more at length tomorrow night when Rose returned from Dublin with the other girls.

Dismayed when she thought about the phone conversation, Rose poured herself another cup of tea. As she unwrapped another mini-bar, she couldn't help thinking how pleased her mother would be with their little lunch time chat. If her mother had no clients for lunch, she would lock up the shop for an hour. If it was a dry day she would walk home for lunch, and pop into the church to light a candle. Light yet another candle for her single daughter, her man-less daughter without a shred of desire for romance. With each dawning day, many more thousands of her eggs were disintegrating, dying, irretrievably gone forever as the clock ticked by. Rose told herself not to be so paranoid; her mother may not even light a candle for her. Although Rose knew Doreen lit candles and said novenas for divine intervention for her daughters' single status. Doreen had become so obsessed with something which Rose regarded as trivial. Her mother already had two sons married and three grandchildren, surely that was enough. Reading Marie Claire and Image would explain her recent line of conversation. It had been dominated by boyfriends, or men whom Rose deemed attractive, or the latest diets; which was very unusual as she didn't believe in dieting. For the past few months, Rose had been aware that her single status caused a little worry, but Doreen's preoccupation seemed a tad obsessive.

Rose put the fire guard in place, and took her tea, book and three mini-bars to her bedroom to pack for the weekend. Selecting her outfits was easy. Unlike her friends, Rose was never one for having an abundance of clothes in her wardrobe. Instead she lay on the bed and returned to her novel hoping to alleviate her irritation. Never one to be swayed by other people's opinions, Rose was surprised she was allowing her mother irk her. Of course, she acknowledged, she didn't have the perfect figure, her sweet tooth had also been a little overactive lately. She suggested to Aengus that he finds a chemical to neutralise her craving for sugar. The more she thought about her eating pattern, the more alarmed she became. She eyed another mini-bar and had lost count of how many she had eaten that evening. Could she justify another bar? Trying to forget that it was right beside her sticking out like a sore thumb, she turned to the next page of her book. It could not be possible that she was still hungry. Her mother used to say that Rose must have some kind of tape-worm or form of alien life living inside her, eating her food, because no human could consume as much. 'Exercise willpower', a little voice in her head told her. Frowning with concentration she read another few paragraphs of her book, then picked up the mini-bar of chocolate and flung it to the other side of the room.

'That solves that' she figured, she would be too lazy to get out of her comfortable bed and walk to the other side of the room to pick it up. At least now she could concentrate on her book.

The sudden ringing of her mobile phone was a welcomed distraction; it might take her mind off the chocolate and her mother for an entire two minutes.

'What are you up to?' Alice was chewing down the phone.

'I think I might have an eating disorder,' Rose said half seriously.

'Really?' Rose could hear the interest in Alice's voice. She loved drama.

Rose was silently calculating what she had eaten that day. There was enough sugar in her coffee break to last a full week. Normally Rose skipped breakfast, then munched through a bar of chocolate and a few biscuits at 11am. If nobody was looking she would eat a second bar, and a third if she was sure that absolutely nobody was looking. That could qualify as secret eating, like alcoholics secretly drinking. Depending on her mood, this could be followed by dreadful bouts of guilt. At night she would promise herself to start that diet the following morning and then change her mind. It seemed ridiculous to start something in the middle of week, and then something would happen on Monday morning that made her defer the diet till Tuesday. That brought her back to square one, and logically nobody starts a diet in the middle of the week. On the other hand, Rose made a mental note to check the net first thing in the morning. What symptoms did the victims of eating disorders suffer from, the most likely age group, the various patterns and needs of sufferers, the personality types prone to the disease etc.

'Well?' Alice was waiting for an explanation.

Rose told her about the conversation with her mother, and then described her eating pattern, omitting the fact that she might eat four bars of chocolate one after another. That was pure greed and Rose didn't want Alice to vomit into her ear. 'Because I suffer with dreadful bouts of guilt after eating too much, then never seem to stop eating and when I'm not eating I think about food.' Rose stopped herself, afraid Alice might really begin to see her as a glutton rather than a helpless food addict, especially when Alice was so thin.

'Ignore your mother first of all. As for the eating, 90 per cent of women are that way inclined regardless of our size. I know I am fanatical about calorie. We're women, we can't help it.'

Rose smiled at Alice's honesty. She was obviously underweight but never exercised or ate healthily, just the bare minimum to survive. Although Alice was forever talking about nutrition and threatening to join a gym, she always found a reason to put it off.

'I think I'd like a good dose of anorexia nervosa,' Alice dramatically declared.

'Or Bulimia,' Rose joined in.

'Not Bulimia, I couldn't cope with that vomiting sensation. Yuk, I'd hate it.'

'Yes, starving to death sounds more reasonable,' Rose continued, both girls enjoying the nonsense of it. 'Bulimia is too much bother, it seems a bit pointless shopping and cooking all that food just to chuck it all up.'

'Not to mention the constant smell of vomit,' Alice said.

'So we could definitely agree that anorexia is the all round winner. We'll both say a prayer tonight that we get two good doses of anorexia nervosa.'

'I'll second that,' Rose added, wondering if it could happen that easily.

'Seriously, you don't have an eating disorder,' Alice reassured her. 'You wouldn't be able to function in your job, especially when you spend you days acting like a Mad Scientist juggling chemicals.'

Rose was an Industrial Chemical Analyst and secretly loved the fact that all of the girls were in awe of her having such 'a brainy job' as they put it. She was also pursuing a doctorate and continued to be intrigued by all aspects of science, especially microbiology and parasitology, her current favourites.

Alice continued, 'Anyway, Aengus would have spotted it long ago and had it treated.'

Rose welcomed Alice's comments and was already beginning to feel a lot better.

'But don't despair, help is close at hand,' Alice said jokingly. 'The Atkins Diet is back in fashion. One of the girls working with me has dropped three dress sizes in three months. It's a good quick fix.'

'I thought the Atkins Diet was dangerous?' Rose asked.

'Who cares if it works; it's short term and it's only to kick start you.'

Although it sounded unhealthy Rose thought it wouldn't hurt to try it for a short time. Two suggestions on the same diet mean it must work; she was definitely going to do something, no excuses, start on Monday.

Alice continued, 'Seemingly you eat as much protein as you want, absolutely no carbohydrates whatsoever, do a little exercise, it's easy to follow and in no time you'll be stick thin.'

Alice made it sound like literally stepping out of your skin to reveal a perfect size ten. Suddenly Rose had visions of herself in tight brightly coloured t-shirts with tight blue jeans to show off long thin legs that belonged to her. It sounded too good to be true. At last there seemed to be an easy solution.

She packed her weekend bag and ate her mini chocolate bars without an ounce of remorse. Maybe she might just shock everyone by getting a thorough make-over or revamping, as her mother suggested. Rose stood in front of the full length mirror. Okay, the mirror didn't lie; she was about 30 pounds overweight. Her once auburn curly hair lay limp on her shoulder. She would substitute contact lenses for the thick milk-bottle glass and become like her friends. She'd invest in make-up and choose styles that suited her. That night she slept blissfully, dreaming she had a size ten figure with a tan from a holiday in Morocco. There was a boyfriend in her dream. A tall beautiful blonde bloke with biceps and a cute smile like Matthew McConaughey.

# CHAPTER 3

Fiona O'Donnell took a well deserved break after working herself into one of her frenzied cleaning modes. First thing that morning she removed the Christmas decorations and routinely cleaned the shelves over the cash register. From there it spiralled into a five hour marathon polishing session. With her usual agility Fiona stepped down from the bar counter after returning the gleaming lampshade. Satisfied the pub was sparkling for another three months, she filled the kettle, grateful to have a breather before the usual Thursday evening office workers arrived. They were a noisy crowd, their upbeat weekend mood seemed to engulf the bar. Fiona sat by the lighting fire with her coffee and mobile phone. The first text message was from Lucinda. It was indecipherable, just numbers and letters. Fiona assumed she had been driving when texting and tried unsuccessfully ringing her back.

The next message was from Alice. 'Has Lorcan arrived yet? Bet u wearin makeup. . .'

Another text from Alice followed immediately, 'And perfume.'

Fiona was not surprised to see a third message,

'and the sexiest underwear imaginable.'

Despite playing it down, Fiona was flattered that one of the men from the office clientele had asked her out. In fact, it had been so long since any man had asked her out, it took two days before it dawned on her.

On New Year's Eve, Fiona had pointed him out to Alice, 'That guy's very friendly, he keeps going on about meeting up some night.'

'What exactly did he say?' Alice asked, gobsmacked that any woman could be that slow, especially when dating and men were her speciality.

'He said, "I'd like to get to know you more, we should meet up some

night" something along those lines,' Fiona was vague.

'He's after asking you out.' Alice screeched, loving the possibility of a romance.

'What did you say?'

'Something like, "Yea, we'll do that sometime," I can't remember.'

Incredulously Alice quizzed her, 'You're after being asked on a date by a guy and you can't remember if you agreed to meet him? What were you thinking?'

Fiona didn't feel the need to wear make-up or perfume for Lorcan, she didn't fancy him or maybe she still missed Simon, but she didn't dare admit that.

Fiona had never worked anywhere apart from her father's establishment, and mostly she enjoyed it. She had an innate interest in people and enjoyed most of her regular customers. Unlike most publicans, their bar had a varied clientele, from very old to the coming-of-age drinkers. When the bar industry was facing such an uncertain future, Fiona thought the mixing of ages would be their saving grace. There were so many different characters to converse with. Her regulars were like an extension of her own family, she was as interested in them as much as they were with her. Fiona knew about most of the ups and downs of their lives. Occasionally she was startled to hear herself offer advice on anything from difficult children to work problems or plain marital bickering. There was a steady flow of gossip, some of it revealing, some malicious and other snippets of news were clearly fabricated. On a busy weekend night it could be hard work, some of the customers getting irate when they felt they were not been served quickly enough. Fiona knew the bar trade, how to talk to people, who to be gentle with and who to be firm with.

Humming to the latest local traditional band playing on the stereo, she was admiring her glistening pub when her most regular customer arrived. Fiona could set the clock by him.

'The usual, Fitzer?' she enquired out of politeness.

'Good girl,' he took a seat beside her mug of coffee, opened the paper on the page of the crossword and laid it on the table with his pen. Fitzer was a bachelor in his mid 60s. Since retiring, he lived a simple life of daily mass, a few drinks, and reading every newspaper. Fiona placed the large whiskey and a glass of water in front of him. The pint was left settling on the counter.

'Have you signed this?' she asked, taking the 'Ruby Anniversary' card for the Joyce's.

Fitzer smiled at the sight of the two smiling pink teddy bears on the cover of the card, and at the bottom 'From all in O'Donnell's' had been printed in large black ink. Inside the card he recognised all the local names with the usual congratulatory messages.

'Will you be working all weekend?' he asked while adding his best wishes to the card.

'We'll be up to our eyes with the party tomorrow night, some of the girls are coming down from Dublin. I've arranged for extra staff and I'm taking Saturday night off.'

Fitzer raised his eyes in amusement; he enjoyed the joviality the girls brought with them when they returned from Dublin. They always arrived to O'Donnell's Bar dressed so glamorously and full of chatter. By the end of the night their drunken, fun-loving attitude was a reminder of the changing times. Both sipped their drinks in silence until Fitzer couldn't get a clue to the crossword.

'Definite, categorical, eight letters, something, something, S, something, T, and all the rest are blank?' he looked up from his paper, rolling the pen impatiently between his fingers.

Today, Fiona could play the game with Fitzer without a grain of impatience, already she was looking forward to the weekend, and for the moment had something pleasant to distract her. Whenever the girls came home, she tasted what life at her age should have been about. Temporarily, her responsibilities and disappointments were forgotten. The girls brought home stories from Dublin; news of their jobs and colleagues they worked with, or dates they had been on. Each had their own fashion sense, except Rose who didn't follow any trend and recoiled at the mere suggestion of shopping. Her abnormality was easily forgiven, or her 'disability', as Lucinda labelled her aversion to shopping. Rose was the dependable stoic member of the group who offered the most reasonable advice, while the other girls would have happily chosen drama over common sense.

The previous week both Lucinda and Fiona went shopping in Limerick during the January sales. On Lucinda's advice Fiona had treated herself to a new red satin blouse to match her skinny black jeans and black peep toe platform shoes. Regaining her interest in shopping was another welcomed return to her old life. When living with Simon she could neither afford nor didn't believe she deserved such a luxury. Both Fiona and Lucinda had their faces done by a make-up artist rather than a beautician.

'Anyone can do it like a beautician but a make-up artist will make us sexually inviting,' Lucinda had exaggeratedly purred like a cat with a devilish pout.

When the make-up artist asked who they aspired to look like, Lucinda purred like a cat quietly enough that only Fiona could hear, the silliness of it spurred them into a fit of the giggles. Lucinda had a way of making the little moments in life entertaining. That afternoon Fiona could quite happily have spent the day ambling from shop to shop. Before going home they examined their faces in the car. Lucinda's eyes remained on Fiona as if noticing something for the first time. She said quietly, 'You look just like him.'

'Who?'

'Vincent.'

Fiona thought Lucinda's comment strange, yet stranger again when Lucinda blushed. Fiona had the same black curly hair and oval shaped face as Vincent. Both had a strong jaw-line, brown almond-shaped eyes and sallow skin. The only reason Fiona knew how to describe her appearance was because the make-up artist had gone into the details during her session. Each observation also applied to Vincent. Fiona had been embarrassed under such scrutiny while Lucinda lapped up the information by asking questions and bought all the recommended products.

The next text message was from Fiona's hairdresser confirming her Saturday appointment. Today she could smile and carry her troubles with ease. Since Emmet got that bit older and Fiona didn't mind leaving him in the care of his grandfather, she was beginning to feel she was catching up on many of the wasted years.

'Well Fiona?' Fitzer was waiting for her response then called the clue again.

'Positive.'

'Spot on,' he said, annoyed at its simplicity, then filled in another few words.

'The easiest ones can be the hardest.'

'Less of your excuses,' she joked.

When Fiona thought about the many dreadful mistakes she had made over the years, she felt aged. At 31 years old, her life had almost passed her by. There had been too many occasions of suffering with one disappointment following another. Eventually Fiona had found herself back where she started, working for her father and living in his home. Except this time round she carried her own broken heart and her ten year old son's insecurities. Her initial optimism and great dreams of sharing her life with the man she loved had faded when she finally accepted the true extent of her marriage. It had not happened overnight, a great deal of ambitions were sacrificed along the way. Maybe things will change. As quickly Fiona realised she could never risk returning to Simon on the off chance that he would change. There was too much to lose. His love for alcohol, gambling and other women superseded everything else in his life. Maybe he will change and come back wanting to start all over again, if only things had been different. Maybe if she had been different, even stronger or more tolerant, or if they had lived somewhere different . . . Stop it, she told herself. On the shelf over the cash register she could see a picture of Emmet on his First Holy Communion day. The mere sight of it made Fiona feel ungrateful. Her only child was the one great reason she had to survive and the only positive surviving aspect of her marriage. Fiona smiled at the sight of his cheeky grin and missing front teeth. His expressive light blue eyes were a constant reminder of Simon.

Her father, Sean, strolled through the bar, his chores on the farm done for the day. The men greeted each other briefly. 'The fire still looks inviting,' Sean nodded at the hearth and continued walking towards their living quarters.

Fiona knew she was needed at home, and she needed her father as much as he needed her. After Fiona's mother, Margaret, died when she was a child, Sean had raised her and Vincent alone. With the ten year age gap between Fiona and her brother, they had little in common to form a close sibling bond. Fiona liked what Vincent disliked. She was a country girl who adored the slower pace of life, while Vincent fled his rural beginnings at his first chance. By the time Fiona was four, Vincent was already at boarding school and their paths rarely crossed. Apart from a few brief years as an impressionable girl when Fiona was proud of the attention bestowed upon her handsome older brother, Vincent had no other great impact on her life.

Her father was not the type to remarry, 'There was only one woman for me,' Sean had said, the one and only time Fiona enquired. There was a period during Fiona's teenage years when she scrutinised the old photographs of her parents for clues about the mother she never knew. She found nothing enlightening about her deceased parent. Her father had appeared so far removed from the old sombre farmer she cherished. His full head of hair and wide smile made Fiona realise that Sean had also enjoyed a youth. Judging from the photographs it was a happy youth and a brief happy marriage. With his arm around his wife's shoulder and expressive smile, it prompted Fiona to tell her father she'd give him her blessing if he wanted to remarry.

'You'd give me your blessing?' He had laughed at his daughter's teenage attempt at support and smiled to himself for too long. Then he said, with that far away look that reminded Fiona he was an old man who found his answers a long time ago, 'There's no need. I have all I want.' On days like that she realised again he had been privy to the greatest kind of love that she never found with Simon. When he'd refer to his late wife, she noticed how he smiled. Fiona guessed it was a depth of love as great as it gets and believed he'd find again after his death.

'She'll be waiting for me,' he'd said pointing upwards, 'if the Lord allows me in.'

Fiona was also touched and comforted by his loyalty to a woman who would always remain a stranger in a photo. Unfortunately for Fiona, Sean was equally as steadfast in his reluctance to change how the bar was run, or alter its appearance in any way. He seemed happier to leave it as dilapidated as it had been for the past century. Sean didn't notice the paint peeling off the walls in the toilets or the lopsided counter. It was this reluctance that was Fiona's only irritation with her job. They needed to be forward-thinking and pro-active at a time when the bar industry was so uncertain. Fiona accepted that change for a man of her father's age would be difficult, he was almost 80 but equally she knew their premises had so much more potential. The location attracted the varied crowd. With Irish society changing and the publicans' livelihood at an all time low, for Fiona, it was pivotal to change their business to accommodate this shift. As always Sean wanted to play it safe. According to her father, it had always been a working man's bar and always would be. 'Why fix what's not broken?' he would ask. 'That bar fed us when we were children when money was scarce and others were starving.'

How could she point out to him that times had changed and Ireland was a poverty stricken third world country back then? Eventually he had allowed her to install a jukebox, which had the desired effect and brought in a younger, more vibrant crowd.

'You nagged me about the Music box.'

'Jukebox,' she corrected.

'More like Nuisance box with some of that loud rubbish it plays. Now you want to be hiring bands and building stages. Next you'll be knocking walls.'

How perceptive! With a little reconstruction, Fiona knew it could be one of the biggest pubs in Tipperary. With the unused stables in the back and several idle rooms surrounding the main bar, they could treble their income. For the last 150 years they used the large L shaped bar she sat in. The current furnishings had been installed 30 years ago and without any wear and tear, it was dated. Every morning Fiona made a point of lighting the open fire knowing how inviting it was, each day she polished and scrubbed where she could. Of course the ancient stains and indentions would never go away. Tomorrow, Fiona decided, she would really force the issue of hiring a band after he saw the takings from the Joyce party. She would also provide snacks and decorate the bar with balloons and other party pieces. January was the quietest month of the year, locals were either too sick or broke to drink after Christmas, or they were adhering to the freshly made New Year's resolutions. There was nothing to lose if they chanced a live band within the next few weeks.

Fiona's thoughts returned to Simon. She speculated about his Christmas. Where did he spend Christmas Day, or was he alone in some cold bed-sit? He probably enjoyed the time off work with some friends, possibly a new girlfriend. Maybe he worked, although that would be unlikely; Simon only worked out of desperate necessity. There had been no contact for over a year, and some nights Fiona found it hard to believe how she could lie awake at night worrying about him rather than hating him. According to everyone else she had every reason to despise him. Lately she had softened again and the anger waned but the hurt remained. There were times when she was surprisingly charitable and her love for him resurfaced. Fiona believed she knew Simon, she knew that beneath the rough exterior lay a misunderstood man who just wanted to be loved. He was the only man she ever really loved. But the scars on her body were a harsh reminder of the episodes she tried to deny. Her father had always been against the relationship. He insisted Simon was a different calibre of man. Several times he suggested that Simon knew too much for a man of his years. Fiona suspected it was Simon's Dublin accent and the fact that Sean was not familiar with her husband's background.

All belonging to Fiona came from the local area. Her father could pinpoint a small patch of land where his ancestors originated. That small cherished holding remained in the family to this day. She was also aware that the two men could not have been more different. Her father was a man who treated his family with the utmost reverence. Without every articulating it, Fiona realised a long time ago that both she and Vincent were her father's most precious gifts. Sean was old-fashioned in every sense of the word. He wore dark suits winter and summer; a good dark suit and tie for mass and Sundays, and a dark suit and tie for everyday use. Simon wore jeans and, with the exception of the day they were married, she had never seen him wear a suit or tie. Despite owning a pub all of his life and being at the forefront of witnessing changing Ireland, Sean disapproved of women drinking pints or getting drunk or even cursing, whereas Simon expected it. Sean was a traditionalist and Simon abhorred boundaries.

'Another pint whenever you're ready,' Fitzer called.

There was nothing left but to get on with life and Fiona knew it would be pointless enquiring about Simon. For now Fiona would enjoy working this evening and looked forward to seeing the girls over the weekend. Alice would be home from her break in Tunisia with a small gift for everyone and something for Emmet too. The girls treated Emmet like a nephew, always encouraging Fiona to bring him to Dublin for weekends to attend movies or pantomimes or ice skating, depending on the season. Alice promised some juicy gossip on her current boyfriend. She enjoyed giving her blow by blow accounts of how her romance with her toy boy was advancing. Lucinda would be as witty as ever by turning the most serious conversations into a skit. Equally she was always attempting to help Fiona improve her social life. She was forever picking out new suitors for Fiona and bringing home accessories and odd items of clothing she thought might please Fiona. Most of the clothes were lovely, whereas other items would take a little confidence to wear in Tipperary. Rose was the core of the group and the one they turned to in times of crisis, she would listen to their problems and always offered the most reasonable advice. And each one of them were bound by a solid unyielding friendship. They shared an unspoken loyalty for one and other that began almost 30 years earlier when they sat together in their first classroom.

# CHAPTER 4

Adamant there would be no more distractions, Alice Ruane switched off her mobile phone, at least until she had most of her preparations done for the weekend. She could hear her housemate, Tracey's gentle knock on the door over the sound of the music. She wouldn't get a thing done if they began chatting so early in the evening.

'Alice, hi, are you decent?'

Alice didn't answer her. First, she laid out five sets of clothes on her bed, including three pairs of shoes for day wear, one pair of night-time platforms, one pair of sandals, two bottles of nail varnish, the new perfume she'd bought on holidays, and four scarves. Alice loved the fact that scarves were back in fashion again, nothing dressed up an outfit like an elegant choker. She hesitated before packing her GHD hair straightener. Recently she'd had her hair cut short and bleached blonde, and she liked its new tousled look. She packed the GHD anyway, just in case. Tomorrow morning she'd wear her new pink polka dot scarf with her new cerise top from Mango, skinny jeans and flat green shoes. At night she'd wear the pink sandals with pink nail varnish. To hell with the freezing January weather, she thought dismissively. The Red Hot Chilli Peppers were blaring from the stereo and she welcomed the familiar flutter of excitement at the prospect of another fun-filled weekend. Lastly, she packed her night-time going-out make-up and left the day-time make-up beside her toothpaste for the morning.

Alice lived for the weekends and social events, in fact, any excuse to dress up was welcomed. She stood back to admire her new clothes and was reminded of Lucinda. On the same day over the Christmas holidays, they both bought the same jeans. They had squeezed into the same small dressing room and giggled at the over-helpful sales assistant. Lucinda's jovial mood that day seemed light years away from her cruel comments a few days later. Anything more than four glasses of wine did not suit Lucinda, as was the case on the night that she had insulted Chloe. Chloe, one of Alice's work colleagues, was an ideal target for Lucinda. Chloe sought compliments, when she asked for their opinion on her new tweed suit, Lucinda made a litany of condescending remarks almost reducing Chloe to tears.

'I hate that look,' Lucinda said with disapproval, 'It's dated and old-womanly. It's usually worn by women with ill-fitting false aspirations.'

'I like those rich autumn colours,' Alice said embarrassed by Lucinda's harshness, 'I think it looks very elegant.'

'Would you wear it?' Lucinda aggressively asked Alice, knowing most fashion was too conservative for her, not to mention an outfit as normal as a tweed suit.

'If I wanted to impress, yes, absolutely,' she told a half-truth. 'We're far too young for that tweed look,' Lucinda said to Chloe in her condescending voice.

The venom of Lucinda's bite preceded her. She could be scary and cruel, and she was an ace at ridiculing those she felt deserved one of her verbal assaults. Lucinda had a way with words that would reduce women to tears and frighten most men. Alice, Fiona and Rose were usually spared her cruel piercing observations.

'I love tweed,' Rose piped up having tuned into the conversation.

'I rest my case,' Lucinda said pointedly, as Rose was renowned for her dire fashion sense. Rose laughed, never one to take offence from anything Lucinda said.

Alice had raised her eyebrows at Lucinda, while Lucinda simply returned a quizzical shrug. Since these recent unpredictable outbursts Alice had developed a cautious habit of vetting people before they'd meet Lucinda. Friendships were not supposed to be an endurance test, as theirs was of late. Alice understood that everyone had bad days, except Lucinda's problems appeared deeper. Over the years, Lucinda had been prone to odd behaviour which everybody tolerated because when Lucinda was good, she was very, very good. Describing Lucinda reminded Alice of the children's rhyme about the girl with the curl in her hair right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very, very good

And when she was bad,

She was horrid.'

In fact, Alice could think of nobody she'd rather be with than Lucinda when she was acting normal. An uneventful trip to the corner shop could be entertaining, yet the same trip could be excruciating if she was in a bad mood. Recently, Lucinda had treaded new ground by insulting Alice. After a leisurely meal out, Alice made of point of keeping the receipt. Her job provided her with an allowance each month to entertain clients, though it wasn't strictly orthodox to entertain her friends on her company's money. Lucinda had jumped on the bandwagon like a judgemental do-gooder.

'You get paid enough without ripping off your company. That is why the country is in such a crisis. People like you, lining your own pockets.' Lucinda snapped.

Alice had listened impassively before suggesting if she had such an issue with it, Lucinda should stick her fingers down her throat and throw up the meal and red wine.

'I hate that mentality,' Lucinda had continued. 'It's greed on your part.'

Alice got irritated all over again thinking about her petty nonsense. After Lucinda had reacted like that, Alice swore she would never again tell her about the freebies she got from work, nor would she ever include her in any of the regular concessions. Through her job Alice got free concert tickets, meals in reputable restaurants and weekend stays in hotels. Alice noted Lucinda did not have a problem using those tokens. Yet Alice was concerned that Lucinda's problems could be much worse. She had read an article about depression on the internet which made her think of Lucinda. Whatever her problem was, it saddened Alice.

Deciding to think happier thoughts, Alice made a mental list of what CD's to pack for the journey to Tipperary with Rose. She also needed to plan how she would escape from her office early without being spotted. After just returning from a week in the sun she didn't want to appear to be taking liberties. But Lucinda popped into her head again while she began to wax her legs. Throughout all of her recent schizophrenic mood swings the only constant complaint in Lucinda's life was her alleged bouts of sickness. She seemed to be constantly ill. Too many times Lucinda had bailed out of a planned gathering at the last minute with a litany of feeble excuses. If she was to be believed, she was prone to every single ailment known to science. Lucinda constantly had the flu or threatened tonsillitis. If she ever took the time to count how often she claimed to have food poisoning, it must have averaged once a month. Recently she went as far as discussing haemorrhoids. Alice thought only mothers and the aged suffered from these, certainly not a young, childless woman as healthy as Lucinda. In typical dramatic Lucinda-style, she had gone into far too much detail, describing how painful and uncomfortable her bowel movements had been.

'You've no idea what I'm going through,' Lucinda phoned Alice to moan, 'Unless you've had piles you couldn't be sympathetic.' She reprimanded Alice for not being compassionate enough. 'You know I can't even sit down with my problem.'

Not believing a word of it, Alice asked, 'What are you doing now?'

She was hoping to catch her out in a lie. It sounded too ridiculous for words that she would have to stay standing for every minute of the day.

'I'm lying on my bed. Why?'

'Oh. I didn't think of that.'

'Did you think I was standing for the entire day?' she asked incredulously.

'Seemingly I have a "fisher tear", it's worse than normal piles. It's a tear in the back passage; it never repairs itself, so right now mine is ripped wide open.'

Alice held the phone away from her ear, uncomfortable with Lucinda's graphic description. After that she believed Lucinda; nobody would go to so much trouble researching haemorrhoids. But none of that took away from Lucinda's other deliberate lies. Recently she had lied on two separate evenings as to her whereabouts. Not that it mattered where she was, but she led the girls to believe she was out with work colleagues while Alice knew for a fact she had been in her apartment on both occasions. Alice had been suspicious enough to drive by on both evenings, and although her car was not in its space, the lights were on in her apartment. Admittedly, she felt like a stalker. Then there were all these new mysterious friends circulating on the scene. Alice had met most of Lucinda's colleagues on random Friday evening drinking sessions. Lucinda was mentioning liaisons with so many new friends it was as if she was making up the names. How sad would that be? None of it made any sense. Alice couldn't quite put her finger on why, only Lucinda had definitely not been herself lately. This new bitter streak had come 20 years too late. She missed the old Lucinda. The more she thought about it, the more concerned she became. Confronting Lucinda would not have been an easy feat; she would twist Alice's words and make her sound like the one with the problem. She would have to challenge her at some stage and gauge her reaction. For the moment, she would observe and see how she behaves over the weekend.

Determined not to allow anything to spoil her plans for the weekend and anticipating two good nights in Tipperary, Alice lit a cigarette and sat on the chair in her bedroom before lathering her body with moisturiser. She used a face mask to cleanse her skin. Yesterday she'd had the hair removed from her upper lip and her eyebrows waxed, preferring to get it done early in case it left any mark. She would call Fiona later to see if there was any news from home, then tactfully text her brother to see if he or any of his friends would be in Tipperary tomorrow night, have a night cap with Tracey, and paint her nails at the same time.

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Alice switched on her mobile. She would hate if someone had tried to ring and didn't leave a message. She sighed at the amount of chores she had to tend to; there were not enough hours in the day.

'Alice, are you decent?' Tracey knocked on the door again.

Right on time, Alice thought, now that her most urgent jobs for the weekend had been completed, 'Come on in Tracey.'

Truthfully, Alice loved rushing about planning her social calendar, meeting new people and living for any additional excitement. Most of the time she liked work but mainly for the socialising aspect. Living in a rented house in Rathgar with four single girls was eventful. It was perfect to satisfy her thirst for a steady flow of drama and love sagas. The hustle and bustle of Dublin kept her feeling wonderfully alive. While the other girls complained about the noisy streets and the inconvenience of crowded shopping areas, Alice thrived on it. She loved to wear her head phones and spend hours shopping and playing her part in the anonymous throng. With the exception of occasionally showing some vague interest in a mortgage or pension scheme when she spoke with Tracey, Alice gave no thought to saving for a rainy day or trying to get onto the property ladder. Alice couldn't say where Tracey worked except it was for some bank or financial institution. She dealt mainly with pensions and other vague monetary matters that Alice couldn't give a fiddlers' about, except that occasionally she got a notion to get proactive about her future.

'I've got those forms you wanted,' Tracey handed Alice the information on a new saving incentive her employers were promoting.

'Oh great, just leave it on the dresser. Which one do you prefer?' Alice held up two pairs of shorts, one grey and one peach. Being an ultra conservative dresser Tracey could not fathom where Alice was planning on wearing short-shorts in January.

'The grey. Do you want me to explain in layman's terms the rates for the saving scheme?' Tracey offered.

'Later, yes, maybe later,' Alice had no notion of upsetting herself with money matters, especially as she was just back from her holidays and penniless again.

Tracey smiled, amused with Alice's lack of interest, 'That means never.'

Alice didn't pretend otherwise. She knew it was daft getting Tracey to bring home the paperwork, only to leave the untouched forms gathering dust and shifting them from one place to another before finally dumping them. Investments and special saving schemes bored her. Money burned a hole in her pocket. She would also sporadically enquire about a private pension, just to feel like she was doing something constructive, but she usually gave up after the first phone call.

'Should we have a glass of wine?' Alice suggested now that she was almost finished packing.

Alice's weekend began on a Thursday night. She returned from the kitchen with two glasses and a chilled bottle of white wine. It only took half a glass for Tracey to start spilling the beans on her love-life. While Alice continued packing and arranging her clothes, Tracey picked up where they had left off the previous Thursday night.

'His mother expects me to give up my job and be a full-time housewife. I told her no woman can afford to do that in this day and age. Imagine there are women who still think we should give up the day job after we marry.'

Although Alice liked Tracey and enjoyed living with her, she was not the type of person Alice would normally have befriended. She was too normal. Lucinda said Tracey needed to find some real problems. Each Thursday they would share a bottle of wine and discuss their week, but it was never anything like having a chat with one of the Tipperary girls. Tracey was consumed by her boyfriend and his family. Alice was dying to ask how their sex life was. She'd love to know if Tracey had any fetishes that would transform her into a more interesting person.

'That's a bit dated,' Alice said, knowing Tracey loved discussing her fiancé and his family.

'Exactly my point,' Tracey said delighted to have someone agreeing with her. 'With the cost of living today, almost every home needs two incomes.'

Tracey got engaged two months ago and obviously anticipated a married life, with the interfering mother-in-law living next door. Tracey continued with her plans, 'I will probably take some time off, you know, I might do a cookery class. Maybe you and I could do a course on baking?'

'Absolutely not,' Alice recoiled at the notion of anything domesticated. Alice didn't have a practical bone in her body; she had no idea how to cook, and no desire to learn. Jokingly when she ate dinner with friends, while the women would boast about the preparation of their delicious meals, Alice would point to a small red scar on her left hand and announce shamelessly, 'I turned on my oven a few years ago. Never again.'

She had no idea how much a carton of milk cost but was aware it wouldn't be more than €3. She could make a very good guess at the price of all the stock in River Island or BT2, or where to get three lipsticks for the price of one, or which stores had the best deals on the latest DVD s and CDs.

At last her overnight bag was packed for the weekend and her new clothes were ready to be stepped into in the morning. When her mobile rang with the James Bond theme music alerting her to Gareth's incoming call, she was surprised to feel a little internal flutter. The notion that she was dating a 20 year old student who had been on work experience in her office tickled her.

'Hi babe,' he said, 'What are you up to?'

She adored the way he called her babe. It made her feel like the cool kind of girl she had always envied. Even his vocabulary engaged her; every single thing about him was so new.

'I've just finished packing for my weekend in Tipperary.'

'Wow, I'd like to be a fly on the wall to see what you girls get up to. I bet you've another guy down there?'

His childish jealous streak was cute.

'Of course, one in every village. I've packed the Royksopp Melody A.M. CD.'

'Best album ever.'

Every week he bought her a new CD or a small piece of jewellery or funky t-shirts; items she would never have dared putting anywhere near her wardrobe before. He was always introducing her to new artists, writers and poets. Gareth also wrote poems for Alice, she couldn't make up her mind whether the poetry was a beautiful form of art or erotic, fuelling long nights of experimental sex. She had read out one of his poems to the girls expecting them to be emotionally aroused at Gareth's lyrical talent.

'I wake in the morning, erect,

Roll over and give it to you direct.

We jam and bang to great effect

Until our juices have ejected

And for the day we feel elected.'

*

Alice tried to underplay his profound words, 'That's just an example of something he scribbled on a serviette at breakfast.'

Instead of the anticipated awed silence, each one of them fell about laughing. Each found it hilarious that Alice was taking it so seriously.

'He's bloody affected,' Lucinda bellowed.

'So when am I going to see you again? Monday night?' Gareth asked.

Although Alice enjoyed his company she didn't want to overdo it. The week long sun holiday with some of her work colleagues had been enjoyable, but she couldn't envisage spending a full week alone in his company. Sometimes it took a lot of energy to keep up.

'I'll text you when I get up on Sunday, but yea, Monday night sounds good.'

'We'll meet in The Village or somewhere we can talk.'

Alice was struck again by his relaxed confidence. She guessed that he was rarely refused anything.

'I'll try and make it for six.'

'Great babe.'

Wanting to keep their little fling quiet was understandable; people thrived on that kind of gossip. Not that it was any big deal, Alice didn't want people knowing she was dating a student eleven years her junior. In fact, she would question the term 'dating,' as they never went to any of their local venues together and neither had he met her circle of friends. The only people aware of their relationship were the Tipperary girls. Not that Alice was ashamed of him, quite the opposite: she thought him the most beautiful exotic person she had ever laid eyes on. Gareth was over six feet three inches tall, slightly too thin, and he had the palest skin she had ever seen without any trace of a freckle or small acne scar. His face was blemish-free, his high cheekbones protruded from crystal clear white skin, and to add to his defined features he had deeply sunken sky-blue eyes. His hair was quite short but not shaved short and he wore a goatee which accentuated his exotic bone structure. Alice had gone as far as scrutinising his face for even one blackhead or pimple, and he had been freakishly perfect. She called him The Sickly Prince.

The girls loved to hear the more intimate details of the relationship, and even by her standards, occasionally she went too far with her descriptions.

'I have no inhibitions whatsoever when I'm with him. We're totally free with each other. Last weekend we recorded our love making. The Sickly Prince made a short movie out of it.'

Fiona, who was still suffering from her marriage break up with the one and only man she had ever made love to, almost smothered on her drink.

'Alice, I cannot imagine making love without the cover of the duvet so how did you do it in front of a camera?'

'The Sickly Prince is so comfortable with his sexual prowess, any woman would do it.'

'I beg to differ,' Fiona said, 'What did you do in this small movie?'

'It's only six minutes long and I measure the length of his erect penis.'

Alice was intrigued by The Sickly Prince. He was so creative, and she had never dated a man as adventurous yet she was more comfortable in his company than other men. With such a wide age gap, Alice expected the relationship to eventually fizzle, and The Sickly Prince to become another passing entertaining phase. The secrecy added to the intensity of their meetings, making Alice feel like it was an affair with a married man. They avoided her usual haunts when they went out. She would sneak him into her house when the other girls were out, and he would phone her office under an assumed name. Some of her colleagues lived for their image and would be appalled at anyone dating a student on work experience. The excitement fuelled their sex, and although she didn't take life very seriously she was very professional when it came to her career. Alice believed that work was the only environment where she had to adopt the responsible adult role.

Indeed, there was little to complain about, not that her life had always been as fun-filled. There was a time, in the not too distant past, when she was reluctant to sample any part of life except the familiar. For ten years Alice had dated Ted from Tipperary. Ted's simplicity was still a running joke among her friends. Whenever they wanted to describe a boring task or dull person, they called it a Tipperary Ted. In hindsight, Alice couldn't make up her mind which one of them was the greater bore, herself or Ted. For ten long years, Alice would rush home from Dublin each weekend like a lovelorn teenager. Her courtship had consisted of long walks through Ted's farm, going for a drive and having lunch in a distant town and then a trip to the cinema every Friday night. Their routine was the same, without deviation, week in, week out for ten long years. Every Friday night they would dress up in their safe clothes, she in her normal jeans and plain top, he in his wrangler jeans and white or blue shirt. Or on the very rare occasion Ted might wear a check shirt and complain for the night about it not feeling right. Religiously they would go to the cinema, regardless of what movie was showing. If there were visitors or monsoon rains Ted insisted they go to the 8pm screening every single Friday night. On Saturdays they would go for a long walk come hail, rain or snow. They always made love after their Saturday walk. If memory served Alice correctly, it occurred between 6pm and 6.30pm, routinely as ever; sex was never outside of those hours. On Saturday nights they would go for three drinks. Ted always proclaimed that three drinks were enough for any man. If the girls were home from Dublin or his hurling team won a match, Ted really let his hair down and had a fourth drink.

'Stop it, you're drowning me,' he'd holler when the fourth drink arrived, 'I'll be drunk for the week.' Of course, if a fifth drink arrived, Ted would duly drink it then spend the week regretting it.

'My food has been repeating on me all week. I'll never again have a fifth drink.'

The tragic aspect was that Alice believed and agreed with every utterance from Tipperary Ted. Naively, Alice thought that was what life consisted of. Unable to compare her relationship to any other, she had accepted their mundane existence as normal. No wonder there were periods when she had contemplated taking anti-depressants. With the exception of Alice's mother who occasionally suggested she stay in Dublin to sample weekend city culture, everybody else had accepted Ted as part of Alice's life. Unlike Alice, they were all aghast at what she saw in Ted; he spoke like a retired country hick. Eventually circumstances forced Alice to spend one Friday night in Dublin, then a weekend and gradually as Alice sampled wild Dublin nights, the gap widened between her and Ted. Initially they broke up for a trial period, although Alice had known the relationship was well and truly over. With the end of Tipperary Ted, her new life had begun.

Alice thought about asking The Sickly Prince over, but decided against it, afraid being holed up in her bedroom together until morning would be too much. Maybe the fact that they didn't meet on a regular basis was good enough to keep up the momentum. When she recalled his naked shoulders and long muscular arms, she felt her hormones aching for more of him. Each time she saw him he became more and more attractive to her. Even his stylish cropped hair and all of his clothes were adventurously ahead of fashion. He wore everything with such confidence, only he could get away with it. Initially when The Sickly Prince had arrived at the office for six months work experience, the girls were caught between finding him gorgeous or geeky.

'He's not ugly, it's the mad eyes.' Chloe in the office had said.

'I love the eyes, they're penetrating,' Alice said.

'No way, his eyes are like that mass murderer Charles Manson's. I'd say he'd cut up a woman.'

Regardless of what murdering potential they thought he possessed, all would have viewed a trainee student graphic designer a little beneath their standing. Alice hadn't given The Prince a whole lot of thought until they went to a concert together, he had a free ticket and she was at a loose end. They only went together to watch the gig as mutual music lovers and he promised to protect her from all the drunken, drugged youths. Little did she realise she too would be sampling drugs that night, and behaving as recklessly as the rest of the revellers. They had gone to see the Arctic Monkeys, later they'd had several drinks in pubs with loud music, smoked several joints, then munched enormous servings of food in McDonalds. He escorted her home after she left a puddle of puke on Dame Street in Central Dublin, and not one bit of it fazed him. He behaved like a gentleman, slept on her couch and the following morning brought breakfast to her bedroom with a flower he'd picked from the garden. At work the following morning, the women were hungry for the gory details and cross-examined them. Alice had made it clear they were both Arctic Monkeys fans and that's as far as it went. Nobody deserved the grilling the office would give them if they thought there had been more to it.

Sipping her glass of wine while Tracey analysed her fiancé's brothers, Alice's thoughts returned to Lucinda again. Maybe she was going through some sort of nervous breakdown. Knowing Lucinda's childhood had not been the most stable, Alice assumed it could finally be taking its toll on her. It was difficult to say, and would be even more difficult broaching the subject with the other girls. They were all fiercely loyal to one another. It went without saying that there were no secrets between any of them, they discussed everything regardless of how ordinary their daily problems sounded. Alice toyed with the idea of calling to Lucinda's apartment on the pretext of returning the make-up she had borrowed. Chances were Lucinda had been lying about going out. If Alice called she was sure she would find Lucinda at home; it was still early enough to drive by. She could ask her what was on her mind. Of course Lucinda would turn the visit around and make Alice feel as if she was the one with the problem. It was a no win situation.

# CHAPTER 5

Lucinda Tidy kept her eyes closed. She could sense a set of footsteps circling her bed, then she felt a face lean closely to hers. There was a distinct smell of cheese and onion crisps.

'Are you awake?' a woman asked in a childlike voice.

Lucinda didn't answer.

'Hello, how are you feeling?' asked the woman, raising her voice.

Lucinda lay still with her eyes firmly shut until she heard the footsteps leave. The last thing she wanted was that fruit-cake thinking they were bosom-buddies now that they were holed up in the same nut house. It was awful listening to her for the past few hours diagnosing every other patient in the ward. Lucinda had learned from her uninvited guest that they were in the psychiatric ward of Elm Park Hospital in Dublin. After waking at some ungodly hour of the night, not having the first idea where she was, some obliging nurse had given Lucinda a bucket which she'd duly spent the night vomiting into. Between bouts of sickness, Anna had appeared at the foot of her bed like a ghost to compound her disorientation.

'How are you feeling?' she had asked, edging closer to her.

Lucinda noticed the constant stare in her eyes. Her skin was unhealthily pallid and her hair was bleached yellow. Her demeanour screamed out for colour.

'How are you feeling?' she asked again, dragging out the word "feeeeling", making it sound as though she was filled with compassion.

'I think I'll live,' Lucinda quietly said.

'My name is Anna, I'm in the first bed beside the door. What did you do?' she asked excitedly.

'What do you mean, what did I do?'

'You have to have done something to end up here.'

Lucinda kept the bucket under her chin.

'What?'

'I'll bet you don't know where you are?' Anna shrieked, taking great delight in Lucinda's ignorance.

Lucinda didn't have a chance to answer; Anna was clearly bursting to be the one to break the news. 'You're in a psychiatric ward.'

Lucinda must have looked dubious.

'I can prove it to you. Walk straight down the corridor, through the double doors, and there's a big sign saying "Psychiatric Ward."'

When Lucinda didn't react Anna stepped closer to her bed and said, 'I took 50 sleeping pills, what did you do?'

The night nurse returned with a clean bucket and ushered Anna back to bed. 'You know not to harass the other patients.'

Several hours later, Lucinda was physically and mentally drained from sickness and lack of sleep. How did she end up here? Retching into a white bucket in a psychiatric ward filled with screw-balls was not the type of setting anyone would like to replay, especially not Lucinda; it didn't sit well with the image she like to convey. On top of that she felt so alone; even more alone when she thought about Vincent. How could so much have happened over a few short days? Once again, she queried the sincerity of his text. Maybe she deserved everything she got: it was Karma. Regardless of the excuses Lucinda used, having an affair with a married man had been wrong. It was written in stone and handed to Moses by God Himself. Her loneliness was overwhelming. She pictured Vincent lying in bed with his pretty wife in their lovely home, immersed in the nicer things in life. The picturesque image clawed at her remaining shreds of sanity. Throughout the night, while she gasped for air after more bouts of sickness or enjoyed a few moments of calm, all she saw was Vincent manipulating her for his own needs. So many times that night she vowed to make him pay dearly for this. Nobody made a fool of her; he had led her up the garden path. So often he had told her what she meant to him, and how he missed her and how his life was more bearable with her in it. He had promised her the sun, the moon and the stars, neither has she forgotten about the promised trip to Prague. Then he had dumped her. Unable to establish how everything could sour so suddenly, reality began to dawn on Lucinda.

As the morning advanced, she grew more aware of her surroundings. How did she end up in hospital? Or why was she in a psychiatric ward? Too sick to think straight, she could remember drinking in her apartment and something about pills, and hating Vincent. There were all kinds of unpleasant scenarios running through her mind. Although she didn't know how far she had gone, she did remember heading for Vincent's home to tell him how much she hated him. Lucinda realised if the relationship was not over before, it would certainly be over if she had landed on his doorstep.

'What did you do?' Lucinda could hear Anna question another patient.

'I took 50 sleeping pills. What did you do?' Anna asked as if it was a competition.

'The gas oven, I stuck my head in the gas oven,' a quiet husky voice replied.

'No way?'

'Yeah, he found me.'

'How many times have you been here?'

'I don't know. How many times have I been here?' Lucinda listened to Anna compare notes with the newest recruit to the ward.

'I've lost count,' the woman's husband said. 'Sometimes we're back twice a week, sometimes not for months at a time. It all depends.'

'That's really tough,' Anna said sympathetically, 'but I wouldn't worry; I've been here five times in the last twelve months.'

The nurse held the bucket under Lucinda's chin until she finished heaving then gently wiped her chin. 'Some water to rinse out your mouth?' the nurse asked in a northern accent.

Lucinda didn't know whether to fall to pieces crying or run as far as possible from the hospital when she heard the nurse's gentle concerned tone. She had never felt as ill or depressed. Although there was nothing left in her stomach, she kept heaving, and along with the excess alcohol from the previous night, it magnified her anxiety. Entire weekends of drinking and taking copious amounts of drugs had not left her feeling as unwell.

'Can I get you anything?' the nurse enquired with a concerned frown. She had introduced herself as Katie.

'How did I get here?' Lucinda had to ask the inevitable question, if only to put herself out of her misery and at least establish what she was dealing with.

'You don't remember?'

The nurse sat on the side of her bed looking at Lucinda's dishevelled body. Behind the pale, terrified and wounded face Katie could almost see how pretty Lucinda was. Like all of the patients who ended up in a similar state, Katie knew their journey to this particular ward had not been an easy one. Each patient had to be treated with the utmost sensitivity.

'No, I don't really remember how I got here.' Lucinda answered.

'I wasn't on duty myself, but I can find out for you?' The nurse replaced her bucket with a clean one. 'In the meantime, would you like me to contact any of your family members?'

'No, certainly not. I really just need to know how I got here.'

A reaction like that was also not uncommon.

'If you wait one wee minute I'll find out for you.'

Lucinda noticed that it was only beginning to get bright outside. She'd give anything to be going to work this morning, enjoying the trials and tribulations of a normal day. She thought about telling Katie that she had simply overdone her normal quota of G&T's after a hard day in the office, but she didn't have the energy to start concocting lies. After the bleak hours of the night, at least daylight brought with it a sense of relief. She guessed it was about 8am.

Quietly she lay listening to Anna move onto the next patient. 'How are you feeeeling?'

'Fine, thank you. I just need to be left alone.'

In the bed next to Lucinda, the woman kept the curtain closed around her bed.

'Would you like me to open your curtains?' Anna asked as she began to open the curtains as she spoke.

'No thank you. Please, I need them closed.'

'But it's daytime,' Anna insisted.

'I need them closed. I don't like the light.'

Lucinda noticed that the woman looked like a character from the film The Addams Family; she had Morticia's long black hair and palest skin she'd ever seen.

'Why are you here?' Anna asked.

'Please, I need to be left alone.'

'What did you do?'

'Nothing, please, just leave me alone.'

'What's your name?' Anna persisted.

'Betty is my name, I need to rest.'

'But what did you do?'

'I just need to rest for a few days.'

'That means you suffer from depression and you want to change your medication,' Anna said before opening the curtains and walking away.

Lucinda would like to have gotten out of bed to help Betty close her curtains but another wave of sickness kept her pinned to her own bed. It wasn't the sickness, but the mere notion of people finding out about her hospitalization that made her feel so bad. How could she explain her stay in the psycho ward with societies most deranged? Maybe it wouldn't be too bad if she had a private room to herself. Theirs were the kind of lives she had learned to shun. Lucinda's bed was the last in a row of four. She was beside the window, and noticed it was another dark dreary January morning. She was lying on her side trying to get some relief, although it was difficult with the tubes attached to her arms.

Lucinda tried again to make some sense of where it all went wrong. She had always been fiercely in control of every aspect of her life, from her job down to her diet. Her career was advancing better than she'd expected. She was steadily scaling the ladder in the male dominated bank where she had worked for 12 years. She also lived in an excellent location, drove an MG sports car, had an abundance of friends, and a great figure from her four gym sessions per week – all for what? To be at Vincent's disposal whenever he pleased? For several weeks before he had asked her to Prague, she had been having similar thoughts. It was only dawning on Lucinda how one-sided their relationship was. The thoughts occupied her for weeks until she saw no future with Vincent, which meant she saw no future in life. She lost interest in everything and awoke angry each morning. The girls must have noticed. On a daily basis she felt as though she was suffocating. Vincent must also have noticed because shortly after that he had arranged the Prague trip for them.

During the night, Lucinda thought about telling everybody about the affair and how she'd make Vincent sound like a callous serial adulterer, while she would be the innocent victim. For a fleeting moment she thought of the local voices whispering, 'History repeats itself.' Immediately she knew nobody would believe that Lucinda could be anything other than an egotistical bitch. Even Lucinda had to admit that she had her enemies. Telling everybody was not such a good idea; her friends would question her morals, which were not seen in a good light to begin with. Even if her account of how she was cajoled into the relationship by a local womaniser, it would make her look like a gullible fool and that was worse than been seen as a tart. At least she had two days to think about it before going back to work.

By the time the nurse returned, she noticed Lucinda looked worse; her anxious eyes pleaded for good news.

'According to our report, the ambulance picked you up in Rathmines, you were alone.' Katie knew the latter piece of information was the only relevant snippet for Lucinda.

The relief on Lucinda's face was apparent, 'Thank you,' she heard herself whisper.

'Would you like anything else?'

'I need to use a phone.'

Nurse Katie came up trumps. Not only did she have Lucinda's mobile phone, her wallet was also made available to her, all of her cards and cash intact. Holding the mobile, she waited for a few minutes trying to steady her tremulous fingers. Several times she cleared her throat, realising there was an unsteady quiver when she spoke. Lucinda sat on the side of the bed, praying she could manage the call without interrupting herself by retching again. She dialled the office number at 8.55am and waited for the receptionist to pick up.

'Hi Emma, this is Lucinda Tidy,' there was no need for Lucinda to rehearse her lines, whenever work was involved she knew how to play the game. Automatically, she slipped into her professional icy role. When she was in full flight, most people were intimidated by Lucinda.

'I won't be in today, will you tell Andrew I'll call him later,' then very poignantly added, 'he is not to call me.'

At all costs Andrew was the one person she wanted to hide this from. Not that Lucinda didn't want to admit that he had been right all along, Andrew had done his best to warn her.

'Vincent O'Donnell and his kind use people. When they've served their purpose, they are shouldered to one side. You will be treated no differently.' He had advised her more than once. If the truth be told, Lucinda was quite turned on by it. It excited her that her boyfriend was a force to be reckoned with.

'Is everything alright?' Emma obligingly asked, bringing her back to the problem at hand.

'Yes, everything is fine.' Swiftly she hung up. No need to elaborate. She imagined Emma's reaction if she had told her the truth.

'No Emma, things aren't great, I'm in the nut house after trying to top myself because the married bloke I was screwing, and happen to be madly in love with has dumped me, and how was your weekend? Did you go to the park again with that ugly child of yours?' Emma was forever talking about her child and every day of their lives they seemed to go for walks and feed the ducks. During her coffee breaks, Lucinda avoided her like the plague. Lucinda now realised that Emma was not the one lying on a hospital bed feeling as though her life was slipping through her fingers.

Lucinda knew Andrew would suspect something. He was the only person in the entire world who knew about the affair. After working with Lucinda for a few years, Andrew had guessed she was seeing someone. He also guessed that 'someone' was a secret; he was either married or Andrew knew him. That explained Lucinda's secrecy. Whenever he rang, Lucinda spoke in hushed tones and never volunteered any information, which was unlike her. After they unplugged their office phones for renovations, they had mixed up the phone extensions when reinstating their system. Andrew inadvertently heard a message intended for Lucinda from his old college associate Vincent O'Donnell. They'd studied accountancy in DCU; Andrew could never mistake the voice. Occasionally they met at mutual events or at business related functions. Andrew had forgotten that both Vincent and Lucinda were from the same town in Tipperary. Lucinda recalled Andrew trying to warn her about Vincent's other love interests. She had chosen to ignore his advice then, but had suspected there was substance to Andrew's words.

'I know this guy more than you think. Don't forget we were in college together and as a student, he was ruthless. Not to mention how he treats women.'

'Your college days were over 20 years ago, people do change.'

'That is true, but he hasn't changed.' Andrew was adamant.

Lucinda had refused to listen. During their years working together, Andrew and Lucinda had never had an argument except when they discussed Vincent. Eventually both quietly stopped mentioning him and left well enough alone. Once again Lucinda kicked herself for being so stupid. Several times he hinted to Lucinda that he knew about her affair with Vincent, but each time he was met with adamant denial. Although Lucinda had grown to trust Andrew implicitly, equally it was a burden to her that he was aware of the affair. After one of their Friday evening drinking sessions, Lucinda finally relented and spilled the beans on the fling, right down to the nitty-gritty of how she would die for Vincent, how every waking hour of her life was dictated by him. She also suspected that Vincent had never been faithful to his wife or faithful to her.

With a frightening anger she had summarised her relationship to Andrew. 'If I have to take second place in Vincent's life for the rest of my days, so be it. I'll do whatever it takes to be near him, even if it's only for a short time each week. Being near him is better than not being near him at all.'

Lucinda smiled when she thought of Andrew; she would always remember his concerned frown as she relayed her love story to him. At the onset of their friendship Lucinda was drawn to Andrew's odd interest in bird watching and his peculiar knowledge of vintage cars. Now he had become her most trusted confidante.

Reluctantly Lucinda brought her mind back to the pressing situation. The next call would take a little more effort. A couple of lines of excuses ran through her head. She knew that if she used the sickness excuse again, her friends would begin to think it was terminal. Lucinda was conscious that she was beginning to sound like a constant moaner. The excuse of work would never be believed, there were only so many hours of overtime any person could do. Also, the girls were aware that Lucinda didn't believe in over-working as they were 'in the prime of their life', as she put it so often. Her ethos was to work hard to provide a good living, but never allow the day job to impinge on the essential social life.

Lucinda guessed that Fiona would be the least likely to answer her phone, she was still cautious as she dialled. She was afraid that if she rehearsed her lines she would over-play her excuse and open the door for Fiona to patronise her, just like Miss Let's-All-Have-Fun. Lucinda exhaled with relief when Fiona's phone rang through to her message minder.

Attempting to sound carefree and bubbly, Lucinda almost sang into the phone, 'Hi Fiona, Lucinda here, won't be able to make it to Tipperary tonight, I'm going on a hot date. I'll tell you all about it when I see you, hope I haven't disappointed anyone. Call you later.' She managed to giggle at the end of the message.

Admittedly, Lucinda knew she had broken plans to meet the girls too many times, another sacrifice of meeting a married man. She had learned to grab every opportunity as another chance may not present itself again for a week or longer. Now when she was genuinely sick the girls would be furious it had happened again. Of course Alice and Fiona would give her an earful about friendships and standards and letting people down again, but her only hope of being forgiven is if they thought she was chasing love. The girls were such hopeless romantics. Satisfied, she switched off the phone and watched the screen fade. Silently she stared at the blank grey mobile face and felt it was an apt reflection of her own vacant life. If only lives could be severed as easily. There was a large part of Lucinda that wished she had succeeded in her suicide attempt. Despite what she told the nurse, she remembered taking the pills and knew only too well her full intentions. Naturally she would always deny it or pretend 'it could happen to anyone.'

Lucinda wanted to feel nothing. Just for a little while she wanted to feel nothing at all. The warm drugged darkness was her only safe haven. It cushioned her from the blows life had delivered. The problem was that she wanted more of everything. Justifying her actions, Lucinda convinced herself that all of her friends had similar desires to chase oblivion every now and then. She likened it to being part of the job description that came with living in a modern world, it simply had to be done, and everyone had to drink to extremes or take drugs to cope. But Lucinda knew she had been chasing oblivion a little too often lately. It was something else: some days she was felt old and tired, well beyond her 31 years. Nobody who enjoys the life she lives should have the desire to die. With that, Lucinda decided it was time to take stock and get out of that depressing hospital. First stop would be bathroom; hopefully someone would have a little make up could borrow. Not that any of the decrepit inmates would have that much interest in their appearances, she miserably thought. Morticia's milky face came to mind, and Lucinda had no notion of borrowing her foundation. As for Anna's yellowish complexion, that poor girl needed blood rather than make-up, maybe a lobotomy too. Lucinda struggled to get out of bed. At last she could look forward to spending a nice relaxing weekend lazing about in her apartment. After a good night's sleep she might even manage a little shopping tomorrow and maybe meet the girls on Sunday night and hear all about their weekend in Tipperary. By then she would have thought up some sob story about a date from hell and all would be forgiven. Come

Monday morning, everything would be back to normal.

From the gap between the curtains, Betty Walsh watched her roommate struggle to her feet. After several hospitalizations in the psychiatric ward Betty had seen all kinds of patients, and knew never to guess what circumstances had led to Lucinda's overdose. It could be a boyfriend, or financial difficulties, or a simple desire to stop living; she wasn't too concerned. Betty was plagued enough by her own mind to dwell too much on somebody else's problems. Although she had overheard Lucinda's phone calls and admired the girl's spunk, it had been a long time since Betty had felt that kind of life. As she watched Lucinda sway unsteadily, Betty hoped her face would not scar from the fresh marks on her forehead and cheeks. Judging from Lucinda's antics, Betty was quite aware that Lucinda was a novice to the psychiatric ward. Clearly she expected to be back to normality within a day. Betty also knew Lucinda was not even aware of the colourful bruises and scrapes marking her pretty face.

# CHAPTER 6

Alice, Fiona and Rose were having a few drinks before their Thai meal in Tipperary. They began their night out in Hayes' Hotel which was a hub of activity on a Friday evening. Alice was telling the girls about her holiday while they waited for Lucinda to join them.

'24 degrees?' Rose repeated. 'That's not very hot.'

'It seemed hotter, I sunbathed every day for about five hours.' Alice proudly displayed her brown arms. Her cropped blonde hair and pink spaghetti top and scarf accentuated the tan. She also wore her grey shorts over grey opaque tights and sparkling pink platforms.

'What sun factor did you use?' Rose asked.

'Eight.'

'Did you burn?'

'No, but Chloe looked like a carrot for the whole holiday,' Alice referred to one of the girls from her office. 'With her red hair and fair skin, she burned with factor forty. Even her freckles were red.'

'I use factor 25,' Rose said.

'And at that you don't even sit in the sun,' Alice said recalling their holiday when Rose lay under the umbrella preferring to read in the shade.

'While we were dying to come home as brown as possible, Rose did everything to shield from the sun.'

Rose Morrison was the most modest person Alice knew. Apart from the mandatory streak of eye shadow and faint lipstick, Rose couldn't be bothered with make-up. Her auburn hair and sallow skin gave her a healthy glow. If she could be a little more tolerant and put up with wearing contact lenses instead of the thick glasses, she would be inundated with offers from men. But Rose just didn't seem interested. Alice noticed Rose was wearing the same clothes she'd worn for the previous three weekends: a brown skirt, knee high boots and an orange top. Tomorrow night, Rose would wear a cream top.

'What factor do you use Fiona?' Rose asked.

'I think I use factor 15,' Fiona said, too embarrassed to remind the girls that her last holiday was five years ago with Simon and Emmet, a sun holiday was a luxury well beyond Fiona's means.

'I use factor 15 on the face,' Alice said.

'Factor 15 is very low for the face when you're abroad, I use factor 40.' Rose said.

'Actually, I was reading on the internet-,' Alice began.

Fiona interrupted her, 'Do you do any work in your job apart from surf the net for facts for your friends?' She was genuinely interested.

Rose nodded in agreement. Alice was forever coming up with useless facts. She worked in advertising and seemed to spend her days surfing the net or on celeb websites reading gossip.

'Let me finish informing you about another interesting statistic I stumbled upon on the World Wide Web,' she pretended to clear her throat until she had their attention, 'The sun is the greatest skin destroyer after cigarettes.'

'What about perfume,' Fiona asked ignoring Alice's newest internet bulletin,

'Was it cheap?'

'They didn't have a great selection.' Alice dished out the girls handbags she brought back from her holiday.

'You'll find a little something else for each of you in the bags.'

Alice had bought large handbags for each of the girls in the appropriate colours for their taste and inside each bag was a bottle of their favourite perfume. In Fiona's handbag, there was also a present for Emmet.

'That's so sweet,' Fiona said, knowing Emmet would be thrilled with the Nintendo DS Light. She was touched at how the girls always remembered her son.

Alice left Lucinda's handbag on the table and checked her watch. 'What time is Lucinda arriving?' she asked.

'Didn't you hear?' Fiona assumed Lucinda would have also informed the others about her change of plans. 'She's not coming.'

Impatiently Alice shook her head, 'I should have expected her to cancel. What is it this time?'

'Don't shoot the messenger,' Fiona said defensively, 'have a listen yourself,' she said, handing Alice her mobile.

'Sorry Fiona, it's just that she told me on Thursday she would definitely be here tonight.'

'No, she's got a hot date or something. She left the message on my mobile this morning,' Fiona added.

'A date?' Rose repeated, surprised after her brief conversation with Lucinda on Thursday evening. 'How could she be going on a date when she's been so sick for the past few days? Judging from the sound of her yesterday she certainly wouldn't be well enough to leave her apartment, never mind going on a date.'

'Really?'

'She sounded as if she was on her last legs.' Rose said, finding this incredible as she had had to stop herself from phoning a doctor for Lucinda.

'What time did you speak to her?' Alice asked, her suspicions bubbling again.

Rose checked her mobile phone, '7.30pm yesterday evening, she told me she was in bed and she was literally moaning down the phone in pain. First I thought she had a few too many drinks, then she told me she hadn't had a drink all evening, she's suffering from stomach ulcers. She sounded awful . . .' Rose's voice trailed off when she realised it was something more.

This was getting stranger and stranger, Alice thought. Shortly before that Lucinda had told her she was going to watch a DVD and eat a pizza. Surely it wasn't possible to get that sick so quickly, and then she's off on her merry way for a hot date. Even the most severe schizophrenics could not manage mood swings as extreme as that. One way or another Alice decided to get to the bottom of it. Lately it seemed that Lucinda didn't want to meet the girls, for some unknown reason. All of this sickness was too much, even by Lucinda's sickness-loving standards. It crossed her mind that Lucinda could really be sick and like a courageous girl was keeping it to herself to stop them from worrying. That was another private theory Alice had developed. What if Lucinda really was sick? She could have been diagnosed with some terminal cancer, and to protect her friends she was keeping it a secret. Alice decided not to think about it any further tonight, but as soon as she returned to Dublin she would go straight to her apartment and confront her. It had gone on long enough. After all, Alice and the Tipperary girls were her nearest and dearest friends. It also crossed Alice's mind to ignore Lucinda, pretend that she doesn't exist and maybe she'd return eager to attend their girlie nights out and be friends again. No one at the table voiced their opinions, and quietly all had their own reservations, each one forming their own theory about Lucinda and quietly devising a strategy to tackle her.

'Your necklace is beautiful,' Fiona said, interrupting everyone's private thoughts. Leaning forward, she took a closer look at the new chunky silver pendant on Alice.

'Thanks Fiona,' Alice beamed, 'it's a gift from The Sickly Prince.'

'Are you madly in love?' Fiona asked noticing Alice smile at the mention of his name.

'Of course not, I'm in lust,' then turning to Rose, 'Speaking of lust, what did I hear about you wearing the face off some poor fellow in Dawson's pub last week?'

'Oh don't remind me,' Rose said, cursing her few quiet drinks that turned into another early morning party. 'I was like a teenager all over again, propped up at the counter playing tonsil tennis with some guy. Actually he texted me on Wednesday.'

'Tell me more,' Alice's romantic eyes widened.

'No need to get so excited Mills and Boon,' Rose pointed at Alice. 'I didn't even respond to his text. I've no real interest.'

'I thought you were gagging for it?'

'I was, and still am, but not with him.'

'What kind of guy then?'

'I don't know, maybe some strange foreigner that I'll never see again.'

'But you didn't know that guy from last week?'

'I know,' Rose hesitated, 'I don't know what I want.'

'How does a night of passion with a big strange black man sound?' Alice suggested, inviting Rose to be as vulgar.

'It has been so long, anything will do me at this stage,' Rose said, sadly thinking of her last unscheduled sexual encounter with Aengus three months ago.

Fiona joined in, 'It has been so long for me too, I'd imagine that I'm a virgin all over again. My hymen has probably re-grown.'

'And Alice, do you want to tell us how your organs are coping with the lack of it or abundances of it with your toy-boy?' Fiona asked, mainly out of curiosity as she found Alice frighteningly adventurous and shameless when it came to sex. Both she and Lucinda were as bad as each other, they left nothing to the imagination. Sometimes it sounded as if they were competing to see who could describe the most gruesome details, or which one had the most creative mind.

'No, The Sickly Prince is still giving me a good servicing, once a week. Eager as ever,' Alice replied smiling, both surprised and amused at her recent antics.

'Surely this will be a marriage, he's really lasting the pace.'

'Yes, this is an eternity for you,' Rose agreed with Fiona.

'He keeps me young,' she said mimicking an old woman hunching her back and pointing a crocked finger in the air. 'And he's a pleasure in the sack.' She thought for a moment. 'Seemingly, men are at their sexual peak between the ages of 17 and 19.' She started eating a packet of peanuts, 'it's amazing,' she shook her head as if in disbelief. 'He can go for hours, totally amazing and his hands can be all over my body at the same time, as for his tongue . . .' she cast her eyes upwards in awe, 'amaaaazzzzing.'

'When are we going to meet him,' Fiona enquired.

'Never, dear God, he's only for my eyes and . . .' Alice exaggerated a childish smile, pretending to coo, '. . . for bedroom activities.'

'Have you a picture?' Fiona asked fascinated by the whole affair. Fiona had only ever been with her ex-husband and even then she remained slightly inhibited. When she listened to Alice she felt as if she hadn't lived at all. Sometimes her life was a thousand miles removed from the stories the girls brought home from Dublin. Not that it was the other side of the world but their daily lives were so vastly different to hers. One had to fight to survive a sometimes desolate existence, while the other appeared to thrive and snatch every moment life had to offer.

'No,' Alice answered, dismissing the notion that her romance could be serious enough to warrant carrying his photo with her.

'But I'll get you one,' she added imagining what daring pose she'd insist he stand for.

'Hopefully his parents will have taken a few since he made his confirmation,' Rose joked emphasising his age.

'I admire you,' Fiona said enviously. 'Just having the nerve to go out there and get it.'

'When did you last have a sex?' Rose whispered to Fiona.

'The night before Simon left.'

The girls nodded knowingly. It was easy to see the back of Simon Keogh.

With the exception of Fiona, everybody else was united in their feelings towards him. The mere mention of his name could still be a sensitive subject. Alice noticed that since Simon's departure the old familiar spark was gradually returning. She was still many miles from her old self, she didn't look sheepishly from under her eyebrows any more or repeatedly eye the bar door afraid Simon would arrive worse for wear. As the years of Fiona's marriage progressed, she took on the demeanour of a harassed woman; too troubled to laugh or enjoy the carelessness she had once relished. It was plain that whatever went on within the confines of her marriage, a great deal of damage had occurred. Alice noticed Fiona had her black hair blow dried with the ends bouncy, another good indicator that Fiona was returning to her old self and making an effort. The expression had returned to her hazel eyes again. Lately she laughed easier and life was not as much of a burden.

Alice broke the silence, 'Eighteen months ago, that's a long time.'

'Is the Donegal weekend still on the cards?' Rose asked.

The three girls and Lucinda had booked a hotel in Letterkenny for Lucinda's birthday at the end of the month.

'Definitely.'

'There's your chance Fiona, nobody will know you up there, none of us will talk, you'll never again see the man, in fact,' Alice added thinking out loud. 'There are three bedrooms booked, you can have one all to yourself where you can indulge in hours of unadulterated passion with some wee Donegal man.' Alice mockingly applauded herself.

'You've it all worked out,' Fiona answered, secretly beginning to get ideas of her own.

'Up there for thinking,' she pointed at her head, 'down there for dancing, and on that note, same again for everyone.' Alice picked up her handbag and strolled to the bar taking the long route hoping to encounter some familiar faces.

# CHAPTER 7

Nothing whatsoever seemed to go according to plan for Lucinda, she mournfully thought. The only pleasing aspect to Lucinda's hospitalisation was the medication. Curled up on her bed with the help of the chill pills, Lucinda was resigned to the fact that she would be in hospital for another few hours. If anything, it was cosy, she felt pleasantly groggy as her mind began to drift.

'Hello, are you awake?'

Lucinda closed her eyes tighter trying to shut out Anna's voice.

'Hello,' Anna's irritating voice called out again, 'how are you feeeeling?'

Lucinda had no notion of interacting with that idiot, it was bad enough that most of the patients in the ward had attempted suicide before meeting her, God only knows what an impact she would have on their already frayed nerves. Meanwhile, Lucinda had planned to be home in her own bed resting before returning to work on Monday, but she could barely rouse herself from beneath the bedclothes. Earlier in the morning she had been so alert and eager to leave, she had mentally gone through her entire week at work, hour by hour, and planned to tackle chores she had put on the long finger. She wrote down little reminders and was looking forward to Monday, when she could return to normality. Hopefully the trauma of her experience in the psycho ward would quickly become a distant memory, never ever to be retold. For the rest of her days she would refuse to ever again think about it. The energy boost she had been expecting in the afternoon evaded her, instead she lay sluggishly drifting in and out of sleep.

'Hello, are you feeeling sick?' Anna raised her voice.

Lucinda still did not react.

'Suit yourself, I'm only trying to help.'

Lucinda could hear Anna's angry feet stomping away. During her long afternoon snooze, Lucinda had what she called 'the happy recurring dream.' Not that she had ever publicly named the dream or discussed it with anybody in a sober state. Those types of conversations of interpreting dreams and recalling the memories of one's childhood were usually reserved for four in the morning, especially when nobody would remember the conversation. Unsure whether the dream was factual or fantasy, Lucinda knew every detail of it. It began with a walk to a local river outside of town with both of her parents during one of those hot summer days. It was an area where locals gathered to swim and sunbathe. Her father used to bring his radio and listen to the GAA matches while Lucinda, feeling very much the adult, sunbathed with her mother. The walk usually took about an hour as they stopped to pick flowers and do family things that would have Lucinda cringing with embarrassment on a normal day. Her father would recite rhymes like 'Pop Goes the Weasel' or 'When I Was A Little Boy.' Judging from the clothes and her appearance she guessed that she was aged eight or nine, she wore her cotton summer dress with the lilac flowers. In the dream, Lucinda's mother kept her hair in a long plait that reached the small of her back; she was young and alert. Her mother was so much prettier without all the bright lipstick and heavy make-up she later became renowned for wearing. They ate their picnic by the river and enjoyed delicious food, they shared a big bottle of orange and had all kinds of cakes for desert. The more Lucinda thought about it, the more stomach churning the whole dream sounded, although it was one of those rare moments where she truly felt loved. She used to tell her friends that her mother said Lucinda was the best thing that ever happened to her; of course now she felt completely ridiculous for ever telling anybody. There might have been love in the early years of her childhood; she was probably a novelty for her parents then. Shortly after that her mother had fled to find her own love.

Later that day Lucinda held out her arm, reluctant to leave the warmth of her bed while one of the nurses took blood. The nurse told Lucinda how she rang in the New Year in Amsterdam.

'It was freezing but well worth visiting. They have some of the best museums in the world and the night life is fantastic.'

Lucinda listened wondering if it was part of the job description to talk a lot.

'You'll feel a small pinch and then it's all over,' she said. 'Have you been to Amsterdam?'

'Yes, years ago but I was too young to appreciate the museums,' she answered honestly.

She drank tea and took some more pills, leaving her drowsy again. For some reason her face hurt, maybe she'd hit it after all the drama with the pills. At least she could take advantage of her day in hospital and enjoy being nursed. Maybe sort out her life and daydream about getting her revenge on Vincent O'Donnell. She decided to think of something nicer, like a weekend break to Amsterdam similar to that chatter-box of a nurse's. Maybe she could also arrange it that some of the girls could get time off from work and they could go for a long weekend together. They could rekindle their friendship and have those long chats when they felt close enough to tell their innermost secrets. The whole idea of it appealed to her; they could sightsee and shop all day long, then dance the night away with whomever they pleased. That would be a definite. Then she would think about her career and while she was at it, she might even change her hair. Bored with its straight light brown colour and highlights, she contemplated cutting it up and dying it dark brown, or she could change her image altogether and become a Goth or do something equally as drastic. She thought about Alice and her funky style; maybe Alice could give her some tips on how to completely change her image. Lucinda was reminded of all the cheap jewellery her Sickly Prince bought her. Admittedly, it wasn't doing her any harm, if anything it looked well. Despite all the mental bitching she did about Alice and her toy boy, whoever Alice was seeing and regardless of his age, Lucinda would think he treated her a damn sight better than Vincent treated the women in his life.

Lucinda wished she could make up her mind about Vincent, one minute she missed and loved him, the next she hated him. Thinking about him gave her that suffocated sensation again. Sarcastically she wondered if Anna would be able to analyse her suffocated 'feeeling'. First things first, she would leave the hospital immediately. En route to her apartment she would pick up a holiday brochure on European City Breaks. She'd lie on her couch with a few fashion magazines and decide what new style to adapt. She could recuperate in the comfort of her own home; having to use a bedpan shared by the other screwballs was demoralising, not to mention, unhygienic. The more consideration Lucinda gave the situation the less serious it became, assuming she collapsed in Rathmines and was taken to hospital by ambulance. It was unfortunate, but these things happen. The main thing is that nobody knew and there were no real consequences. She wasn't even losing any of her holidays as she was on sick leave. The only aspect of the whole incident that alarmed her was what could have happened when she collapsed in Rathmines. Lucinda was quite aware she was only a stone's throw from Vincent's home in Ranelagh. Silently she said a prayer of thanks that she had keeled over before she reached her intended destination. The fact that nobody knew meant everything was all right. It was all just a comedy of errors, nothing worth getting too excited over. Attempting to minimise the fiasco, Lucinda imagined a few months down the line she might even tell the girls about it, they would smile at how crazy she could be at times. Of course she would tell the tale adding her own bit to spice it up, naturally she would omit the more serious side. It would definitely have the girls in fits of laughter. She could even blame the health care system. 'I was once hospitalised for a Gallstone and was incorrectly admitted to the psychiatric ward. Can you imagine how terrifying that was with all those basket cases running riot?'

If she was ever to tell the truth, she'd say the psychiatric ward was much more civilised than she could ever have anticipated. When she had first learned where she was, she was terrified. She had expected them to attack her for her food. Lucinda realised, with the exception of Anna, that all of the other patients were polite, reserved and reflective. While Lucinda was in such a positive frame of mind she decided to leave the hospital at once. At last she could discard that dreadful hospital gown and snuggle up in her own bed with her flannelette pyjamas. She'd watch the TV for the entire day and spoil herself and just this once indulge in a box of chocolates. Just this once she'd not bother with the Weight Watchers goodies; she would go the whole hog and have full fat everything without the usual bouts of guilt. She'd phone Andrew in the office and tell him the good news that her relationship with Vincent O'Donnell was finally over. On second thoughts she might hold off calling him and take another few sick days to chill out.

As Lucinda stepped down from the bed, the cold tiled floor under her feet surprised her and manoeuvring the drips attached to her arms made balancing difficult.

Immediately the nurse came to her assistance sounding alarmed, 'Lucinda, what is it?'

'I want to use the bathroom.'

'I'll get you a bed pan.'

Agitated, Lucinda retorted 'I am not urinating into that wok one more time.'

The nurse began to link her arm as she cautiously walked down a long corridor towards the bathroom.

'Let me help you.'

The whole time Lucinda felt light-headed. The sensible thing would have been to accept the bed pan and rest for a week. She suddenly felt unwell. Lucinda tried to convince herself that any minute now she would regain her strength, that this was just the sudden sensation of standing up too quickly after all the sickness. On the way to the bathroom she was aware of the other patients in dressing gowns, and was uncomfortable with their curious glances at her fragile condition. Lucinda focused on putting one foot in front of the other feeling every bit like an old woman in a retirement home. With each step she thought she would collapse with weakness. Nervously, Lucinda wondered how a bottle of vodka and a few pills could do such damage.

Once in the bathroom, the extra humiliation for Lucinda urinating opposite a nurse added to her sudden anxiety, but at least she was sitting down. The nurse stood beside her; both listened to the trickle of water in silence. Standing straight again was another painful ordeal. Maybe she might stay another few hours after all, wait until this dizzy spell had passed. Wearily she made her way to the basin to wash her hands. As she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror it suddenly changed all of her plans. For a brief moment she thought there was an intruder in the bathroom and that it was not her own reflection looking out from the mirror. It was an elderly hard-faced woman with scrapes and bruises all over her. After a few moments of confusion, she realised it was her own face that stared back.

'No,' she heard herself whisper, her hand examining her left cheek which was blotted with grazes and swollen. There was another gash across her forehead and a raised bruised bloodshot eye.

'What the bloody hell happened? Jesus Christ,' Lucinda heard herself screaming.

The nurse was attempting to calm her down and at the same time calling for assistance. Lucinda continued, all reason had abandoned her as she screamed like a woman who couldn't take any more.

'I want to go back to work . . . Jesus Christ . . .who is going to take me bloody seriously with this shit on my face.' What followed was incoherent and the rest of the day was a mystery to Lucinda.

Simon Keogh watched the nurses trying to restrain a female patient. Like the rest of the ward he too noticed this patient had gone berserk. With Simon's experienced eye he guessed this one had finally flipped due to a combination of drink, drugs or a mental disorder. Judging from the state of her and her hysterical antics he guessed she had all three. The nursing staff would probably drug her for a few days then send her on her merry way to do it all again. Normally he would have joined the small group of spectators but he was too preoccupied with his own troubles. This ward would be his base for the next week. For a few days he would lie low and continue to feign suicidal tendencies. He couldn't get away with pretending to have a physical ailment so the next best thing must be a psychiatric condition. Simon knew how to play the system, he'd been on this ward before. Towards the end of the week he would be a few days off the beer and more capable of thinking straight. This time he needed a very good plan. After another few days of healthy eating, he would make a few phone calls and think of something. Simon was no stranger to stressful tight spots. His life had been a litany of similar dilemmas.

# CHAPTER 8

Alice raised her blouse, 'It's terribly painful.'

Rose examined the bruises on her ribs. 'Are you sure that's what happened to me?' Alice asked having forgotten the last hour of the previous night out.

'Yes, you were like one of those vanishing acts. You were sitting beside me on the bar stool one minute, the next you weren't. The sound of you hitting the table and floor reminded me you were still in the pub.' Rose sarcastically added, 'And that people don't just vanish off bar stools. We thought you had been knocked unconscious.'

'That's awful,' Alice said adjusting her blouse. 'I wonder who else saw my trampoline act.'

'Don't worry, there were very few people left at that stage. In fact, at that hour I don't think anybody would have been too miffed if you had been unconscious or dead.'

'It's lovely to hear that,' Alice said. 'I could be lying dead at your feet and all you care about is your drink.'

'Yes, that just about sums up how we felt at the end of the night. Although there were very few people to be concerned about; apart from the locals and us, the place was empty.'

'That wouldn't bother me,' Alice shrugged honestly, 'It's missing the few hours with you guys.'

'Actually Fitzer was going to call an ambulance, now I remember him standing over you,' Rose clicked her fingers as she recalled it. 'It was at the end of the night, so you didn't miss a whole lot, Fitzer got all medical and tried to take your pulse.'

'Was it that bad?'

'We told him not to bother with the ambulance, you'd rise when the next round of drinks were ordered.'

'Pity I missed that,' Alice said, 'did I get up off the floor or did you callous crowd just use me as a foot stool?'

'No, but sure enough, when the next round of drinks were ordered, you were rose like the dead rising. You didn't utter a word, just quietly took your seat and resumed drinking.'

Alice was in Rose Morrison's home waiting for Fiona to collect them. They were having a post-mortem of the previous night's antics.

'Talk about overdoing it.'

Rose dropped another Solpadine into a glass of water. 'Please let tonight be a quieter affair. I don't think I could endure another day of suffering like today. Then to top it all, I spent the afternoon being dragged from shop to shop by my mother.'

'I'll second that because of my broken ribs,' Alice said. 'We'll have a few quiet drinks and then home early.'

'The sickness is not worth it, I nearly threw up on top of Mrs Kennedy in the deli. The smell of the chocolate cake and pastry just hit me all of a sudden, poor Mrs Kennedy must have noticed because she quickly stepped forward and removed the Black Forest Gateau.'

'Did you really think you were going to get sick?' Alice asked, finding the prospect of puking on top of the proprietor of the local deli hilarious.

'Definitely, I had to keep my hand over my mouth until I got far enough away from the smell of food. Then the sensation passed for a while. My mother was mortified.' Rose said.

'We're gluttons,' Alice sighed.

The three girls had agreed to go to a pub in a village outside town. Fiona wanted to do some research on hiring a band, that's if her father ever relented and allowed live music to be played in their pub. There had been great talk about a new local traditional outfit. At two in the morning when they were all feeling no pain, it had seemed like a fantastic idea to visit Bannon's pub. But after they had endured their long day of illness, the prospect of another night out was more like a penance.

'I would give my right arm just to sit in by the fire for the night,' Alice said, lighting a cigarette.

'I'm the same,' Rose added, but noticed how Alice was dressed to the nines.

'Thank goodness we were all struck with amnesia at alternative hours, between us we can piece together the entire night.'

'I do remember everyone singing "Danny Boy" but we were like a pack of crows. It was awful,' Rose said. 'Everyone got confused and sang different verses at the same time.'

'I hate it when I'm missing a few hours from a night out, I feel as if I could have missed something.'

'Maybe we'd be better off not remembering, I hate getting that jarred, especially when it happens in our home town.' Rose was having visions of herself trying to dance and stomping on her partner's toes while drunkenly stumbling about like a scene from Shameless.

'Fiona will be here shortly, surely she'll fill in the gaps. I do remember her working inside the bar at one stage, so she mustn't have been too bad. Actually . . .'

Alice began to cringe, 'I also remember discussing the Sickly Prince with Fitzer.'

'Dear God, you probably dished up all the dirt on your antics. You've driven poor Fitzer demented.'

'Do you remember singing?' Alice asked Rose, only remembering it then.

'Oh no,' Rose said disbelievingly, hiding her face behind her hands, 'I did not, did I?'

Alice sat forward and began rocking from side to side mimicking Rose singing her party piece, 'The pale moon was rising above the green mountains, the sun was declining beneath the blue sea,' she had her eyes closed and her nose wrinkled as Rose did when she sang. '"The Rose of Tralee" being well and truly murdered. That bloody song haunts me.' She recalled singing it at a Christmas party with Aengus. Her performance was so poor, one of Aengus's colleagues enquired if his escort had 'special needs.'

'What in the name of God got into my head to sing that?'

'You sang it for Mr and Mrs Joyce for their wedding anniversary.'

'After all that wine I probably thought famous singers could learn a thing or two from me. It also means the pub was packed at that stage, the whole town were probably there to witness my solo.'

'No, you were fine actually, your arms were even moving passionately to the words,' Alice teased.

'Dear God, why do we do it to ourselves?' Rose exhaled loudly.

'It's the same every single time we come home,' Alice sighed. 'For as long as I can remember I don't think I have ever left O'Donnell's bar with my memory intact.'

'That's true,' Rose added, 'Not every single time, but too many times for me.'

'We'll take it easy tonight, no mixing of drinks.'

'Famous last words.'

They heard the front door closing and Rose's parents, Matthew and Doreen returning from 7.30pm mass. As always Doreen was pleased to see any of Rose's friends. Rose's father, Matthew was retired from the bank and as always behaved like the perfect elderly gentleman. After briefly enquiring about Alice's parents and complementing her colourful style, he returned with a tray and glasses of wine for everyone, and then quietly left the women to their chat. Alice smiled with amusement as Doreen sat herself on the couch dying to hear all her news.

'Are you as sick as my lady?'

'I'm not too bad Mrs Morrison,' Alice answered beginning to feel a bit better; the prospect of another night on the town didn't appear too daunting as she sampled the wine. Doreen admired Alice's tan and asked the usual questions about the holiday before veering towards the 'boyfriend subject'.

'Was it a girl's holiday or did you have,' she paused as if coaxing a reluctant child to reveal her boyfriend's name, 'a little man with you?'

'No man at all Mrs Morrison, just a lovely relaxing holiday, with all likeminded women.'

'But you must have a little man in Dublin wining and dining you?' Doreen asked, pretending to tease but was entirely serious. If only Rose could take a leaf out of Alice's book, lose a bit of weight and find some man who would bring her companionship, Doreen thought. She wouldn't know what to say if Rose started dressing like Alice, though thankfully her daughter wasn't that adventurous.

'I have someone, but it's not serious.'

'Not serious?' Doreen stopped herself, she was about to point out her age and tell her that she'd want to start getting serious about it.

'No, he's very good fun but I don't think he's the settling down kind of guy,' Alice said flippantly, aware of Doreen's attitude towards marriage, 'Well, not for me anyway.'

'What are you doing with him then?' she asked, unable to hide her bewilderment. Such a ridiculous waste of time, she thought.

Alice sipped her wine and thought for a moment, she wasn't going to say he was a fantastic distraction and sexually challenging, 'I suppose I appreciate his artistic side and he's very musical.'

Doreen nodded, asking herself again what was wrong with young women today. Surely one among them must have a notion of marriage, or did even one of them think of their future?

'No notion of marriage at all?' she pressed, thinking Alice would indeed need an artistic man to keep up with her strange fashion.

With amusement, Doreen noted Alice's outlandish attire, from her eye catching leopard-print tights and grey shorts, to her distractingly frilly black blouse, and a hair-do that had not seen a hair brush since God only knows when. Strangely the messy hair style and mismatched assortment of clothes suited Alice. She was the type of girl whose personality could dress up any outfit and she was not too attractive to frighten men away. That was another revelation Doreen had stumbled upon in her Image magazines: some women were too attractive for men. She had been delighted when she read it; it renewed her faith in mankind. At least everything wasn't down to one's appearance. Doreen loved her magazines, each week brought a new revelation about society, and she thought the tips on dating were insightful. It all seemed to make so much sense, not that she had any intention of dating, but generally she found the articles interesting. Although Doreen had to admit, there were certain articles on sex which left nothing to the imagination, and what surprised her most were the women who openly discussed their bedroom activities. Then into the bargain they allowed themselves be photographed, both parties giving detailed accounts of the other's performance. Doreen couldn't comprehend how any woman could be so confident, or brazen enough to allow their private moments to be splashed across the pages of the magazines. They discussed what sexual positions enhanced their orgasms, or the various sizes and shapes of the male's genitals. Doreen couldn't imagine what their families thought? Did any of those girls have a shred of shame?

Fiona had no notion of letting it go. After discussing the pros and cons for over an hour, she felt it was now or never. Her father Sean repeated his favourite expression, 'Why fix what's not broken, the pub is doing fine without this music lark. Will you not just let it go?'

They were sitting in the living room over the bar, Fiona was dressed for her night out with the girls and wanted to put one last argument to her father about hiring a band.

'Dad, look at the profit from the Joyce's Party last night, it's four times what we normally make on a Friday night. With a band we'd make that again and I'll take responsibility if anything goes wrong.' Fiona was willing to put up any argument to have her father agree.

'You don't want to tamper with the pub, it's the one and only constant money we are sure of. When the farm is going bad the pub pays for it.'

'Yes, I see what you mean,' Fiona lied, the farm never made a loss; there were slack years or dry periods, nonetheless each year the farm made a healthy profit.

'You're breaking my heart, Fiona,' Sean wearily confessed. Fiona could see he was about to succumb.

'You could end up hiring something like that Ozzy Osbourne who bites the heads off bats and swears like a sailor.' The repeat programmes of The Osbournes were one of the only TV programmes Sean watched apart from the News and Nationwide.

'Ozzy is booked out but he gave me his cousin's name. He prefers to bite the heads off pensioners.'

Sean smiled. There were times when he thought his late wife was standing before him when he looked at Fiona. It reminded him of what he had and what he had lost. Equally Sean saw his Catholic faith as a gift, on nights like this he was happy in the knowledge that he would be reunited with her after his death. The thought consoled him more than anyone would ever know because he had never believed he could recreate what he had shared with her.

Fiona knew she was about to get the green light.

Sean began, 'First of all, this is only a trial. Any renovations will come out of your pocket. If my locals don't like the music then it has to stop. You will accept all responsibly if anything goes wrong. If anything is broken or damaged the money comes out of your pocket. When this fails, you are never again to ask me about live music in this pub. Those are my conditions.'

Fiona smiled. Not only was he willing to give it a try he also was willing to have some reconstruction.

'Agreed.' She said, 'Just one more thing, can I decide on the reconstruction?'

'What kind of reconstruction?'

'Just one wall and one or two minor changes. You won't even notice.'

'I must be going soft in the head. OK, knock your wall.'

After Fiona had gone Sean felt guilty. Maybe he shouldn't have laid down so many conditions, but Simon Keogh could still gnaw at him. It remained the unspoken issue between Sean and Fiona. Sometimes Sean took it personally that Fiona had gone against his wishes and married the greatest bane of his life. He had done everything to keep them apart but Fiona was stubborn and wilful. Finally when Sean realised there was no turning back and she would marry Simon, Sean tried his best to get to like the Dublin lad. He guessed that Simon's upbringing was far from privileged. Equally Sean was all too aware that every Irish person wasn't too far removed from the cruelty of real poverty, including Sean's own family. He tried to make allowances for Simon and thought with a bit of nurturing, he might turn out to be as good as the rest. But an old saying he hadn't heard for decades echoed too often when he watched Simon's ugliness erupt. "Bad cat, bad kittens."

The difficult years of Fiona's marriage were excruciating for Sean, he knew what was happening yet she'd deny it. He begged her to leave him, if only for Emmet's sake. There were days Sean wanted to make it hard for Fiona. He wanted her to remember how difficult it was climbing out of the hole Keogh had left them in. Hopefully her journey back would make her think twice about allowing Simon Keogh into her life again. He didn't want his grandson to suffer. Emmet was a different boy since his father left. Too often, Sean saw the boy nervously jump. No child could be that scared for nothing. The small chap was clearly damaged from whatever went on behind their closed doors and Sean didn't know if he could stand to see the boy suffer again.

The three girls sat inside the front door of Bannon's pub, Fiona wanted to see what kind of crowd the band attracted. There was an excited buzz in the bar while Fiona monitored the clientele and relayed the conversation she had with her father. She was grinning with excitement.

'When should we expect the first group to be playing?' Alice asked eager to plan another good weekend.

Fiona wasted no time once she was given the go-ahead, she'd phoned a carpenter immediately and would be able to hire bands within the month.

'Maybe three weeks,' she estimated, allowing extra time for unforeseen problems.

'Fantastic,' Rose said raising her glass as a toast. She would dearly love if things started working out for Fiona. Doreen had informed her that Simon Keogh had been recently spotted stumbling around drunk in Dublin early one morning; obviously nothing had changed there. Rose would rather he died than return to Fiona. He had a knack at clawing his way back into her life, but his charm never lasted long and the bruises and terror in Fiona told a different story.

'We'll all keep that weekend free to come and support it,' Alice added sipping her second glass of wine and feeling as if she were beginning to thaw out.

'That would be a great help,' Fiona said, 'Although with you pair and myself singing there would be no need for any band.'

'Were we very drunk?' Rose asked, embarrassed she may have let the side down.

'Not at all, and if you were, none of you were any worse than the others, or myself,' she added. 'I have no idea what time I went to bed and I was half afraid I'd left the front door of the pub open, but thankfully everything was in order this morning.'

The girls spent the remainder of the night chatting with old school friends they hadn't seen for years, girls who had married and lived locally. As Fiona was the designated driver she abstained from drinking and during the interval spoke to the lead singer of the band. His name was Tony Cummins and he recognised Fiona as Vincent's younger sister. Their band was called Celtic Flyte. Fiona instantly liked Tony, she guessed he was more her age than Vincent's age. Contrary to her father's opinion that all band members had long hair, wore torn jeans and t-shirts and occasionally liked to wee on their audience, Tony looked more like a bank clerk than a musician. He had short brown receding hair and he wore navy chinos and a white shirt. His brown eyes seemed to smile with his open face.

'Is it generally this kind of music?' Fiona asked suddenly conscious of his intense brown eyes. 'Or do you play rock . . . or country?' she fumbled trying to think of the various music genres and was a little desperate to sound cool under his penetrating gaze.

'Anything you want,' Tony smiled.

Taken unawares by his flirting Fiona blushed. Fiona tried to remain serious, 'Well . . . that sounds good . . . very current . . . and . . . up-to-date and all that,' she managed to mumble, conscious of her burning cheeks. It was as if she was a self-conscious 14 year old girl again.

Tony started to laugh upon realising how embarrassed she was, then adapted a more serious mode. He explained they could play any kind of music she wanted but preferred traditional.

'The trad music suits the crowd too, they can get aggressive if the music is too heavy or too rock.'

Their next available date for booking was in exactly three weeks time. They settled on a price, Fiona was a little taken aback at the cost. She did a rough calculation and decided to take a chance, she would do some advertising in the local papers to draw the crowd and hopefully cover the price of the band. Even if she broke even on the first night it wouldn't dint her hopes in any way. Fiona knew the pub had the potential to treble its earnings. Equally she was aware that this small venture had to work, there had to be more to life than pulling pints day in, day out. More than anything she welcomed the challenge, the idea of trying something new was motivating in itself, and this gave her something to look forward to. Some days she felt as if she would die from the monotony of her life. She noticed the locals were up dancing to the music and everyone seemed in good spirits. At last, she thought. Next weekend she would work in the bar, the weekend after that they'd go to Donegal, and the weekend after that the band would debut in the bar. Maybe things weren't that bad after all, she thought optimistically.

# CHAPTER 9

Simon Keogh returned Anna's childlike smile, 'Yes,' he lied, 'My very first time here. And you, is this your first time here?' Finally she got round to questioning him, Simon thought. He had listened to her interview every patient on the ward like a researcher hired to collect a database on suicide.

'Yes, I've been here five times in the last year,' Anna answered proudly. 'What did you do?'

Simon's reason for his admission to that ward was very different from Anna's. Anna needed help while he needed refuge. Simon doubted Anna would have ever guessed his real reason. He staged a suicide attempt to get into hospital because he needed a few days off alcohol and a safe place to gather his thoughts. None of his enemies would bother checking the local hospitals. The blame lay with the foreman of the building site who had caused him this recent run of bad luck. The more Simon thought about it, the angrier he became. For a few months everything had been running smoothly; he had a great handle on the booze and the horses, just keeping it to the weekends with the occasional flutter. He had also managed to curtail the drinking to only a few cans during the week and he had moved in with a new girlfriend, Cindy. With his new living arrangements he was saving a fortune on rent and all the overheads that went with it; the only hindrance being Cindy's thirteen year old daughter, who could be a right pain in the ass at times. When he weighed out the pros and cons, it was still a good deal.

Simon liked living back in Dublin, there was a comforting sense of familiarity in waking up in the inner city surrounded by Dublin accents. The years he had spent living with Fiona in Tipperary had run their course, although he had to admit, those years had been the most enjoyable of his life. But like all culchies, they were always suspicious of someone whose breadline they did not know.

'I was depressed,' Simon's answer for Anna covered a multitude.

'Right ...' Anna lost interest immediately.

Simon's response had the desired effect, he could see her glazed eyes scanning the recreational room looking for the next patient. Being admitted with depression didn't have the same seriousness for Anna as did a failed hanging or an overdose. Depression was the calm before the exciting storm.

'We might talk later,' Simon added as she left. Anna might well be the ward nuisance but he noticed the rings on her fingers, and her accent said 'money'.

After Simon finally left Fiona and since returning to Dublin, he had acquired various jobs on building sites. Some jobs he managed to hold down for four weeks, others might only last one week. His most recent had lasted four months, a record for Simon. The odd Monday morning he arrived into work seedy from the weekend and naturally there were mornings when he needed a pint to start the day. With any other job that would never have been a problem, but that upstart of a foreman Hennessy started taking his job way too seriously.

'The days when we can be half drunk on a building site are gone, Simon. With Health and Safety now it's a different ball game. Lay off the beer when you're coming into work from now on.'

The first day Hennessy referred to the drinking, Simon had agreed with him, he was so unprepared for such a remark. 'You're right Henno, there isn't the craic that used to be on the sites.'

The next time Hennessy brought up the subject, he was much more firm. 'If you try to come onto the site again after drinking, I'll give you a written warning. You've left me no choice.'

When Hennessy finally handed him the written warning, Simon asked him, 'Did they send you to Trinity for a course on this letter writing shit. I didn't know you could read and write, never mind type too. You've gone all official and even put me love letter into an envelope. Jaysus, I can't thank you enough.'

Only a couple of months previously Hennessy had been like Simon, into the drink and horses. But since he had gotten his little promotion he had moved above his station and started throwing his weight around telling the boys what to do. Simon's employment problem came to a head when he struck gold on the horses and took a week off to enjoy his winnings. Any other man would have been delighted for him or even encouraged him to enjoy spending his winnings, but not Hennessy. Eventually when Simon returned to work, he was in the middle of telling the lads about an American woman he had met during the week and how willing she was to do anything he wanted.

'This bird had a suite in Temple Bar. We were at it day and night.'

His work colleagues listened with amused interest.

'She was loaded, the diamonds were falling off her ears and ankles. By the second night, between the sex and the drink I was bloody worn out. All I wanted was a couple of quiet pints by myself, I let on I had to go to the bank and bolts.'

As Simon described how he had banged the Yank every way a man wanted, Hennessy appeared from the site office with another envelope in his hand, interrupting his tale. 'Get off the site, you're fired.'

Just like that, Simon thought. The nerve of the man! The effect of the drink hadn't left him and Simon knew he still had a few euros left from his winnings. He returned to the pub to resume his spree. Within a few days the remainder of the money ran out and Simon had to borrow a few quid here and there. Then when he got a tip for a horse, he borrowed from some heavy guys he normally avoided. But the horse was a dead cert and with Christmas just upon him, he was under pressure for money. He thought it would be the easiest money ever. Then he could relax and enjoy another few weeks before looking for work in the New Year. The horse lost and with his disappointment the drinking escalated. Thankfully he'd had the foresight to steal a few of the American's rings. He enjoyed Christmas with Cindy and also kept the loan sharks at bay for a few weeks. Finally when everything was gone, including his living arrangement, he began to think of how arrogant Hennessy had been. It was a Friday evening and while Simon resentfully watched the weekend party-goers enter the pub, his anger towards Hennessy intensified.

With Christmas behind him and nowhere concrete to live in the height of the cold winter weather, Simon recalled his distant unkind childhood. He had to think of some way to survive. Aware that Hennessy was a creature of habit, Simon found it easy to follow and intercept him as he went from one local to another. Simon beat and robbed Hennessy; he always knew which kind of drunk to take on, Hennessy had always been a mellow silly drunk. Within two days, the proceeds from his mugging were spent and some of the boys from the building site started looking for Simon. Exhausted from hiding, Simon faked a suicide attempt and decided to rest for a week while he thought of a plan. Dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown, Simon sat in the large recreational room weighing up his options. His only means of survival was to leave the country for a while, he had a sister who barely tolerated him in Manchester. He could arrive on her door and she'd have no choice but to let him stay. Of course he'd have to pretend to have changed and say he'd been off the beer for years. He might think of something else before the week was out. At least he felt his nerves had improved and maybe tomorrow he would shave off his beard. The edginess he was experiencing would simply have to run its course, although the medication in the hospital was an enormous help. As he sat idly in the recreational room, he surveyed the other patients calculating how many of them were in his position. How many faked a suicide attempt to find a secure holding until their situation settled? Or who needed to get a sympathetic employer's forgiveness? Looking around him, he tried to wean out the fraudsters. There was something vaguely familiar about the female he had seen screaming on the corridor a few nights previously. She was sitting by the window in the smoking area wearing the hospital issued bed clothes. Slouched in her chair, she didn't speak to anyone, just miserably stared at the ground beneath her. When he felt up to it he would try chatting to her, for the moment he had too much to contend with without being burdened with someone else's problems.

Lucinda was beginning to doubt she would ever feel normal again. One minute she felt fine and then next minute she believed God was calling her. Too confused to make sense of anything, she spent the day going from bed to the smoking area; each time a nurse would patiently escort her to and fro. Unsure what day it was she overheard the patients discussing Mass and deduced it must be Sunday. Lucinda knew she would not make it into work in the morning. Realistically it was unlikely she would make it to work for the entire week, which was another problem on top of everything else. She felt completely trapped. There was nowhere she could turn, she couldn't walk ten steps on her own and felt too ill to make the journey to her apartment alone.

Once again she found herself thinking about Vincent, but this time she saw him in a more favourable light after finding his photograph in her wallet. Maybe it was the sight of his reassuring eyes looking out from the photograph. There was something consoling in his expression. As she stared at the photo she softened at the sight gamey grin. She swept her fingers over his face safe in the knowledge that everything would work out. In hindsight Lucinda felt she had been the one who had jumped the gun. Of course she should have realised that Vincent was not serious when he had sent the message. That text message was only a reflection of Vincent going through one of his guilty moments, he was forever dwelling on his wife and marriage vows. Even Fiona had said that Vincent's wife was a thundering cow; maybe she hadn't used those exact words, but Fiona had definitely criticized her.

They had been talking about cooking. 'Dad said Barbara wasn't a great cook when she first married Vincent.'

'Really?' Lucinda said, encouraging Fiona to reveal more. 'Can't cook a thing? What do her poor family live on?'

'She cooks dinners but her potatoes were raw in the middle and her gravy was lumpy and the meat was burned. Dad was shocked, you know the way he's so old fashioned, he'd be the type to expect the wife to at least be able to cook.'

Lucinda had been walking on air, thrilled that Sean didn't like Barbara's cooking. Later that night she imagined all the tasty food she could prepare for Vincent if she was his wife. Lucinda loved to imagine she was living with Vincent and would invite Sean to stay for weekends. She would build a wonderful relationship with her father-in-law and spoil him as much as Vincent. Not that she was baking brown bread and scones every Saturday morning, but she knew the essentials. If she was married to Vincent, she'd do everything to please him, including taking a cooking class, or any other kind of class that would help their marriage. She pictured herself standing in his kitchen wearing an apron with flour on her cheeks. He would come home from work in his suit and wrap his arm around her unconcerned about the flour getting on his good clothes. No wonder Vincent was so confused. He was caught between his marriage vows and his instinct to cling to what made him happy.

By his own admission he had said it, 'Regardless of anyone I have ever met in the past, Lucinda, you are the real source of happiness in my life. The prospect of meeting you at the end of a day, or week, or month gives me the strength to keep going.'

Someday they might even have children. Vincent had said those very words: 'I'd never rule out more children, anything in life is possible.'

Lucinda believed Vincent to be the warm caring sort who'd love to have had more children, except his wife was too cold and selfish to conceive again. Although Lucinda had met Vincent's wife briefly on a few social occasions before and during their relationship, she categorised Barbara as the typical cold self-obsessed Dublin woman. The last time they met had been in O'Donnell's Bar before Christmas.

'You remember my friend Lucinda Tidy?' Fiona had been keeping Barbara company while Vincent mingled with the locals.

'Your face is familiar,' Barbara said, vaguely nodding her bouncy blonde hair, then lamely shook Lucinda's hand. 'Remind me again.'

Utterly gutted she had made such little impression on Barbara that she needed reminding, Lucinda changed tactics, leaving Fiona baffled. Instead of fawning over her, she said instead, 'I can't actually remember meeting you either. Maybe I did,'

Lucinda pretended to try to recall it, 'Did you have jet black hair?'

Barbara's big blue eyes widened with offence, 'No, never.'

Fiona wondered what could be wrong with Lucinda, she could clearly recall their last encounter, especially when Fiona had confided in Lucinda about Barbara's lack of culinary skills. 'This is Barbara, my brother Vincent's wife, Lucinda,' she reiterated.

Again, Lucinda pretended she couldn't remember, then as if it suddenly dawned on her, 'I remember, you used to be really fat, isn't that right? Like gigantically fat?'

Gleefully Lucinda watched Barbara's face pucker indignantly, 'Good God, no. I was never fat.'

Lucinda was about to guess that Barbara had had a really bad acne problem when they last met, thus the mounds of make-up, but she stopped herself, conscious of Fiona's presence.

'Oh well, it's nice to meet you again, although neither of us remember meeting in the first place,' Lucinda smiled privately thinking that will teach 'The Other Woman'. Barbara may very well assume she is above the Tipperary crowd but her ridiculous accent. For the remainder of the night Barbara contributed little to the conversation except fiddle with her hair and appear bored. Fiona did her best to introduce other locals, Barbara politely smiled and shook hands. In hindsight, Lucinda felt she may have overreacted as Barbara was as vague about meeting everyone else, an apt reflection of her poor IQ.

'There are so many people to remember,' Barbara said to Rose.

As always Lucinda spent the night discretely studying Barbara and again wondered what redeeming characteristics she possessed to warrant such commitment from Vincent. The country was full of girls like her, blonde hair, innocent big blue eyes, an average mouth with slightly big lips and maybe slightly crooked bottom teeth; although Lucinda made a mental note to have her teeth bleached on seeing Barbara's pearly whites. Overall Lucinda had to admit Barbara was prettier than the average girl, but not gorgeous. She noted Barbara also wore gold not silver. Her bracelet was a simple gold band matching her necklace, classy, she thought begrudgingly. If Lucinda had known her better she would have asked her if she wanted a duvet, she did so much yawning. Finally Fiona asked her if she wanted to go upstairs and watch TV.

'Gosh, is it that noticeable?' Barbara asked, caught mid yawn. 'If you don't mind, I'd love that.'

Lucinda watched Barbara leave the crowded bar to spend the rest of the night alone. She hadn't even bothered telling Vincent where she was going. Her bouncy blonde hair swayed as she picked her way through the crowd towards the door marked 'Private'. Barbara's indifference towards her husband was another fine display of her selfishness. Lucinda prided herself as a woman of the world acquainted with all kinds and believed Barbara to be a cold and shallow sort. It was clear Barbara was more into her image than the real meaning of what life was about. Like Vincent, Lucinda thought of herself as a deep soul. Not that she could think of anything that could possibly define her meaningfulness or depth, but there was more to her relationship with Vincent than he had with his wife. She recalled the night he cooked a meal in her apartment for Valentine's Day. He went as far as elaborately folding the napkins and lighting candles. His actions alone professed all the love in the world, and that he was trapped with a wife he would rather not be with. That was the night that he stretched his hands across the table and held hers and said, 'You and I understand the meaning of true pain, which is why we share such true love.'

He had been telling her how hard it was to live in a loveless marriage to a selfish woman like Barbara. He may not have used those exact words, 'she's got her own stuff going on,' he said. Reading between the lines, Lucinda knew exactly what he meant. She had never heard the likes of it in her life, every time she relived his declaration, it reinstated her faith in him. There and then Lucinda decided that it was his wife who had caused Vincent's impulsive outburst. It irritated her that this had only occurred to her now, it was a known fact that Barbara was a demanding, kept woman. She had probably demanded more outlandishly expensive furniture for their house, or more money to finance her shopping trips or something else along those shallow narcissistic lines. Lucinda just needed to hear Vincent's reassuring voice and her world would return to normality. If she had to play the role of the mistress forever, so be it. How could she have doubted him? It must have been the few drinks she'd had; it simply made her over-sensitive and gullible. No doubt about it, Vincent would be by her bedside without a second's hesitation when he realised where she was.

Simon watched the familiar face of the woman in the smoking area. He guessed she was drugged to the eyeballs as she removed a photo from her wallet and stared at it for a long time. He began to think about his girlfriend Cindy and was pleased she wasn't a fruit cake like the woman staring at the photo and rubbing her finger over it. Simon decided not to bother his head worrying about Cindy. It would be a shame to have to use his rough tactics with her so early in the relationship. Surely she must understand she couldn't just put him out like that. Naturally Simon thought with regret of Fiona and their son Emmet. He felt a sudden twinge of remorse but quickly dispelled it. If Fiona had been different he'd still be with her. He was too young for the responsibility of marriage and fatherhood. As if that wasn't bad enough, Fiona had insisted on them buying a house. The monthly mortgage was another unnecessary responsibility, he wasn't ready for all of those commitments.

When it occurred to him that Fiona had tired of trying to save him, parting was the only option. Simon knew she would be fine, her father would see that both she and Emmet would want for nothing. They had plenty of money and Sean had accumulated extensive land over the years. Fiona sold their house and moved back to her father's. The sale of their house hadn't made a huge profit, nonetheless Simon saw to it that he got his share.

'My name is on the deeds. Legally half of the house is mine.' Simon drove to Tipperary to claim his money. They met in a pub outside of town and Simon was surprised at how distant Fiona was.

'How do you propose to help support Emmet?' she asked, looking at him with tired eyes.

Simon reckoned he'd be leaving with his share of the house. Fiona's old fighting instinct had left her. 'That's what the Deserted Mother's Allowance is for.'

Fiona didn't answer him.

Irritated by her silence, 'What are you complaining about, you're not going to starve, and your old man has dosh coming out his ears.'

'My father might be loaded, but I'm not. I work for him for a set wage. I'm appalled that you would demand this money.'

'Be as appalled as you bloody well want to be,' Simon retorted, angry she was using their son as emotional blackmail. 'My name is on those deeds so give me my bloody money and let me get out of this shithole of a town for good.'

Fiona quietly slid the cheque across the table. That day there were no tears or pleas to change; Simon knew she had had enough. Time was a great healer, he consoled himself. Of all the women he had met before, during, and after his marriage, Fiona was the only one who genuinely loved him, for better or worse, and maybe she was the one he had loved the most. For years she nursed him back to health when he drank for a few days, or when he'd come home after a hammering. She certainly had tried and truly believed in him. Perhaps in a few weeks time when he got himself sorted he might call her. Anything was possible.

# CHAPTER 10

Rather than sounding critical by asking Alice to slow the car down, Rose closed her eyes tightly when Alice overtook hastily or irrationally tail-gated. It was Sunday afternoon and they were travelling back to Dublin early hoping to beat the regular Sunday influx of weekenders. Initially Rose was delighted Alice opted to do the driving, until she'd remembered how fast Alice drove.

'There are such idiots on the roads,' Alice complained before accelerating her mini cooper and zooming past a cautious, elderly couple.

'They're out for a Sunday drive,' Rose said noticing how the elderly man was clinging to the steering wheel for dear life.

'God love them, it's probably one of the few luxuries they've left. A nice Sunday drive and maybe visit a few old remaining friends.'

'Of course you'd say that; he drives slightly faster than you,' Alice jokingly had a go at Rose's slow driving. 'Your kind of driver, I mean their kind of snail-pace driver could cause an accident.' She deliberately said, 'Your kind, ahem, their kind should stick to the secondary roads in that case, or drive on the hard shoulder.'

Rose laughed at Alice's irreverence, 'God forgive you and I hope you never crash, but that couple and I pay our car tax too and are entitled to drive wherever we want.'

'Well, could you limit your outings to weekdays or possibly night time when the rest of us are not on the roads?'

Both girls began to laugh knowing Alice didn't mean a word of it.

'Shame on you,' Rose said. 'Anyway, there's no great urgency on us either,' she added hoping Alice would take a hint and slow down.

According to Aengus, Alice was a fantastic driver and knew her cars. But it astonished Rose how Alice escaped acquiring any points on her licence, she seemed to know where all of the hidden cameras were and exactly when to slow down. Unable to witness any more of Alice's speedster antics Rose reclined the passenger seat and lay back allowing the January sun to rest on her face. Although the girls drank too much again the previous night, they deemed the hangover worth it.

Rose was making mental notes on how to prepare for work in the morning while Alice was planning her social calendar for the following weekend.

'Next weekend I'm going to give my body a rest from all of this unhealthy eating and drinking,' Alice said thinking out loud.

Rose smiled in amusement, this was their typical conversation after a weekend in Tipperary. It was as if their plans for a new lifestyle eased their guilty conscience of making gluttons of themselves. Although underweight, Alice was forever promising herself that she would start living the wholesome lifestyle. She would swear to start eating plenty of fruit, drinking buckets of water and joining a gym, none of which she ever did.

'I have kept my New Year's resolution and I'm walking at least twenty minutes, five days a week but I think I'll do more, maybe work out at the gym instead of walking, or join pilates or some aerobics classes,' Alice said.

'You'll feel better tomorrow and all of those brainstorms will be gone out of the window,' Rose said realistically. 'I'm starting the GI Diet tomorrow,' she confided in Alice.

Initially Rose had intended to keep it a secret, then when everyone would comment on how thin she had become she would simply shrug her shoulders and appear baffled by her sudden weight loss.

'Great idea,' Alice encouragingly replied. Rose had so much potential to be eye-catching if she shed some of the weight. With such defined features, good bone structure and attractive colouring she had the best essentials. Her skin was sallow and her eyes were clear green.

'You'll feel great with the weight gone.'

'If anything for my health,' Rose said knowing they had had this conversation over a hundred times before.

They both lapsed into silence, each one thinking of dieting and food and good intentions for the morning.

'Do you fancy Eddie Rocket's tonight?' Alice asked. 'We can start tomorrow.'

'Absolutely,' Rose said, her mouth watering at the thoughts of the garlic chips and cheeseburger she would devour. 'One last splurge before I embark where no man has gone before. Or how no woman has starved before,' she said in a mocking voice.

As they approached the city centre Alice turned off the music while Rose readjusted the seat.

'And, Lucinda ?' Alice asked quietly, 'What should we do?'

Rose thought for a few moments without answering. One way or another Rose was going to confront her, she had made her mind up in Tipperary. Rarely was there smoke without fire.

'Rose, do you think she's taking drugs?' Alice asked innocently, her concern for her friend overriding her normal discretion.

'It could be a number of things,' Rose answered diplomatically.

'Or do you think she's genuinely sick, you know,' she hesitantly asked, 'do you think she's suffering from the nerves?'

Rose looked at Alice's concerned frown. She was never comfortable delving too deeply into the serious aspects of life. Yet Rose was not going to minimise her concerns; she too had been worried about Lucinda.

'Lucinda has been so secretive lately it could be anything,' Rose said without divulging her own suspicions.

'Do you think she just doesn't want to hang out with us anymore?' Alice asked the question like a hurt child; Rose felt like putting her arms around her consolingly.

'Lucinda has problems, it's hard to say what the problem is now. One thing is for sure, it has nothing to do with us; we have done nothing wrong.'

She said it so matter-of-factly Alice was reminded of her mother, Doreen.

'All we can do is drive by her apartment and invite her along.' Rose was surprised Alice hadn't asked if Lucinda's problem was about a man. Alice thrived on gossip and relished exploring the problems within relationships. Now that Rose had heard the recent whispers, it was all so obvious, in fact, she was surprised she had not suspected it sooner. Although, Rose didn't want be too hasty in assuming Lucinda had definitely been having an affair for several years, she truly hoped she was wrong, but it would be too coincidental to be untrue.

Later that evening, after both girls ate their fill at Eddie Rocket's, Alice drove Rose to her cottage. All the time she couldn't stop talking about Lucinda. So evident was Alice's anguish, Rose thought she was about to burst into tears.

'She must be avoiding me, her phone was off all weekend, and God knows how many messages I've left. There isn't sight nor sound or any kind of explanation for any of us.' Alice added, her voice quivering with anger, 'It is so rude not to return calls.'

There was a time when they joked about being telepathic they were so close. Alice began to wonder if friendships as strong as theirs could die so quickly. Rose listened, but could not defend Lucinda. Eventually Alice sounded as if she was taking it personally.

'Is it just me or what?'

Rose had to bite her lip, under no circumstances could she possibly reveal what she believed to be the truth. It wasn't her place, and although Rose was reasonably sure her suspicions were accurate, it was not confirmed with her own eyes. Rose had to admit, there must have been more to the story than she was aware.

'Of course it's not just you, I've left several messages too.'

Alice had the engine of the car running and sounded as if she could have explored the subject to death.

'Are you coming in or do you want to sit out here for the night?' Rose eventually asked.

Alice hesitated for a moment, 'I've so much to do,' she whined.

'Like what?' Rose asked, before answering her own question sarcastically, 'Feed your fourteen children and scrub the house?'

'That's true,' she said switching off the engine and stepping out of the car.

Once inside the cottage, Alice retrieved her spare pyjamas from the hot press. Rose lit the fire and both girls sat in the deep, comfortable, old-fashioned armchairs eating the remainder of some biscuits and drinking decaffeinated tea. Four hours later, Alice agreed that Lucinda had had a lot more to cope with than most people. It must have affected her entire life the way her mother had literally abandoned her. Although Alice was tired after such an intense conversation, she felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. When the subject had been well and truly exhausted, both girls prepared for bed.

'I'm glad we had that chat,' Alice confessed, cleansing her face. 'All we can do is be there for her.'

'Exactly,' Rose agreed, relieved Alice was less anxious about it. 'We'll invite her to everything but not take it personally if she refuses.'

'Right, it's all we can do. I have to admit I was furious with her, I really thought she was ignoring me deliberately.'

Alice snuggled under Rose's green feathered eiderdown appreciating its warmth and the quaintness of the wallpapered bedroom. Normally Alice found the decor of the bedroom an eye-sore with its clashing wallpaper and carpets and old bulky furniture, but tonight she welcomed it in all its glory. Alice was usually chilled about almost everything in life, her concerns were basic enough and problems were usually resolved within a few hours. But the worry surrounding Lucinda would not go away. Before going to sleep she noticed the stack of intellectual books on Rose's bedside locker. One of the titles was difficult to pronounce and Alice couldn't fathom how anyone could be bothered with such high calibre topics as bedtime reading.

'Do you not find yourself climbing the walls after reading such heavy books at night?' she asked Rose.

'No, other books don't engage me.'

Before going to sleep Alice sent a goodnight text to The Sickly Prince, 'sory mised u tonite great wkend talk in morn xxx.'

She watched the small envelope sending the message, then immediately sent him a second message.

'send me pic of u. one to make me smile.'

A short time later Rose closed the book she was reading. She found herself agreeing

with Alice, maybe for once she should read something light. After reading the same paragraph three times and not absorbing one word, she switched off her bedside lamp and lay in the dark listening to Alice's rhythmic breathing. The relief on Alice's face was obvious as she had unburdened her thoughts about Lucinda; if only she knew the truth. But then again, Rose reminded herself she was not 100 percent sure of the truth. If Lucinda was having an affair with her work colleague Andrew O'Keeffe, surely she would have let something slip at this stage. Although Rose was aware that Lucinda and Andrew had been friends for many years, Lucinda didn't make a secret of the fact that they called each other after office hours, met the odd Sunday for lunch and regularly went for drinks together. Rose had met him a few times over the years and once with his wife in the Abbey Theatre. That evening Rose thought Lucinda had tried to avoid meeting Andrew and his wife. Later Lucinda explained that his wife was jealous and she didn't like to embarrass Andrew. Then, a few months previously, Aengus heard from one of his friends in banking who had dealings with Lucinda's bank, that Lucinda was seeing some married guy.

'Having an affair with a married man?' Rose repeated assuming Aengus had it all wrong.

'No, he was referring to Lucinda Tidy from Tipperary who drives a red MG sports car, and works as an accountant in the bank. Seemingly her fling has been going on for donkey's years.'

Aengus said it so casually that Rose wanted to furiously shake more information out of him. She was indignant that Aengus appeared to know so much about her friend, if anyone knew, she should know.

'I don't believe it.'

'One of their frequent haunts is the Johnny Fox's pub, they usually sit in one of the snugs out of sight. What's more, they are regularly seen sitting in his black Audi TT at the look-out point near the pub.'

Rose had wanted to drive to the spot there and then, and sit and wait regardless of how long it took. In hindsight Rose wondered if it was sheer nosiness or concern that had made her so adamant to find out that night. 'We should drive to Lucinda's apartment right now and you can show me what an Audi TT looks like.'

Instead of springing into action, Aengus drooled, 'Lucky lad, whoever he is.'

'What do you mean?'

'I said he's a lucky lad, shagging Lucinda and owning an Audi TT. They are two great accomplishments in any man's eyes.'

Rose left the room afraid she was going to thump him. Over the next few days Rose had mentally rehearsed the conversation she would have with Lucinda. She'd pretend to have developed an interest in cars and drop it into the conversation that she was thinking of buying an Audi TT. She would mention several brands of cars and pretend that the Audi suited her needs and she needed a second opinion. With all of her rehearsing there was no need to beat around the bush. As soon as Rose mentioned how attractive the Audi TT was, Lucinda volunteered all the information she needed to confirm Aengus's rumour.

'Why didn't you say it sooner? Andrew has an Audi TT.'

As if Rose was not reeling from the shock, Lucinda then suggested they go for a spin together. 'I'm sure Andrew wouldn't mind if you wanted to take his out for a spin and open it up on the motorway. I've used it several times.'

So many thoughts rushed through Rose's head, she had no idea how she had finished the conversation. Rose thought that Lucinda had some nerve, not only was she in the throes of a passionate relationship with a married man, who was at least 15 years her senior, she was conducting it so blatantly it was downright brazen. She was even lording around in his car as if she was his wife. Later that evening when she relayed the conversation to Aengus over a few drinks, she was torn between finding Lucinda's attitude amusing and questioning if she was the one whose morals were askew. Not that Aengus had been any great help, he added insult to injury by speculating about their sex life.

'Do you think the Audi TT would rock with the pair of them having sex?' Aengus seemed genuinely interested. 'I'd say not,' he answered his own question, 'Even the small sporty Audi could accommodate hard rocking and banging. Yes, I'd say it'd be solid enough not to shake.'

Rose stared back at him disbelievingly.

As Rose watched the minutes on her bedside clock tick by she became annoyed with herself. Why hadn't she been brave enough to broach the subject with Lucinda when she first heard the rumour? It would have been a simple enough question initially. By the time she decided they were definitely having an affair it was too late. There never seemed a right time and when the time was right she felt it was none of her business. Finally, Rose left it too long and broaching the topic became more and more awkward as time went by. She eventually thought if Lucinda had wanted her to know, surely she would have told her. Then she had waited and given her every opportunity to discuss it, they had even talked about a local couple at home.

Lucinda had expressed her sympathies and was also notably defensive. 'There are so many unhappy marriages, it's not a mortal sin to have an affair or anything. If I was stuck in a loveless relationship I'd think there was nothing wrong with searching for love elsewhere.'

All the time Rose had been noting these little snippets of information. Rose imagined that Lucinda had eventually gotten in too deep and something had gone wrong. These married men usually return to their wives, or move onto another woman. The only part of the theory that bothered Rose was how Lucinda allowed herself to play second fiddle to any woman. She was the selfish sort who would not tolerate any man having commitments other than her. Rose imagined Andrew must have spun a fantastic yarn to have kept her strung along. Or in the early stages it was only a game and Lucinda willingly went with it until she found there was no turning back.

Examining Lucinda's relationship kept Rose awake for the most of the night. She began thinking about Andrew and what she would like to say to that rat if she ever got the chance. By 3.30am she had worked herself into a state of anger imagining how she'd barge into Andrew's office wielding a double barrel shot gun, and shooting him in the groin. Although Andrew wasn't unattractive, he wasn't the typical bloke Lucinda usually dated. Everything about him was average. He was of medium build and height, his brown hair was receding, his eyes were not noticeable, and nothing about him was overtly attractive. He was also slightly camp, the few times Rose met him, he was dressed immaculately and coordinated his ties and suits quite well. She could see how certain women could be attracted to him, but not Lucinda. At 4.30am, Rose got out of bed, spent five minutes searching for Lucinda's spare keys to her apartment and then put them into her bag for the morning.

# CHAPTER 11

Simon gazed out of the window, fondly remembering his days in Tipperary. Maybe it was the medication that brought back those memories, but now that he'd thought about it, the idea appealed to him. He'd welcome a return to the rural, relaxed way of life. He still had some good culchie friends, not many but a few. They weren't all muck savages who treated him like a Dublin leper. The lads he'd played soccer with were good friends, for years he'd played on the local team; back then he could play for hours without getting winded. Every Sunday they'd play a match, the wives and families would support from the sideline or take a bus and make a day of it. Come rain or shine, Fiona would be on the sideline roaring words of encouragement. It occurred to Simon that he had been a different man back then, but he'd get it back, he could be a husband again. A reunion with Fiona could go either way, she might only let him back for Emmet's sake. They could live separate lives but stay together for the sake of the child, or better still, they could get back together.

Simon acknowledged that the early years of his relationship with Fiona were the happiest years of his life. Neither drinking nor gambling was an issue then. Despite the fact that they were the same age, Fiona had been much more naïve than he was. She was always eager to learn more about him, and sometimes behaved as if she saw life for the first time, while Simon had seen it all. Fiona took an interest in everything he did, from his profession as a painter and decorator to his interest in horse-racing. Every Friday evening Fiona would drive to where he was working and admire the work. From there they would drive to some isolated pub; they didn't drink a lot, but spent hours just talking. There was a warmth he remembered from those days; sometimes back then he was happy enough just to stay in with Fiona, they'd lie on the couch together and watch TV, enjoy the simple pleasures of life. As Simon watched an old man shuffle across the room, he couldn't help thinking Tipperary would be a damn sight better than being stuck in this hospital with such hopeless options. Strangely he hadn't thought of it before, but the more consideration he gave it, the more optimistic he felt about it. After a few healthy meals and vitamin pills he would regain his appearance. Getting employment in Tipperary would be difficult but he'd probably get enough work to get by. This time he would stay away from the booze and gambling for a while. Life would certainly be a lot less chaotic and of course his enemies wouldn't think of seeking him out in Tipperary.

Later that night when Simon returned to the recreational room he noticed the same familiar face in the smoking area. He studied her slight frame and watched the nursing staff assist her. There was something vaguely familiar about her mannerisms, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear and took her time smoking. The more he watched her, Simon thought she was a dead-ringer for Lucinda Tidy. The last time Simon had seen Lucinda, she was driving a flash red sports car through Tipperary looking like a million dollars. He had heard she worked in a bank and was dating some millionaire. Some people had all the luck, he reflected miserably. The more Simon scrutinised the girl, the more he thought the similarity struck him. To quell such ridiculous notions, Simon discreetly walked the ten steps towards the window. Pretending to look towards the car park as if he was expecting someone, he quickly glanced in her direction. All the time he doubted it could be her, yet he was suspiciously drawn to the familiarity of her demeanour. He looked directly at her again, just to make absolutely sure it was her. Momentarily, he was rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do next. He turned his face away from her to hide the grin.

Later he would describe himself as 'dumbstruck at the sight of her bashed face and crazed eyes.' While attempting to contain himself he returned to his seat and watched her from a safe distance. This was too damn good to be true. Talk about the unexpected, what the hell had she done to herself? He rubbed his hands over his beard. Simon considered going over there now and patting her on the back like they were old friends. He remembered the way she hated him being over familiar with her.

Simon watched as the nurse attempted to help Lucinda. Unsurprisingly, she was being difficult, 'There is no need to stand over me,' she said to the nurse.

'You're still very unsteady on your feet,' the nurse explained.

Over the years of hospitalizations and downhill spirals Simon had seen quite a few people fall from grace, but none took the wind out of his sails like Lucinda. Simon watched from the far corner of the room toying with the idea of reacquainting himself with her. He might sarcastically suggest they go for a drink together, now that they could relate to each other at last. He shivered at the thought of her venomous tongue. On more than one occasion he'd had the unfortunate experience of being on the receiving end of her wrath. He recalled the last Christmas he was in Tipperary, he'd asked her for a Christmas kiss. She had replied in her typical condescending tone, 'Surely even an illiterate like you must know that the story of the princess kissing the frog is only a fairy tale.'

With trembling hands Lucinda lit another cigarette and moved uncomfortably in her chair. Her sleek light brown hair was matted where the blood had dried and the side of her face was filthy with scabs. Simon couldn't decide whether her lips had always been that full or if they were battered and swollen. She looked demented, her eyes were like a crazed junkie's. They would be the exact words he'd use to describe the sight of her to Fiona. This could be the ticket back to his old comfortable life. Simon was building himself into a state of elation at the thought of telling Fiona.

Actually he would tell everyone and let the tongues wag about someone other than him for once. He could just imagine what he'd say. He'd pretend to be upset and clear his throat a few times, 'I got such a shock at the sight of the poor unfortunate girl, I'd say she'll never again lead a normal life. She's only fit to be in a home for the bewildered for the rest of her days.' At last this bitch had gotten what was coming to her. If he hadn't spent his last few quid on cigarettes he might even go to the phone right now and start spilling the beans.

Unable to smoke the remainder of her cigarette Lucinda returned to her bed. She was feeling nauseous again and was unsure what to do about Vincent. This whole experience was depressing her more as the hours went by. Knowing she was still too unsteady to leave, yet frustrated that she hadn't improved, panic was beginning to set in. Even the smoking area was depressing, full of desperate women and bearded men staring out of the windows at nothing. It was like a home for Ireland's lost.

After a rest she might phone Vincent. Although the pills were superb, she'd like an hour of clarity in order to be focused enough to ring him. She was afraid that her speech wasn't perfect and she needed to be at her most alert for him. After another short rest she might phone him. On noticing the day growing dark outside, she decided to phone him first thing in the morning instead. He'd be at work and she knew his office number off by heart.

Simon couldn't stop grinning, the ball was in his court. When Lucinda passed him, she had looked directly at him but nothing registered in her vacant battered expression. Simon began to see the dollar signs before his eyes. He would sit tight for another few days, it looked like neither of them were going too far.

*

Rose turned off Thomas Street onto Francis Street, cursing the bitter January weather. Despite wearing her warmest woollen suit and having her coat buttoned tightly around her scarf she could still feel the breeze almost bite her. On days like this she would give anything to have stayed in her warm bed reading and listening to the morning radio programs. Instead she was working herself into a state over the possible murder and mutilation of one of her best friends.

'Rose, for such a reasonable person you really have allowed your imagination to get the better of you,' the rational voice of Aengus brought Rose back to reality. Over the phone he could hear the early morning traffic and slightly unfamiliar anxiety in her voice.

'But nobody has heard from her since Thursday and she hasn't been to work. It's all very worrying,' Rose added.

'Yes, it is unusual that nobody's heard from her, but to expect to find her murdered is a bit unlikely.'

'There are murders every day of the week in this city,' Rose said with real fear. After sitting in rush hour traffic for 20 minutes with little else to think about apart from Lucinda's demise, her fears had now snowballed into scenes of blood, guts, rape and pillage. She was aware that it was unreasonable, but Rose had never aired her true concern for Lucinda. She often thought that beneath Lucinda's cool façade lurked a darkness that she tried to deny.

'That's true, but it would be more likely that Lucinda would do the murdering.' Aengus continued, 'On one of her bad days her venom alone could kill.'

Rose was amused at his perception, 'Less of that,' she pretended to chide, but noted how much Lucinda's wrath had been noticed.

Along with Lucinda's self-destructive tendency, she could be mean in equal measure. She was grateful for Aengus's company while she was about to investigate Lucinda's sudden disappearance.

'I expect she's probably just dismembering some 19-year-old handsome victim who failed to satisfy her sexually. As we speak, she's probably tossing his boyish head out the window of her car on her way to work.'

The previous night Rose had decided to call uninvited to Lucinda's. Now clutching the spare keys to her apartment, she was having reservations. Afraid of sounding like a hysterical woman conjuring unnecessary drama at Lucinda's expense, Rose had been reluctant to call anyone. Rose suspected it to be more serious than Lucinda's previous silences, and had begun to think that something sinister had happened. Knowing Aengus to be the best at keeping secrets, she had called him. Gallantly he became the voice of reason she had lost. Rose let herself in through the main entrance then climbed the stairs.

'What's the worst case scenario?' Aengus asked.

'Now that you ask, did you hear about these ritual killings among some of the emigrant groups? Imagine if Lucinda had gotten into something weird and I found her body cut to shreds or something.'

'Not possible.' Aengus stated flatly. 'Not a remote chance in the world. In the first place, Lucinda hates foreigners and makes no secret of it. Secondly, she is way too selfish to give ten minutes of her time to someone she doesn't like, not to mind round up a whole group of foreigners to sacrifice her body. And thirdly, if she was into sacrificing bodies, she would certainly not be doing the offering.'

Rose was breathless by the time she reached the door. 'Yes, now that you mention her racist streak, you're probably right.'

'What's the next worst case scenario?'

'That her dead body is waiting for me.' Rose rang the doorbell.

'Most likely best case scenario?' Aengus asked.

'That she's sitting up watching Ireland AM and will be furious that I allowed myself into her apartment without her consent.'

Rose rang the door bell again and rapped on the door. As she let herself in, she was grateful this situation was occurring in Dublin and not in some rural village. Apartment blocks impersonal places where the majority of the residents were young singletons only passing through. All of her neighbours were too busy with city life to bother becoming acquainted.

'Lucinda? Are you home?' Rose called nervously.

'Well?' Aengus whispered, the apprehension clear in his voice, 'Is she there?'

Quickly Rose rushed from room to room driven by panic rather than curiosity.

'No, she's not here but the place is a mess.'

In the living room all of the lights were switched on and the curtains were closed. The air was stale with the smell of cigarettes, food and alcohol. The ashtrays were overflowing and her normally orderly apartment was untidy with wine bottles and dirty dishes on the floor and piled in the sink. There were new clothes stuffed into the bin, on closer inspection, Rose noticed that the price tags were still attached. Carefully she removed them from the bin with the hangers still attached and laid them over a chair. Rose wondered what had gotten into Lucinda's head to warrant dumping unworn clothes. As Rose opened the curtains and windows, she noticed Lucinda's much cherished 1950's Dublin City painting placed on the coffee table.

'What's wrong?' Aengus gasped.

Rose had forgotten she was holding the mobile to her ear with Aengus still on the line 'Nothing, thankfully no legs or limbs about.' Rose returned the painting to its position on the wall, Lucinda liked to re-examine the artist's finer details, usually when she had drunk too much.

'Everything OK?' Aengus rechecked.

'Yes, thanks for your company,' she smiled, 'I'll call you later.'

Alone in the apartment, Rose felt like a detective trying to gather evidence of Lucinda's last hours. The bedroom was in a similar state. The curtains were closed and the lamp by her bed was switched on. The heater was set at maximum, all of her perfumes and toiletries had been knocked off of the dressing table and the chair was on its side. She also noticed broken glass on the floor. Rose was aware of her friend's tendency to drink too much from time to time. One night she had informed Rose quite matter-of-factly that occasionally she would get drank alone when the notion took her.

'I just decided to get whacked off my head, it's great for letting off steam. Very much like letting the pressure off the pressure cooker,' she had said, pointing to her head.

Lucinda had made it sound so normal and necessary, like a good facial once a month. She began to adjust the bedroom and tried to think about what to do next. Thankfully Rose realised she had never been in a similar situation. The double bed was positioned underneath the window, and as Rose stretched over the locker to open the curtains and windows she noticed an empty bottle of gin on the floor. There was also a list. Another list; Rose thought of Lucinda compiling her lists. As a child and teenager it was common to find lists with her name printed on the top in books or cupboards or jacket pockets. Although as an adult her need to write lists had subsided slightly, she continued to print her name across the top. Rose read Lucinda's latest list. As expected, Lucinda's List was printed on it. The next line was barely legible, People I hate and people I'd like to haunt. Rose noted her name among the six mentioned. Vincent O'Donnell's name was the only person who was not directly connected to Lucinda. She guessed that Vincent may have indirectly insulted her at some stage, unfortunately Lucinda took umbrage too often. Apart from that, Lucinda's list was a further indication of how distorted she had been of late. Andrew's name spoke volumes. Rose didn't take offence that her name was on the list; regardless of how Lucinda behaved, she knew she was always loved by the Tipp girls. Alice would surely take it personally if she saw her name mentioned on the list. To avoid further problems, Rose tore it up at once. On the reverse side of the page was another list, Reasons I Hate the World. 'Waning physical appearance' took up most of the list, 'wrinkles, cellulite, sagging', and at the bottom, 'life doesn't fit anymore.'

In the bin was an empty bottle of pills. Unaware of any pill problem but not surprised by any of Lucinda's recent habits, Rose sat on the end of the bed and tried to think logically. Apart from the chemist's name, the rest of the label on the container had been removed. She thought about ringing Aengus again, but decided she could solve her own problems without whimpering like a helpless female. Rose returned to the living room and removed her coat and scarf. She checked the bin and found a half-eaten pizza. The date of delivery on the box was four days ago, Thursday. Rose established that she had not been at work for most of last week. It was too early to call her office to see if she was due into work today. It could be possible she had invited a few friends back to her apartment and then they had taken the party elsewhere. That seemed unlikely as there was no sign of anyone else's presence. She couldn't report her missing as she may not be missing and that would mean wasting the police time. But what if it wasn't a simple misunderstanding and Lucinda genuinely was missing?

The phone was answered immediately, 'Pearce Street Garda Station.'

Taken aback by the crispness of the Garda, Rose was momentarily silenced, realising she had never phoned a Garda Station in her life.

'Hello?' he repeated.

'Hello,' Rose gathered herself and matched his briskness, 'I think I would like to report a missing person.'

'How long has this person been missing?' asked the police officer with a deep accent that upheld the reputation of the country-boy-cop from the back of beyond. She guessed he was from Wicklow.

'I'm not entirely sure,' she answered slowly, trying to recall when they had last spoke. Rose thought of the empty bottle of gin and container of pills. Alarmed, she wondered why Lucinda was not confined to her bed after such an alcohol fuelled few days. Rose's worse case scenarios returned to her and she thought of Lucinda lying dead in some dump; the potential seriousness of the situation grew again. Rose could imagine the terror Lucinda must have experienced.

'I don't know . . . I can't remember when I last spoke to her.'

'A few days, or hours, or a week ago?' the Garda prompted.

With that Rose burst into tears and began to bawl incoherently into the phone, 'She could be dead . . . her apartment is a mess . . . there's an empty bottle of pills ... a few days, I don't know,' she managed to say between sobs.

The Garda waited until Rose had regained her composure, she was gone beyond caring what he thought of her damsel-in-distress display. All she wanted was Lucinda safely returned. Rose paused and tried to recall when they last spoke, for those few minutes nothing would come to her, 'I don't know?' she repeated helplessly.

'Would you like us to send a car round to you?' he asked, sounding genuinely concerned in his sing-song accent.

'No, that won't be necessary,' she sniffled, 'Just tell me what to do?'

'Alright,' he said gently, 'When did you last hear from her?'

Rose thought of the pizza box with Thursday's date on it then remembered the message left on Fiona's phone. 'One of my friends got a message on Friday morning.'

'Alright,' he said again.

His gentle approach made Rose feel like she was no longer alone.

'If it looks like she has taken pills I would try the hospitals. Failing that, call me back straight away, my name is Brian Allan and I'll be here until 2.00pm today.'

'Thank you Garda,' she sighed, unsure how to address him.

Rose took a pen from her bag and an old envelope from the bin and dialled the number for directory enquiries. Try the hospitals. Of course; why hadn't that occurred to her?

# CHAPTER 12

Simon Keogh was beginning to get exhausted from his detective work. All morning he'd followed and scrutinised Lucinda's every move. She was a difficult lady to keep track of, so far she had used the bathroom four times and smoked six cigarettes. Judging from her agitation, he suspected she was about to do something and he needed to know what that was? Suspicious that Lucinda might be about to leave, he couldn't afford to let her out of his sight. Lucinda appeared to be a great deal stronger now and was managing the walks to the bathroom and smoking areas unaided. He also noticed she ate a healthy breakfast and dawdled over her coffee. Simon sat at the opposite end of the dining area noting everything. Observation had always been second nature to Simon. Stealing a few glimpses at Lucinda, he noticed she was also much more presentable today. The bruises were fading and the grazes on her face were shrinking, but Simon reckoned she still looked a shocking sight. She was always dressed like a little sex kitten. He imagined that Lucinda Tidy would do anything in the sack, although it was strange he had never heard any stories about her. Oozing with confidence, sometimes bordering on intimidation, she gave the impression her type of man was leagues ahead of him. But in her current state she would frighten the most desperate punter if she was selling.

Lucinda ate her breakfast among the other patients in the dining area. Now that she had improved she had graduated from the bed to the communal dining area. It was also part of the smoking area, as was everything that seemed to happen in the ward. Lucinda noticed that Morticia Addams had made it out of her dark cubicle to join the daylight crew. Morticia looked like someone who belonged in the dark, her long jet black hair and beady eyes peered out from her pale face. She smiled at Lucinda. Maybe there is hope for some of them, she thought. After eating, she had coffee and finally came to a decision. Lucinda returned to her bed, took what change she possessed and went to the payphone. The battery on her mobile was dead and she knew it was hopeless looking for a charger. As she walked down the long corridor towards the payphone she believed she was about to do the right thing. All night she had debated whether to ring Vincent or not, eventually she concluded that if he was upset and needed someone, Lucinda would be disappointed if he didn't call her. Now that she needed someone, Vincent would be there for her. This was her fifth trek down the corridor to the payphone. It had to be done. At least the sickness was gone completely, all of the tubes had been removed from her arms and she felt almost normal again. The bruising where the needles were inserted was uncomfortable, yet it was a downside to all the great bonuses of the day. Lucinda tried to keep her spirits up, and adopt a positive frame of mind.

It had been so long since Lucinda had used a public payphone that she had to read the instructions as she operated it. Holding the receiver to her ear she listened for the dial tone, and then nervously punched in Vincent's work number. On hearing the ringing tone Lucinda felt faint again. Taking deep breaths and steadying herself by resting her arm against a wall she couldn't help thinking that if he was here, all of this would be alright. She could see no further into the future than Vincent sitting by her bed consoling her. A few gentle words of encouragement from him would see her through this; his voice alone would have given her strength. Anything would be better than being alone. Fighting back the sudden tears, Lucinda willed herself to keep it together.

'Good morning. Vincent O'Donnell,' he answered in his businesslike manner.

Lucinda dropped several coins into the phone and wiped the tears from her face in a vain attempt to be heard, 'Vincent,' she whispered, 'Vincent ...' Unable to speak she placed her hand over her mouth to quell the sounds of her sudden cries.

She cried because instinctively she knew she was about to be dealt the final blow. Maybe some part of her wanted it to be confirmed. His reaction would determine which direction her life would take. A part of Lucinda wanted to get on with her life; leave their hopeless relationship behind and learn to live without the person she idolised.

On recognising her voice he snapped, 'Not now.' He repeated the words with clear agitation, 'Not now.'

Barely able to get the words out of her mouth, she repeated his name, 'Vincent. . . I need you,' she pleaded. 'In the ten years we've been together, I've never asked you for anything. Please, Vincent.'

Ignoring her, he retorted angrily 'Lucinda I am at work, I cannot deal with this right now.' The line went dead. 'Vincent,' she called one more time knowing he had gone.

For the second time in her life Lucinda wept bitter tears of abandonment, only this time felt it as an adult. With her hand held over her mouth, her muffled sobs escaped while her shoulders trembled from the tears she could no longer hide. Quietly she replaced the receiver and returned to her bed. By night she would be out of hospital she vowed, even making a phone call in peace was impossible. The same scruffy bearded man, whom she had noticed earlier, had been loitering behind her waiting to use the phone.

Modern technology was wonderful, Simon sighed as he picked up the receiver of the telephone Lucinda had just used. He had a pen and paper at the ready, but he was only confirming what he already suspected. Placing the receiver between his shoulder and ear, he pressed the redial button and the mobile number appeared on the tiny screen. He wrote it down, redialled the number which led him directly into a mailbox. The unmistakable voice of his brother-in-law sounded like a large piece of a glorious jigsaw puzzle falling into place, yet another unexpected surprise. Things could not get any better, he thought with elation as he listened with satisfaction.

'Hi, you have reached Vincent O'Donnell, please leave your name, number and time of call and I will return to you as soon as possible, thank you.'

Thank you too, Simon grinned. One more time he dialled into Vincent's voicemail and quietly oozed with satisfaction. He didn't leave a message but kept Vincent's number. Without a doubt this was one of his finest stays in any hospital; things could not get more interesting. As he returned to his bed he passed Lucinda's room, he could only see her feet from the door. He guessed that she was lying on her bed having been given plenty of food for thought by Vincent O'Donnell.

Finally everything seemed to make sense for Simon. He had never seen Vincent with other women apart from his wife. He guessed Vincent was the kind to play around. Women loved his sort, he had something to say to everyone, charming and sweet, with just the right words. He would have been considered handsome with his black hair and tall bulky body. Always appearing to do the right thing, at the social gatherings he could do everything from the country waltz to singing a traditional song or tell crude jokes to his male counterparts. Then Lucinda had all the traits of a woman who would have a fling with a married man, not any man would have suited her ego, only a man like Vincent whom everyone wanted. The kind that Lucinda could never really have, those two were so well suited. They had the same detestable arrogance and obnoxious surety. Simon returned to his ward, he could listen to his new room-mate's problems with interest. Another man left penniless and mentally shattered by a woman.

Alice woke refreshed after her early night at Rose's house. Not only was she relieved that her fears regarding Lucinda had abated, but there was also a text video from The Prince on her phone. The title was 'My offering for you, my Muse.' She smiled as she watched his naked body squirm and wondered what the girls would think about it. Now that Lucinda wasn't on her mind she could focus on The Prince and bask in the more enjoyable aspects of life. She listened to his groans of pleasure, then forwarded the video to Fiona. Poor Fiona would be horrified, any sexual activity that did not happen under cover of the duvet in the missionary position was dangerously lewd for Fiona. Next Alice forwarded it to Rose. Alice could imagine the amused smile cross Rose's face and she would ask something like, 'Do the pair of you ever talk or is it all just meshing bodies for sexual pleasure.' Alice was about to send it to Lucinda when she had a better idea. She'd meet her for lunch, surprise her by calling to her at work and personally show her the video. Over lunch they could indulge in one of their long discussions about sex and men and maybe diagnose Alice's fetish or how The Sickly Prince fulfilled her sexually. She watched the footage again as Lucinda's office number rang.

It wasn't that Rose didn't want anyone else involved, she just wanted to be as discreet as possible, if anything just in case her over-concerned mind was jumping to the wrong conclusion.

'It could all be a harmless misunderstanding,' Rose said aloud as she made a black coffee. Immediately she had compiled a list of phone numbers for all the main hospitals and began with the biggest. She was on hold with Elm Park Hospital when she heard the front door close behind her.

'Rose, what are you doing?' Alice was standing at the door with a bag of grapes.

Rose's hand shook from shock, making her spill her coffee onto her neatly written hospital list.

On seeing Rose's frightened reaction Alice laughed, 'Can we do that again?'

Much to Rose's annoyance Alice began making a bigger joke of it. 'Well fancy meeting you here, it's so long since we met.' Alice plonked herself onto the other armchair as if it was a social event. Rose wondered when it would register with Alice that the flat looked as if a bomb had hit it, and that there was something more serious happening other than naked men in videos. It had not been a good time for Rose to see The Prince's erect penis on her mobile.

'Dear Jesus, there's no need to sneak up on me. You should have rang the . . .' Rose's voice trailed off. It was pointless taking it out on Alice.

'Sorry,' she said, not meaning it and still thinking it well worth the trip just to have gotten such a laugh. 'What's going on?' Only then Alice noticed the untidy room and when she saw the full extent of it, she too became alarmed. Despite the freezing January weather, the windows were wide open but there was a lingering stale smell. Alice retrieved a bottle of perfume from her handbag and began to spray it around the room.

Rose returned to her conversation on the phone, 'Yes,' she said to the receptionist, 'Lucinda Tidy.'

As Rose's tone grew more serious, Alice realised the gravity of the situation. She gave her armchair two final squirts and sat down. Rose's cheeks were flushed and the hand she was holding the phone with shook slightly. The normally stoic Rose never got flustered like this, Alice thought.

She suddenly became even more animated, 'Are you sure? It's definitely Lucinda Tidy?'

'How did you get in?' Rose asked, still irritated she'd been caught off guard and was so jumpy into the bargain.

'The door was open,' Alice innocently explained, annoying Rose even more.

'What are you doing here?' Rose tried to sound casual.

'After you went to work I rang Lucinda's office and they told me she was sick, so I decided to take the morning off and pop over here to cheer her up.'

Under the circumstances Alice decided to be diplomatic with the truth. Tactfully she omitted the fact that she had wanted to pick Lucinda's brain about The Prince's video and her sex life in general. Judging from Rose's dismal mood she knew that now was not the time for it.

'In fact, it was Andrew that I was speaking to, you remember him?' Rose nodded.

'Andrew told me she had been out sick for a few days last week. He thinks she might be taking a few more sick days this week as well,' Alice continued.

Momentarily she forgot about Rose's fraught expression. Alice was delighted to be able to add her own bit of news to the drama, unaware of the increasingly irate Rose.

Rose was seething at the mere mention of Andrew's name. 'What else did he say?' Rose asked disguising her contempt.

'Nothing much, but he was quite helpful. Actually he said we must meet up for a drink again,' Alice continued like a flattered 16 years old, 'Although he's a bit square for me, there's something really cute about him, I think it's the brown eyes. Maybe the way he dresses.'

Rose was incensed. The audacity of that man; not only was he slowly screwing up one of her best friends, he also had the gall to try and make his move on another friend. It left her speechless. Then to add to her anger, Alice was plainly flattered at Andrew fawning over her too. Did that balding scut of a man have something she couldn't see? Were there any sane women left in the world? Afraid she was beginning to think like her mother, she tried to put Andrew and his unscrupulous, manipulative, creepy, womanising characteristics out of her mind. She would deal with the problem at hand before tackling that filthy leech.

'So . . .?' Alice was waiting for Rose's version of events.

# CHAPTER 13

Fiona listened to the ringing tone of the mobile phone wishing at least one of the girls would answer.

'This wall too?' Frank shouted from the far end of the bar.

'Yes Frank, knock that one too,' she replied.

With the hour of change upon her, Fiona began doubting her plans. She had a sudden urge to shout at Frank Wallis to stop. Stop tearing asunder the walls that my ancestors built with their bare hands. Of course she wouldn't use Sean's line about the food feeding them when money was so scarce, but maybe they could leave the pub to the way it was, just plod along with no ambition.

'Right you are, that should give the lounge an extra 20 square feet,' Frank said ploughing into her wall.

Fiona examined the maths one more time; Sean had allowed the renovations on the condition that she pays from her own pocket. With her savings and some help from the Credit Union, she would just about cover everything. Watching Frank ram his jackhammer into the century old walls, Fiona winced as if she had been physically hit.

'I only hope your plan works,' Sean said, appearing at the bar door. He said something else but the sound of the jackhammer drowned him out.

'What did you say?' Fiona asked.

'Nothing, I have to get out of here, I can't think with all this racket.'

There was a moment of awkwardness as he lingered in the doorway, looking from her, to the falling wall, to the surrounding bar. It was the end of an era for him. Fiona guessed that he too found it disconcerting, to watch the product of his grandfather's sweat and blood ripped down by the irreverent Frank Wallis.

First Fiona tried Lucinda's mobile thinking she would be in an upbeat mood after her romantic weekend with her date. When the call went straight to voicemail, she dialled Rose for some reasonable advice, but instead was further distracted after their conversation.

'Yes?' Rose snapped.

'Is that the way you normally answer your phone on Mondays?'

'Sorry Fiona, I'm driving at the moment and . . .' Fiona could hear the car horn, 'there are such idiots on the roads.'

'I'll leave you to it,' Fiona said.

'No it's OK, I'm stuck at traffic lights now,' Rose sighed, reluctant to discuss her morning or where she was going. 'How are you this morning?'

'I'm having second thoughts about these renovations now that Frank Wallis has started on the job.'

Rose didn't respond, she was thinking about Lucinda and what was about to meet her when she got to the hospital.

Fiona continued, 'The place is covered in dust and I'm terrified the customers won't like the renovations and take their business elsewhere. I hope I'm doing the right thing.'

'You're nervous, that's understandable now that the job has begun.'

'I hope that's all it is.'

The lights changed to green.

'Of course. It's a big step. You're like a bride with the pre-wedding jitters,' Rose said.

'Could you use a different example? My husband and I are not exactly skipping joyously around the marital bed.'

The sarcasm was lost on Rose, 'Can I call you later? I hate using the phone while driving.'

Rose's abruptness and lack of input increased Fiona's anxiety. She tried ringing Alice. Breathless, Alice answered her phone.

'What are you doing at this hour on a Monday morning that leaves you breathless?' Fiona asked.

Alice appeared to have the best job in the country. She never seemed to go to work before 10am and she took endless afternoons off, then when she did go to work she spent her days surfing the net or making personal phone calls. She admitted she'd never worked as many hours lately due to the recession, yet there was still plenty of time in her office hours for lengthy chats and personal emails.

'I'm bringing out the rubbish,' Alice dragged two black bin liners down the two flights of stairs to the rubbish bin at the back of Lucinda's apartment block. 'How are you?' she asked.

For the initial part of Fiona's response Alice's mind was elsewhere and she didn't hear one word Fiona said. She was thinking about Lucinda. All Rose had said was that Lucinda was in Elm Park hospital. Rose suggested that Lucinda had collapsed after too much drink and would call when she knew more. Reluctant to probe, Alice suspected that Rose was hiding something. Rose had behaved so seriously when she realised where Lucinda was; she'd gathered a spare set of clothes for Lucinda and left for the hospital immediately. Alice had gotten to work on cleaning the apartment and it was proving a harder task than she imagined.

She tuned into the conversation when she realised Fiona sounded as if she was having second thoughts about her new venture.

'I don't know if I'm doing the right thing by renovating the pub,' Fiona said.

'What? This is all you've wanted for the past six months.' Alice put down the rubbish bag and sat on it to catch her breath. 'What's brought this on?'

'It's just that Frank Wallis is here ripping the walls down and I-' Fiona hesitated. 'It's a huge responsibility and . . . my father looks lost at the sight of the bar . . . I don't know if I can do this.'

'Now you listen to me,' Alice took the lead, terrified Fiona was beginning to backtrack and would lose interest in life again.

'If you don't renovate that pub there will be no pub in five years time because all those old men your father is remaining loyal to will be dead. Nobody will want to drink in a pub with cigarette holes in the furniture, the tiles chipped in the bathroom, and walls discoloured from smoke,' Alice paused, hoping she wasn't sounding too critical, 'I hope I'm not upsetting you. But that puke stain inside the back door doesn't help matters either. Nobody is going to want to drink in your pub unless you follow through with this.'

'Exactly,' Fiona agreed, knowing she needed an earful of encouragement.

'You're perfectly right.' Although she didn't like to hear about the puke stains at the back door.

'You will have the best bar in Tipperary in a few weeks time. When the live bands start playing they'll be travelling from all over to drink in your bar.'

Fiona ended the call on a happier note, able to listen to Frank Wallis knocking the life out of the pub while half of his hairy bottom gaped at her.

*

The subtle venom in Vincent's voice replayed in Lucinda head. She spent the last hour lying on her bed going over his reaction. Initially she had thought Vincent would arrive at the hospital. She visualised him hanging up, then regretting his actions and rushing to her bedside to compensate for his abruptness. It was all pointless, for the last ten years she had meant nothing to him. Each time she replayed his reaction, his anger was the most resounding aspect. Like a gnawing ache, it continued to repeatedly sting her as if she were enduring his viciousness for the first time. How little she had meant to him was becoming more and more apparent. His words had not been unkind; what he'd said could have been understandable under different circumstances. He had been at work and was probably busy. Could he not have disguised his irritation? Maybe let her down gently or pretended he couldn't talk? Clearly she had passed her sell-by-date.

Lucinda had known long before he'd dumped her that their affair was over. She had wasted ten years on a man who did not, or was not, capable of loving her. It occurred to Lucinda that she deserved all she'd got. For the duration of their affair she had allowed him to use her any way he wanted. Everything had been done to please him. In reality, her apartment was a tranquil haven from crying children or an understandably isolated housewife. As for his parting words to her, kindness was no longer necessary when Vincent was terminating a relationship. With reality finally dawning, Lucinda allowed the tears to come again; it was pointless trying to stop them at this stage. Shortly she would be in a taxi travelling across the city, never again returning to this holiday home, she thought dismally, eyeing Morticia's closed curtains. In a few hours this would all be a distant memory, never to be retold, even by way of amusing the girls. The funny side had long gone out of the story.

By the time Rose arrived at the hospital, her imagination had run riot. She had hung, drawn and quartered Andrew, and anybody else who had ever hurt Lucinda in the past. As she strode into the psychiatric wing of the hospital, she was filled with a sense of revulsion at how life had been so cruel to her friend. Unnecessary suffering and pain, all inflicted by cold beings of this harsh world. She acknowledged that Lucinda had been no angel and had brought a great deal of it upon herself, but nonetheless she had been dealt a harsher hand than most. Immediately, she went to the nurse's reception desk in the central area, where a plump nurse smiled enquiringly at her.

'I'm here to see Lucinda Tidy,' she explained, 'I'm her sister Rose Tidy, she's expecting me,' the easy lie surprised Rose. She reassuringly nodded at the nurse.

Whether the nurse believed her or not, she pointed to the room directly across from her, 'Last bed on the right.'

As Lucinda gave herself the once over in the bathroom mirror, she was finally impressed with the concealing job she'd done with the marks on her face. Not that she had any notion of playing the social butterfly and visiting anyone over the next few days. Just in case anybody did ask about her bruises, she'd pretend she had been mugged, then harp on about the dangerous streets of Dublin and blame some crazed junkie. At least she was finally in her own clothes, although every stitch of it would go into the bin the minute she returned to her apartment. Lucinda didn't want any reminders of this incident. This time next week she looked forward to being back at her office desk. She would welcome a day of intense meetings and confrontations. Vowing to take life a little slower and enjoy the simpler things, she found herself looking forward to swapping comical emails with her friends, or checking Ticketmaster's website for the latest concerts, and maybe enquire about cheap flights to Europe when she and the girls could have one of their girlie weekends.

Live life to the fullest, she declared, snatch each day and make the most of it.

Alone in the bathroom Lucinda tried to adopt an optimistic outlook that would stave off the well of emotion waiting to overflow. She desperately needed to divert her mind. Vincent's harshness had left her vacant; the sense of nothingness would not go away. Bravely, she smiled at her reflection, keep the sunny side out. Lucinda thought it strange how she recalled those words after so many years. In the end it had become her mother's mantra, she'd repeated the one-liner on a daily basis. Finally her mother's sunny side had grown dull, with so much darkness to mask. Lucinda wiped her tears away, doubting that her mother's optimism had survived.

Putting her best foot forward, Lucinda stepped out of the bathroom and scrutinised the face standing before her. The sight of Simon Keogh cleared up a niggling suspicion she'd had for the past few days.

'Are you going somewhere?' Simon asked through clenched teeth. He stood in front of her, his elbows jutting out and fists clenched.

Simon could not disguise his hatred. He was furious that Lucinda was about to walk out of his sights and back into a comfortable life. After watching her every movement for the entire morning, when he finally saw her reclaim her clothes and enter the bathroom he knew it was now or never. He would not let her get away easily. He wanted to remind her that they were two of a kind; she was every bit as bad as him. As he loitered around the ladies bathroom for the half hour it took Lucinda to dress, his anger and jealousy ballooned. He thought of his ex-wife, and all of those spiteful women who had sided with Fiona; he regretted not being rougher with her. He'd slapped the shit out of her and did a lot more some nights.

Simon thought of the disregarded child he had been, in a house dominated by adult problems. There was no time for innocence in his youth. He had to learn to fight and meanness had come easily. Fiona knew where he came from, she should have expected to be roughed up every now and then. He thought of Fiona's friends in Tipperary and their notions of entitlement. None of those women knew what it was to have it tough and if he could, he'd teach every one of them a thing or two.

By the time Lucinda exited the ladies, Simon was visibly shaking with anger. Standing in front of her, he eyed her tiny frame. He knew he would have been capable of wrapping his fingers around her neck and squeezing the life from her body with his bare hands. She didn't even flinch. She almost looked like her old self with her make-up on, pretty and confident.

'Just as I suspected,' she sighed, 'I thought it was you.' Lucinda began to adjust the collar of her jacket.

Simon knew she did not deem his kind important enough to give him her undivided attention. Her lack of respect aggravated Simon all the more. Aware of the ripples of rage pulsating in every nerve of his body, he knew he could wipe the indifferent expression off her face with one smooth punch.

'I know what you've been up to,' Simon accused through gritted teeth, clutching at anything that would get him a reaction.

Lucinda would not give in, 'I'm really not interested in what you know, Simon.'

It occurred to her that he had spent the last few days lurking almost everywhere she went. She had no notion of letting the likes of Simon Keogh threaten her. Without the beard he looked like his old self, except much thinner and more rakish. The pockmarks on his skin were even more visible against his pale, undernourished complexion. Simon had been a handsome man when he'd first appeared on the scene. Lucinda was struck by how much his son Emmet resembled him. Thankfully the child had inherited his good attributes. They both had the same light blue eyes and similar defined bone structure, except what now stood before her was a shadow of his former self.

'I'm sure some of your friends from Tipperary would like to know about your recent escapades,' Simon taunted.

'Get out of my way.'

Simon stood in her way, adamant that he would watch her squirm.

'I'm sure Vincent O'Donnell and his family would like to know.' Simon spoke slowly and deliberately, 'They'd like to know what whore has been screwing Vincent.'

Lucinda would not rise to the bait, well aware that Simon would like to see her tremble; he had always been a bully. Lucinda stood back and exhaled a long tedious breath.

'Look here, you filthy parasite, why don't you crawl back into whatever sewer you came out of and terrorise someone else.'

'You think I won't tell?' he whispered, his voice quivering with fury. 'I'll let those fools in Tipperary know exactly what you're really like, not that they'd be surprised. You're just like that mother of yours. You needn't think you're anything special, you're nothing.'

Lucinda attempted to walk around him but he stepped in her way. She moved to the other side but he quickly blocked her, then held her arms firmly.

'You're nothing, you're just like that slapper of a mother of yours,' he continued, 'do you think I won't tell them about you? I'll bet you'd even screw me for a price.'

Lucinda noticed the red colour heighten in his face.

He continued getting angrier with each utterance, 'Every whore has a price. If I had diamonds you'd be swinging off of me too.'

As if agreeing, Lucinda nodded. Suddenly Simon relaxed his grip on her.

'Maybe.' She wore her sweetest smile.

Simon was trying to decipher if she was serious or not. He found himself returning her smile; he thought they'd finally come to an understanding.

Lucinda spoke distinctly yet quietly, 'Simon, do you really think I could screw you? You are every woman's worst nightmare.'

As she spoke she walked by him. 'As for telling everyone in Tipperary about Vincent and I, do you think they would believe the likes of you?'

She spoke slowly and evenly, 'Do you think for one minute that they would believe a Dublin hooligan who beats his wife, terrorises his child and robs money from her family?' She paused, waiting for the impact of her words to sink in. 'You surprise me.'

Sweetly smiling, Lucinda added, 'As for my mother, wouldn't Fiona have been much better off if she had done the same thing to an irresponsible bastard like you.'

He began to step towards her, but she turned and walked back to her bedroom, listening to his footsteps behind her, he stopped as she entered the female ward.

Rose was standing at the end of Lucinda's bed assessing Lucinda's hospital chart when she heard her return.

'Rose,' Lucinda gasped, 'what a nice surprise, is your car outside?' she asked in the same breath.

'Yes,' Rose answered bewildered. Only moments before, Rose had learned Lucinda was on death's door after an overdose, now Lucinda appeared to be looking for a lift home. Of all of the expected reactions from Lucinda, this was not one Rose had foreseen. Lucinda took the lead, desperate to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible without actually sprinting through the exits. Silently they sat into the car and began to move towards the city centre. Rose was waiting for some kind of explanation, while Lucinda was rehearsing what story to concoct; anything to keep the truth at bay. A few months ago, Rose's company had offered courses on people management. Part of the day-long courses was how to tackle delicate matters with troubled staff members. Rose had declined the offer and was now regretting it.

'What happened?' Rose eventually asked. As she glanced at her passenger, she was struck by how tired she appeared. It wasn't just the scrapes and bruises underneath the mound of makeup; her hazel eyes were lifeless and her petite oval face was etched with pain. She had the demeanour of a long-suffering woman. Suddenly Rose thought of Lucinda's mother,

Lucinda tried to laugh and shook her head disbelievingly, 'Where does one start.' She looked out at the cold morning. 'I want to relax for a few days, chill out and get some sleep.'

'I'll take you back to my place, you can relax there.' Rose decided for her.

Too weary to argue and reluctant to return to her own apartment, Lucinda agreed without responding.

'Do any of the girls know?' Lucinda needed to know exactly where she stood.

'Alice knows you were in hospital, it's up to you to tell people about the suicide attempt if you want.'

Lucinda cringed at the word suicide.

Neither of the girls spoke for the remainder of the journey. There was so much Lucinda wanted to say but she didn't know how to articulate it. She had wanted to correct Rose, tell her she had not attempted suicide. Maybe if she got an opportunity later she'd explain that she couldn't sleep and got carried away with a few sleeping pills. Maybe she would not mention it. In fact, maybe she would never ever again raise the subject. Lucinda was afraid of falling to pieces if she began to relay the events of the previous few days. She could tell her about Morticia Addams who'd occupied the bed beside her, and humour Rose by describing her long black dyed hair and dislike of sunlight.

Truthfully, Lucinda would not be able to see the funny side of the story for quite some time, if ever. Or maybe she could tell her about Simon and how haggard he had become, but then Lucinda knew she would have to tell her about Vincent. If circumstances were different, Lucinda knew she would undoubtedly tell her, but the thought of Fiona's face silenced her. As was to be expected, she would side with her own brother. It would all become messy with some of the girls siding with Fiona and others with her. Lucinda foresaw a dreadful split in the camp and knew some secrets were better left unsaid. It didn't take long for Lucinda to realise how clever Vincent had been. He knew his secret would always be safe with Lucinda. There would be no gossiping sessions about the fling and none of their bedroom antics would ever be discussed. Vincent was equally aware of how Lucinda liked to uphold a clean-living image in her home town, and appearing to be the type to have sex with a happily married man did not enter into that rosy picture she portrayed. As for Simon, only time would tell. If he was as vindictive as he was wrathful, he would certainly be capable of divulging everything he knew. Wearily Lucinda decided to cross that bridge when she got to it. But she could not ignore her niggling suspicions that he would make as much trouble as possible, after all, what did he have to lose?

For the remainder of the day, Lucinda dozed in front of the open fire, while Rose sat in the other armchair and worked from home. Rose got little work done, instead she kept recalling their childhood and the time Lucinda's mother left home. As children they had expected Lucinda's mother to return every day. Lucinda would tell her friends that her mother was in America, she would say her mother would be back soon with loads of presents and nice things from the USA. They'd imagined Cadillacs and cowboys and millionaires on every street.

They had both been nine years of age and believed Lucinda's story, even envied her; envied what they understood to be the distant glamour of America, envisioning the presents her mother would return with. In their innocence they believed that she was mingling with famous movie stars on a beach in California, or dressed like the Ewing's from Dallas, so far removed from the normality of Tipperary. In Rose's home the adults had talked in hushed tones, the door to the living room was closed while Rose's parents talked and speculated. As the months passed, eventually Lucinda stopped talking about the glamorous lifestyle her mother had in America, and shortly after that she'd never mentioned her mother again.

Several years later, Rose learned that Lucinda's mother had gone to live in London. She worked in a hotel, had two more children with the man she eloped with and never returned to Tipperary. Furthermore, she never made any contact with her husband or daughter. Rose thought it strange that she was recalling a time she thought she had forgotten.

*

By midnight Simon Keogh had been arrested for assault in a pub on the outskirts of the city. Immediately after his altercation with Lucinda, he dressed himself and suavely relieved Anna of her cash, credit cards and jewellery. Anna was still gathering a database on all the patients. Simon recognised her need for male attention, kissing her on her bed was all she had wanted, and stealing her belongings was easier than taking candy from a baby. He'd got a taxi partly into town but lost his patience with the traffic and exited, availing of the nearest pub. After the first pint of lager, rather than relaxing he found himself getting angrier. Every time he thought about Lucinda, he became even more frustrated. He had no immediate financial worries, however he wanted to be able to utilise Anna's credit cards. Like everything in Simon's life, he knew a willing shopkeeper who would provide cash for the cards. For the moment, he would use the cash and contact his source after a few drinks. He would need to act cautiously. It was crucial that he avoid his old haunts; God only knew who was looking for him. For the moment he would sit back and think.

Every thought brought Simon back to Lucinda's smug face. He was so furious he could not see beyond the rage. At some stage he decided to forget the whole thing for the moment and act on it tomorrow. As for wittingly stealing and spending Anna's money, someone was going to do it to her, so why not him. Simon reckoned he had done Anna a favour. She would have less to worry about now that she had no money, cards or jewellery to boggle her already confused mind. Several hours and many pubs later he had drifted into a bar in Ranelagh, there was a problem with a barman refusing him a drink. Simon reacted indignantly.

'I'll tell you when I've had enough, do your job and serve me,' Simon demanded before stretching over the counter for the barman's neck.

His anger fuelled with alcohol, he sprang over the counter, he forced the barman to the floor and punched him hard and repeatedly. Somewhere in his enraged abyss of his mind the racing sound of a police siren registered too slowly.

# CHAPTER 14

Vincent O'Donnell nipped out the back door of his home once his wife was distracted. Startled by the sound of police sirens and screeching tyres, he rushed through the rain to his office, adjacent to the house. Pausing inside the door, he wondered what the fracas could be about; there were rarely problems in his area. God knows he paid enough for the privilege of owning a home in one of the most affluent areas of Dublin.

'Get your bleedin' hands off me.'

He thought there was something vaguely familiar about the voice of the protesting man that seemed to be coming from the pub down the road.

'You filthy pigs. Pigs, pigs, pigs!' The bellowing echoed through the leafy suburban streets.

Vincent quickly closed the office door, the barman would tell him later what the problem was. Tonight he fancied a fun-filled evening doing as he pleased. He might go into town or stay local, depending on who he met or where the night took him. He reclined in his leather chair and rested his feet on the office desk. Savouring the close of a great day's work, he removed the paper from his pre-Castro Cuban cigar; one of many from his collection he kept for special occasions. Opting for a brandy rather than a beer, he flicked on the TV. At last, his recent plan had fallen nicely into place, with the exception of getting the relevant parties to put their signatures on the legal documents. The final words had now been verbally agreed to clinch a deal that had occupied his mind for the past few months.

Normally Vincent's favourite hour of the day was after 7.00pm when the remainder of the night was his alone time. After performing his fatherly duty by playing with his children for an hour, he ate the dinner prepared by his wife followed by a little chit chat with her, then he was left to his own devices. Occasionally, Barbara would annoy him about helping out more with the children. Vincent thought her a bit ungrateful, after all, he provided her with a large allowance every month, he was more generous than most.

'You're a stranger to the children,' Barbara had said.

'Of course our children are not going to be as familiar with me as they are with you. I'm sure they understand that Daddy makes the money while Mommy stays at home.'

Vincent didn't add that his role was far more vital than hers or that he thought her accusation was nonsense.

'Don't forget I work all the hours God sends, then my evenings are occupied by researching what work I have to do the following day.' That was not entirely true.

'Like it or not, their unfamiliarity towards me is a small price to pay for the luxuries they, and you enjoy from the long hours I work.'

'Maybe you're right sweetie,' Barbara agreed.

Converting the garage into an office was one of the first rewards he had allowed himself shortly after his second child was born two years ago. Absolutely nothing had prepared him for fatherhood. He had convinced Barbara to get sterilised after their second child. There was no way on earth he could ever put himself through the bedlam of fatherhood for a third time, not to mention the financial aspect of it.

Barbara was always opposed to the idea of only having one child, 'Every child needs a sibling for companionship.'

He noted that she had little thought for his shredded nerves. Reluctantly, he'd agreed to a second child on the condition that he could have the garage to himself.

'Another child is going to cost an arm and a leg.' He spelled out the implications, 'I need a home office and quiet in the evenings so I can work.' Believing his sanity was at stake, 'There's only one solution; I will renovate the garage into a home office.'

Barbara was so excited at the prospect of having a second baby, his manipulation went unnoticed, although when the work did begin on the garage Barbara thought it a waste of money.

'The house has four bedrooms, you could still keep your office. The garage seems too big for your office desk.'

'The noise in the house would be too much of a distraction,' Vincent said.

He wanted to be as far away from the children as possible, it would be an ideal child-free and toy-free zone to entertain guests without stepping over children's squidgy rattlers or Barbara interrupting their conversations. Gradually Vincent added a 32" plasma flat-screened television with Sky Sports, a DVD player, and leather suite, a cabinet for his golf trophies, a drinks cabinet and a small fridge for cooling his beer. It was his safe haven and it went without saying he was never to be interrupted while working. He maintained an extremely comfortable lifestyle for his family, he felt entitled to reap the rewards.

With enormous satisfaction he poured a large brandy. At last his father had agreed to put one of his many acres of land into his son's name, although it was probably the hardest part of any deal Vincent had ever clinched. In fact, Sean's caution with his money left Vincent speechless, he could not understand the delay. Surely his father realised he was not going to be able to take his wealth with him when he died. Even more unlikely that he'd ever spend a fraction of his money if he lived for another 80 years. In Vincent's opinion his father was frugal beyond belief. Over the years Vincent had watched Sean accumulate property and add land to his medium sized farm in Tipperary. All Vincent wanted for the moment was his name on the deed to one of his father's many fields to secure a loan. Vincent could not care less which field, nor could he have cared less if he ever set foot in the field. Actually, he would have preferred the latter. Vincent associated land with hard work and undue suffering, it was a life he would never have chosen. Vincent was never born to be a farmer or publican like his father, he preferred the city life and office work. Nice clean heated environments without the worry of stepping on cow shite or dressing in filthy clothes and working in all kinds of brutal weather seven days a week. He recalled with horror his summer holidays and weekends when he would either work on the farm or pull pints for the locals in the pub to earn his pocket money. He hated physical labour.

Recently one of Vincent's colleagues had informed him about an investment that would treble his money within three years. Naturally he had wanted to pump as much equity as he could rise into the venture. The more money he could acquire, the quicker he would become wealthy and fulfil his ambition of retiring in his early 50's. Young enough to be able to re-live his youth if he chose, and live comfortably for the rest of his days. Of course his father would be long dead at that stage, and his father's farms were one of the main contributing factors to fulfil his ambition quicker. The recent business venture was all so simple but explaining it to his father was like dealing with a retard who had been asked to part with his entire life savings.

'Dad, it means that we give our money to a builder abroad who starts with a few empty fields. In three years time he will have built and sold apartments and we will have trebled the money we invested.'

Once again Vincent thanked his lucky stars that he had not inherited his father's cautious gene. Sean would not think twice about investing in Tipperary whereas Norway was as alien as the moon to his father. When Sean eventually obliged he compensated for all of his dithering. Vincent had tried to stop smiling knowing his father would sense his satisfaction at the end of the phone.

'Yes Vincent, the deed is done,' Vincent listened to Sean confirming his end was in order. His normally droll Tipperary accent edgy as if they were doing a billion dollar deal rather than transferring one miserable field into Vincent's name.

'I've transferred that bit of land, Peter O'Brien just wants your signature,' Sean said referring to his solicitor.

Vincent had been elated as the date of investment neared and he was fretting due to his father's delayed reaction.

'Gosh Dad, that's great,' Vincent replied savouring the warmth of relief and mentally calculating how much return that would yield. On the strength of that piece of land he could raise another €80,000 which would be worth almost a quarter of a million in three year's time.

While negotiating the transfer of land, Vincent had agreed to pay the solicitors fees and transfer the deeds back to his father's name as soon as it was possible. Sean had a rough idea how it worked but in principle disagreed with borrowing money for investment purposes.

'So it's gambling.' Sean pointed out.

'No Dad, there is no gamble involved. These apartments will sell like hot cakes. Norway's economy is doing fine. It's not possible for something like this to fail. Of course there are parts of the world ruined with the recession, Norway is not one of those.'

Foolishly Vincent had told him he had borrowed on the strength of the value of their house.

'What if your investor makes off with the money and doesn't pass it onto the builder, or the builder does a bad job and none of his flats sell.'

Vincent noted how his father referred to the apartments as flats.

Sean continued like the cautious sceptic, 'Or what happens if some crisis happens overseas and everybody becomes careful with their money and none of the flats sell. Maybe something will happen in Norway and they fall into a recession. Or if the builder is a con-man and makes off with the money and none of your flats are built in the first place?'

'That's all highly unlikely.'

'It's all still possible. It makes it highly reckless with a wife and two small children to be gambling with the roof over their heads. It's irresponsible to say the least and even greedy.'

He decided that the old man was as ignorant as the animals on his land and still stuck in an archaic era. He hadn't one iota about how real money is made. Sean was a man who felt nothing came easy and if it did, it was ill gotten. Maybe that was true in his father's day, and partially true in today's world but one had to be ruthless to succeed. All of the country's wealthiest men did not get rich through honesty alone, a feat like that would be impossible. Every single business person has to bend the rules and use every source available, even if it meant manipulation and elimination of the weakest in the fight for success. With a bit of luck Vincent hoped to make as much money as quickly as he could, regardless of how he achieved it. Of course he did not share these thoughts with his father. It was bad enough the old man thought he was carelessly gambling with his children's future without him thinking he was some kind of mafia man.

During the phone conversation with his father Vincent had reiterated his offer to transfer the land back into Sean's name as soon as all of the relevant documentation had been finalised.

'No need,' his father said, 'it will be your land when I'm gone, so why not have it now.'

Vincent had not been expecting such generosity as it was not the first time he had used his father's land as collateral.

'No Dad, we agreed,' he tried to sound firm, 'a deal is a deal.'

'Vincent, don't argue.'

Judging from his father's assertive tone Vincent knew to accept the offer graciously and never to argue with the old man. Despite his father's age and backwardness, he remained one of the most formidable characters in his life. He knew his father was sitting at the kitchen table, the same table that had been there for 40 years with the same linen table cloth. Sean dressed in his dark suit and tie, the same cautious dark suit he had owned for 20 years, his round neck jumper with one of his ancient ties barely visible at the neck of the jumper.

'How is Barbara?' Sean enquired.

'She's in good form Dad.'

'And the children,' Sean asked.

'Not a bother on them,' Vincent replied knowing this was how their conversations concluded. Sean hoping he would volunteer more information on his grandchildren. 'Getting bigger and bolder every day.'

'Bring them down to me some time,' Sean added, 'and take care.'

'You too.' Vincent hung up.

He normally enquired after Fiona and Emmet but tonight he felt the conversation had dragged on long enough. Anyway, he usually forgot his father's response because he had no interest in their lives. It wasn't that he disliked them, just as brother and sister they were poles apart. Aside from looking alike, they had nothing in common. There was such a large age gap and such different interests, there wasn't anything to build on. As for the low-life she married, the sight of Simon Keogh with his inner city Dublin accent irked him. To Vincent, it was further evidence of how different they were; he was baffled what his sister had ever seen in a man that Vincent would be embarrassed to introduce as his brother-in-law. At least now that Simon was out of the picture, he would be one less person hoping to gain something from Sean's estate when he joined the dearly departed.

Vincent liked nice clothes. He was dressed in his cream Remus Vomo chinos and navy Lacoste shirt. He'd like to have gone out on the town celebrating. Ideally he'd like to begin in his local pub in Ranelagh, enjoy a few beers with the lads and from there go into town. Maybe hit Temple Bar, meet some of the tourists and see where his luck would bring him. Now that Lucinda was out of the equation he wondered what he would do to occupy those sudden urges. The location of her apartment had been perfect, but he was not going back there he adamantly reaffirmed. Lucinda had served her purpose adequately, even more than adequately, nor would he ever meet another woman quite like her. Nonetheless it had been time to pull the plug on that relationship. All too aware their fling had taken on a life of its own when Lucinda suggested having his child, Vincent knew the game was up. The minute the words had left her mouth he knew his nights of torrid sex had come to a sudden close. On top of that, there were rumours, which he would fervently deny if ever asked. There had been too much to lose and Lucinda had wanted to go out rather than stay in, in every sense of the word.

Vincent had enjoyed her company and during the first few years loved her devil-may-care attitude. If he was to rate her, she ranked one of the top five women he'd met, but categorically not marrying material. His wife Barbara would always be a wife willing to stay at home while Lucinda needed to live life, sometimes recklessly on the edge. Also Lucinda had poor breeding; something he would never discuss openly but secretly believed in. Both of her parents were working class with little ambition, but there was something missing from his wife that he had found in Lucinda. There was an element of anger in her that had attracted him initially, she could be fiery and unpredictable, then knew her place in every situation. Oozing with confidence and never stuck for a word on any topic, yet so insecure with the smaller things in life. Vincent thought her full of contradictions, while being extremely sceptical, she was also quite gullible by believing his litany of excuses throughout the years. He had conceived his children, particularly his second child, during one of the closest spells of their so-called relationship, yet she had accepted his explanation without doubt.

'We were both out with separate friends, I woke up to find myself in the act with her. It revolted me.' Vincent pretended to confess knowing she would hear about Barbara's pregnancy from Fiona, 'I thought it was you.'

After a short tantrum, Lucinda came round and accepted his explanation, and was even flattered. So many times he tried to end it and would rudely ignore her for weeks, then out of the blue he would just arrive on her doorstep, 'I've tried to stay away to give you a chance to meet someone else, you're young with the rest of your life before you. You deserve better than a complicated married man like me.'

Lucinda would welcome his return with such warmth that only she could provide, so enormously assertive and yet she allowed him to blatantly manipulate her. Without a doubt, she is definitely gone this time. Vincent made his mind up. After getting the latest call from her, he had been quite surprised with her pathetic pleading. Later when he redialled the number and realised where she had been hospitalised, it cemented his already solid decision. What in the name of God did she expect him to do? She sounded so pitiful over the phone telling him she needed him; this was a new side to Lucinda. No matter how stuck he became he reiterated, he could never again allow Lucinda to re-enter his life. It was pointless thinking about her now, Vincent was more concerned that she keeps quiet about their fling. He hoped she hadn't turned into some fantasist who would treat it like a divorce. He recalled the night she said their ten year anniversary was approaching. 'We are a decade doing this.'

'A decade doing what?' he had asked, not knowing what she was referring to.

'We had our first date this week ten years ago in Corrigan's pub when I lived in Rathmines.'

'Of course,' he managed to reply, startled that it had been that long since their first date, and equally as startled that she had remembered.

Vincent could never possibly regard it as a relationship. It was just one of those things that dragged on over the years, not to mention the other women he had also been with. An occasional friendship with sex was how he viewed it. Friendship would be too strong a word, more like an acquaintance with sex. He had found solace in her company and quiet apartment. He could unwind or unload his problems. Lucinda had been inviting, easy to be with and he had just kept calling to her. Like every clever man who knew a good thing when he saw it, he had bought her gifts and paid his quota of compliments.

As he had explained to one of his colleagues, 'The little gifts or small tokens are insurance for another nights entrance.'

Ideally he wanted her to quietly slip out of his life, hopefully she would not take leave of her senses and start banging on his door. With so many opportunities on the horizon he could not afford to have a loose cannon rocking his marriage or career prospects. Especially now that all of his money, and all of the money he could borrow would be tied up in an investment for the next few years. Leaving Barbara would cost him an absolute fortune, not that any of his fears would ever come to pass. Lucinda would not play the role of the jilted lover too convincingly. If she did, Barbara was the forgiving placid type who depended entirely on a strong man by her side. His wife loved him as much as Lucinda had. He decided to quit while he was ahead and concentrate on building his nest egg.

# CHAPTER 15

From the moment their car left Dublin the girls never stopped talking. Occasionally they shouted over each other with enthusiasm, making it difficult for Lucinda to concentrate on driving. The four girls were on their way to Donegal to indulge in a weekend of wining, dining and pampering in a five star hotel for Lucinda's birthday. Although her birthday was only an excuse, the girls wanted a reason to justify their indulgence. But the weekend away from Dublin was exactly what Lucinda needed to regain an interest in living. Rose had borrowed Aengus's 5 series BMW to accommodate the luggage and so they could all travel together. Initially they planned to share the driving but Lucinda insisted on remaining behind the wheel.

'I'm beginning to feel bad, you've been doing the driving since we left Dublin,' Rose said, 'pull over at the next stop and I'll take over.'

The others began to moan and murmur exaggeratedly, 'No, no, please, no.'

Rose laughed, 'I can take a hint.'

Like Alice, Lucinda was into her cars and loved the novelty of driving such a powerful high spec BMW.

'I'm thoroughly enjoying myself, the driver's seat is like an armchair so there is no need to feel bad.'

Lucinda was also grateful to have her mind occupied. It had been two weeks since her hospitalization and she was only just beginning to feel like her old self. Alice and Fiona knew she had a brief stay in hospital and Lucinda said she'd tell them about it another time.

'It's all a bit raw at the moment.'

Fiona and Alice accepted it and knew Lucinda would volunteer the saga when she was ready.

Lucinda accelerated and said to Rose, 'You just sit back and enjoy the ride.'

Rose pretended to wipe her brow, 'Thank God for that, I was terrified you'd agree.'

'We were terrified she'd agree,' Alice said.

'Rose, I think I speak for Fiona and Alice,' Lucinda said, 'you are the only person not obliged to drive. We want to get to Donegal and back this month.'

'Very funny. I am still the safest driver although I know you all think I crawl.'

Rose never took offence when the girls imitated her driving at a snail's pace with the wipers at full blast and spending too much time with her eyes on her passenger seat, rather than the road. All of the girls had taken Friday off to make the most of the weekend and fit in as much as they could. They intended to go shopping and do some sightseeing or any other impulsive ideas.

Fiona was telling them about her plans for the pub, 'I've new windows going in today, hopefully the plastering and building should be finished also. The wooden floors and small stage will be built tomorrow. Then the painting. The furniture guy is after that and then the stock.'

'It's really taking shape,' Alice said, 'you must be so excited.'

'It's more nerve wrecking, I'm so terrified the builder or painter or carpenter will go missing and knock my plans askew. If everything goes accordingly, by the time we re-open next Saturday night, I'd say the paint won't be dry we're cutting it so fine.'

'What colours are you going for?' Alice asked, unable to visualise O'Donnell's Bar any other way except dimly lit with its practical dark furnishings, smelling of alcohol and men. On a Monday after the cattle mart the smell of farmer lingered until late on a Tuesday.

'You'll just have to come and see it for yourself and spend all of your money, then sing as many versions of "The Rose of Tralee" as you can before you fall out the door.' Like a reassuring aunt, she patted Rose's arm, 'you're welcome to come as many times a week and repeat that little exercise to help pay for the redecorating,' she joked.

'Give me a clue?' Alice persisted. 'Is is cream?'

'OK, it sounds awful, but wine furniture, white walls and I'm hoping I can buy a few paintings in Derry similar to your 1950's Dublin painting,' Fiona said to Lucinda.

Fiona was delighted to be able to tell the girls that the pub was doing so well. 'Strictly between ourselves,' Fiona said knowing her father would not like their profit margin discussed. 'You know the way I've been doing soup and sandwiches and holding quiz-nights and hosting a few parties like the Joyce's' wedding anniversary?'

'Yes,' the girls replied remembering her interest in the bar was her first time showing signs of returning to normality after Simon left.

'We did the end-of-year-books,' Fiona continued, 'and you wouldn't believe it but the profits have more than trebled.'

'Wow,' Rose said echoing each of the girl's thoughts.

'So much so,' Fiona continued, 'he gave me a decent cheque for all my efforts and he also gave me a nice wad of cash to buy myself something nice and treat us all in the bar tonight.'

Fiona decided to omit the fact that Sean had given her a substantial cheque which would more than cover the cost of the renovations. She was stunned into silence when she read the amount. 'Do whatever renovations or whatever you want,' he'd said.

After gazing at the amount in shock, Fiona had thanked him, 'It's fantastic, you'll love the renovations.'

'It doesn't matter whether I like them or not.' He'd pointed at the punters in the bar, 'They have to like them.'

Lucinda likened the girls to a bunch of restless school children on an outing as they sat into the car after stopping in a village for magazines and sweets. They bought bags of goodies and minerals for the remainder of the journey to Donegal.

'How's the diet going?' Lucinda asked Rose knowing she had completed a marathon two weeks of protein only.

Rose had researched every conceivable diet and settled on the Atkins Diet for speedy results.

When they were all seated and safely buckled in Rose exaggeratedly cleared her throat, 'I have some vital instructions I'd like you all to follow. If anyone ever, ever, ever hears of me going on a fad diet again, I want you to hit me over the head with a tin of biscuits.'

'Was it that bad?' Lucinda asked watching Rose in the mirror eating a packet of Maltesers and drinking a Diet Coke.

'Which diet is this?' Fiona interrupted her unable to keep up with Rose's varying weight loss solutions. Most of the year Rose couldn't be bothered following any diet, but would go through phases of trying new tactics. She usually lasted two or three days before reverting to the Eat-What-I-Want-Diet.

Rose decided to come clean now that she was feeling so much better, 'Before I tell you, nobody is to say "I told you so."'

'Agreed,' they chimed.

Rose began, 'I decided to go the whole hog and did the full protein diet for ten days.'

'A lifetime compared to your usual three days,' Fiona said.

'I know, but never again. After the first week I began to see results, I could cope with the smell from my breath, although it must have been quite gross because even Aengus commented on it. But by day nine I couldn't put another rasher or thimble of meat into my mouth I was so constipated. So I went to a chemist and bought every conceivable tonic and . . .' she paused before continuing, 'has everyone stopped eating before I continue?'

'Yes.'

'I bought suppositories and a mini-enema to help me poo. Anyway girls, to make a long story short, I think I blew up my bottom.'

The girls began to giggle.

'I was so uncomfortable the night of the explosion I was up at 4.00am with my rear in a basin of iced water trying to cool my flaming nether regions. Naturally I was so terrified of pooing, I couldn't eat a morsel for three days and thankfully today is the first day I feel well again,' Rose explained as the others laughed hysterically.

'The moral of the story, a well-balanced normal diet is the only easy solution.'

'Right,' the girls nodded and smiled knowingly, in a few months Rose would have a different new self-shrinking strategy.

In Enniskillen they spent an hour in the shopping centre. Lucinda sounded traumatised at her dilemma of not being able to find a pair of brown knee-high boots to fit her thin calf. While Fiona was less hysterical, she was disappointed she couldn't find a pair of black knee-high boots to fit her fat calf. Alice assumed the role of the car DJ and insisted on playing tracks from the new music The Sickly Prince had given her. None of the girls recognised any of the tunes and to their ears, most of her new music was horrendous noise.

'That one would have you jumping out of your skin with anxiety,' Rose said listening to the lead singer roaring swear words to the sound of a screeching violin.

As Lucinda tried to find her way out of the town Rose was shouting directions from the back of the car and each time her predictions were incorrect.

'Follow that green car, when we go right, there's a bridge and we'll go over that and it's straight all the way to Letterkenny.'

Lucinda followed the green car into a cul-de-sac. 'Rose, I'm beginning to doubt you were ever in the North, not to mind your regular trips to Enniskillen.'

'Oh, I thought we were in Omeath, not Enniskillen. That explains my disorientation.'

'I knew you hadn't a clue.'

'I'm only joking, I know we're in Enniskillen. I'll stick to eating my goodies until you establish the right road.'

Through all of the confusion and deafening noise Lucinda was elated. She welcomed with open arms Alice's chaotic music and their loud chatter and their shopping dilemmas and Rose's diabolical sense of direction; she embraced and loved the trivial normality. When Lucinda found her way back onto the correct road and Fiona started relaying news from home, Alice lowered the volume of the car stereo irritated she couldn't play her music loud enough and listen to the gossip all at once. As usual Fiona was full of stories from home, in the pub business there was very little that happened in Tipperary that did not escape her ears. The most recent news was about one of their school friends who had appeared on a Channel 4 documentary on London's swinging clubs.

'Timid little Marian Barnable who would cry her eyes out if she got a question wrong at school was dressed head to toe in leather,' Fiona informed them. 'Well, almost completely covered in leather, her boobs and groin were uncovered. She had three different men playing with those areas while she answered the interviewer's questions.'

'My mother told me about the programme.' Rose said.

Her mother Doreen had been enthralled by the Swingers documentary. For once she was lost for words apart from muttering that the entire world had gone stone mad.

'I can't believe it,' Alice laughed, 'what must her mother think?'

'She doesn't care as long as she's happy.'

'Ahhh,' all of the girls cooed at once.

'It sounds revolting,' Alice said.

'I wouldn't recommend it for the faint-hearted,' Fiona said, 'we had it on the TV in the bar and all the men started asking if we could have a 'swingers party' instead of the table quiz on Wednesday night.'

'Not my cup of tea,' Rose said.

'Mine either, I can only have sex with men I have feelings for,' Lucinda said.

Her remark went unnoticed by everyone except Rose who noticed Lucinda spoke in the present tense. Rose hoped at some stage over the weekend she would be forthcoming about her affair with Andrew. Since leaving Dublin Rose also noticed two different text messages from Andrew, one was a joke and the other Lucinda had only smiled when she received it. They would be sharing a room together, unless either of them met a man and needed to use the spare room.

Sean read the text message from his daughter.

'tanx again cal me if any probs.'

Although Fiona said Sean was the last man in the country to use a mobile phone, he had been delighted with himself when he learnt to receive and send texts. His grandson Emmet also thought him how to abbreviate words. Sean thought abbreviating words was very bad example for the child's English, but then he began to enjoy abbreviating and felt like a modern man texting. He also enjoyed the jokes and forwarded them to his crew. The sight of Fiona's text message made Sean smile. She had done a great job in the bar and there would be no problems. Let her reap some of the rewards of her work. As long as Simon stays away, Fiona was no longer a worry.

'Will I include you?'

Sean had been distracted thinking about his son Vincent when he heard the question repeated. The lads were about to deal the cards.

'No thanks. I'll be having an early one tonight.' Sean sat by the open fire in the bar. He folded the unread Tipperary Star knowing he would be in better form to read it in the morning. Vincent was at the forefront of his thoughts again. Of course it was wrong of him to be disappointed in his only son, it would have been selfish of him to expect Vincent to follow in his footsteps and take over the running of the farm and pub. Part of being a parent involved encouraging your children to be free to choose their own lives. While Vincent had certainly achieved a great deal and appeared to lead a comfortable enough life, maybe it was just a little too comfortable for his own good. Sean was all too aware that Vincent had some high powered job earning a fortune. According to the property section in the papers he had a house in one of the more prosperous areas of Dublin. He had a very comfortable life with plenty of friends in Dublin and was suited to the city life. Vincent's wife, Barbara, was a lady any man would be proud to have, so welcoming and beautiful; although initially Sean hadn't liked her. He found the posh accent a bit off-putting, along with the unnecessary amount of make-up she wore. Like Vincent, she had no interest in the country life, including animals or nature. When Barbara and Vincent first married, her cooking had been a fright to God. When she first cooked him a dinner, Sean had never known roast potatoes to turn his stomach like her roast potatoes. All she did was douse them in fat for a few seconds. The wings of her cooked chicken were burnt to a crisp and the normally succulent legs were bone dry. He'll never forget the job he had of trying to eat it and then pretend it was tasty. He must have drunk a bucket of water to wash the food down. Thankfully as time went by the cooking improved. Her chicken now was as good as any he'd get in a good hotel.

In the early days, along with cooking food not fit for dogs, Sean also thought Barbara was a cold distant lady and questioned how she could be a loving wife to his son. Over the years Sean gradually accepted her and realised that a wealthy woman reared in the nicer part of Dublin would not find anything interesting in a farm, much less a working man's bar. Her kind would always wear tons of make-up and she couldn't help the way she spoke.

With time it occurred to Sean that Barbara was the warm party in her marriage. She was the home maker who seemed to do everything around the house, from cooking and cleaning in the kitchen and dealing with the children, along with manning the phone and taking messages when Vincent expected it. The few times he visited his son's home he noticed little things, like his son's impatience with his children. He would go as far as to say the children were not entirely comfortable with their father. It was Barbara who insisted that Sean call to Dublin, she was the one who made a fuss over her father-in-law. Barbara genuinely seemed pleased to have him visiting or hear his voice on the phone. Sean couldn't help but notice that his son was a different character.

Many times Sean questioned his own parenting skills and tried to accept the blame for Vincent's lack of nature. Vincent was only 11 when his mother died. He was a boy young enough to have known the warmth of a mother's touch, yet old enough to miss it. His mother had mollycoddled him and maybe spoiled him a bit too much. After she died, Sean had tried to compensate for her loss by over indulging Vincent in his own way. Sean also felt guilty that he might have given into Vincent's childish requests too often. At the time he didn't deny him toys or gifts to help him overcome his loss. In those early days after Margaret's death, stepping out of bed demanded a strength that dwindled as the day wore on. The prospect of spending his life without Margaret was like a life sentence. Only for his children he could have lay down and died. Sean did get the strength to go on, he learned to live without Margaret. First thing each morning he prayed to her for help and each night he thanked her. As the years went by, time healed the sorest wounds and he learned to live as best he could. He never stopped thinking about her, and with Fiona he'd never stop seeing her.

Vincent didn't possess much of his mother's traits. More than anything, Margaret was gentle. Time and time again Sean tried to teach Vincent to treat the farm animals with respect.

'They're only dumb animals, they have to be guided,' Sean had said so many times when Vincent expected the cattle to know what to do. 'They can't read your mind.'

Vincent would not even pretend to listen to his father, his attitude never changed.

Every single time he tried to teach him something that should have been in his blood, his words fell on deaf ears. Sean even tried to bring it right back to basics and help his son to understand that without the livestock there would be very little extras.

'Those animals you hate give us the little privileges in our life, like the pocket money, or fashionable clothes, or even a car to drive. You've got to learn to respect the cattle. Without them we wouldn't have a fraction of what we have today.

It went without saying to gently tap the cows when rounding them together, but Vincent would pointlessly flog them if the notion took him, Sean got annoyed thinking about his son's ugly attitude. From an early age it was obvious that Vincent hated the farm. During the winter he complained about the harsh weather, or during the summer he complained about the insects the good weather brought. On days with mild weather he felt all of his chores could wait until the following day. Finally Sean's patience began to dwindle and he put Vincent working behind the bar for a few hours each weekend. It wasn't a whole lot to ask Sean reasoned, two hours on Saturday and two hours on Sunday could justify part of his pocket money.

'I hate having to listen to these drunken fools,' he would mutter, never happy in any job.

'Make the most of it,' Sean encouraged him, 'just because you're inside the bar doesn't mean you can't have a bit of craic with the lads.'

Vincent had a manner that should have suited the bar, the customers liked him and there was always some woman in tow. Sean finally realised that Vincent was simply a lazy boy who was unpleasant when situations were not to his liking.

Sean credited himself with being a worker, his wife had been a worker, Fiona was a great worker but Vincent was not, although Vincent had been provided with everything a boy could ask for. He was given the best education and requested to be sent to a boarding school with two of his best friends for his secondary education, a privilege Sean did not deny him. Initially Sean had been appalled at the notion of sending his son 20 miles down the road to a boarding school, but later after discussing it with some of the parents who had sons in that school, Sean agreed. He got a car before any of his friends and almost anything Sean felt would benefit his son. Regardless of what he received, Vincent was still not happy.

Sean often quietly questioned Vincent's faithfulness to his wife. He knew Vincent didn't contribute a large amount to the rearing of his children. After seeing the family garage converted into an office, which Sean thought was more like a play-room for a single man, it defined where his son's loyalties lay. Vincent had very little loyalty to anyone but himself and his own needs. How could a man like that be loyal to his wife?

If the truth be told, Sean occasionally thought to himself that his son was a wimp. There was a cowardly streak in Vincent. Sean had seen glimpses of it over the years, not many times but often enough to realise it was there. As a boy, there were the usual difficulties growing up, like stealing beer and fags from the bar, or throwing his weight around, but when Vincent knew he'd been caught out lying or threatened with real confrontation he never took his scolding on the chin like a man, instead he had sulked. No doubt Vincent was clever; his charming tongue had wrangled him out of many tight spots, sadly it didn't say a lot for a person's character. He wasn't quite as bad, but almost as bad as that blackguard his daughter had picked up with. Of course he had given Vincent the field, it would all be his anyway. But after a short period of time Vincent's appreciation would evaporate and his son would be scheming again.

Yet again Sean acknowledged his disappointment with his only son. On the other hand, now that Simon was off the scene, the old Fiona was returning. She was not afraid of work and she was a considerate person. Several nights he watched her amicably chatting to the locals and undertaking several jobs all at once. If she was not talking to customers as all good publicans should, she was pulling pints, or polishing tables and taking pride in the bar. She did her work diligently and in a pleasant manner for the better of the business. Also Sean conceded that she had a very clever business head. Installing that awful jukebox had paid off, as had her idea of providing soup and sandwiches. The Joyce's' party had provided another excessive night's takings.

Over the course of his life, Sean has seen the country gradually change to a vastly different world than the one he was born into. His children thought him old-fashioned with a narrow mind and he was content to allow them think that. They knew him well enough to know how he hated change. As he listened to the younger crowd at the opposite end of the bar, they were happily knocking back the drink on a Monday night without a care in the world. Sean realised it was time to allow his bar in the hands of the next generation. He was pleased he gave Fiona the money for the renovations. Her innovative ideas would see the bar into another few decades. When she initially revealed her plans for the pub he had been horrified. She was talking about tearing through walls and painting the place in bright colours and having pictures strewn all over the place and even erecting a stage. As early as Sean could remember the bar was almost as it stood with some soft seats, wall paper on some of the walls and heavy curtains to hide the late drinkers; her ideas were inconceivable. But after much deliberation Sean could see the method in her magic. Most of his steadfast regulars would welcome the change. The regulars who may object had dwindled to about five, the others had passed away. Although the younger crowd were boisterous and a bit flighty, Sean also knew they would not spend as much as the seasoned drinkers but their trade was just as important. Finally he agreed with Fiona. Why not cater for a bar for all ages? With the recession and the smoking ban and home drinking, numerous publicans were destroyed. Nobody needed to go to a bar for a drink anymore, you could buy alcohol at your local supermarket or off-licence and drink at home. The pub trade was uncertain and only the best bars would survive. His bar was in the best hands.

Sean returned Fiona's text,

'njoy.'

# CHAPTER 16

When the girls arrived at the hotel they inspected their rooms and were more than pleased. The regal double rooms had two large double beds, television with all of the channels, and a large bathroom. There was also a gym which everyone agreed they would use, but knew none of them would use it. Their only form of exercise would be running from an eatery to a pub. There would be a slight possibility that they would avail of the Jacuzzi and steam room. On the other hand everyone would avail of the beautician. The girls could not read the list of treatments on offer fast enough. They made dinner reservations and didn't delay in getting to the bar.

Over drinks Fiona discussed Tony Cummins and his band Celtic Flyte who were scheduled to play on the opening night. Quietly and suddenly Lucinda became panic-stricken. She did not have the nerve to ask if Vincent and his wife would also be home to lend their support for the occasion. Lucinda realised she was in such a distraught state about Vincent, she could not even mention his name aloud for fear the tears would start all over again. Quickly she calmed down. The bar was big enough for both of them, even if he did attend, she need not even speak to him. If she did come face to face with him, there would be plenty of people there to distract her from Vincent. After all, he didn't want a scene and he needed their fling kept in the dark more than she did.

After dinner the girls went into town, did some window shopping and had a few drinks in some of the local pubs. Later they showered and applied mud masks to their faces. Fiona brought a bottle of Vodka and they gathered in Lucinda and Rose's bedroom. They watched the music channels and dressed in their bathrobes. Rose told them the latest news of another engagement from Tipperary, her mother Doreen had found yet another local family whose daughter recently got engaged.

To further pressurise Rose, Doreen regaled every detail on the happy couple. 'It's the youngest of The Iron Age Ryan's,' she explained referring to their nickname to differentiate the different Ryan clans.

'I thought those girls were . . .?' Alice tried to be diplomatic, 'not the full shilling.'

'You're very tactful Alice,' Lucinda said, amused at her delicate expression. 'They're the most peculiar family in Tipp, they have a strange accent, mad curly hair and the strangest gait, not to mention their milk bottle glasses.'

Rose paused before responding, 'Ahem . . . what's wrong with milk bottle glasses?' she pointed to her own eyes.

'Nothing whatsoever,' Alice agreed, 'as long as you don't wear them in public.'

'Point taken. You're perfectly right about The Iron Age Ryan's. My mother was as diplomatic as you Alice, and in her floweriest language she was quick to point out that all The Iron Age Ryan's are mentally challenged and as daft as brushes, yet each one of them have a husband or is engaged.'

'She's obviously hoping to nag you into marriage.' Fiona said. 'Do you ever think you'd like it?'

Rose paused and sipped her vodka, 'I think it would be nice to end up with someone, to share my life and all of the little things with someone special. But most of the time I enjoy my own company.'

'I thought that too,' Fiona said, 'but I don't think I'd ever want a relationship again.'

Earlier in the evening Fiona had noticed the silver pendant on Alice. It reminded her of one of the happier times of her marriage. On their third anniversary Simon had surprised her with a similar piece of jewellery. Exactly two days later he tore the pendant from her neck before attempting to strangle her. Some of the happenings within her marriage would always remain a secret. Fiona grew to expect the unexpected with Simon.

'Do you miss him?' Lucinda asked not wanting to pry, but desperate to know how long her own heart would remain as heavy as it was.

'Do I miss him?' Fiona hesitated, 'I get moments when I remember the good times we had together, or remember times when he would surprise me with little gifts. Or some nights I get lonely and I remember normal happy uneventful days we spent together. Those happy times when I used to think I was the luckiest girl alive to have such a great husband. We used to be so united.'

'Normal stuff,' Alice prompted.

'Yes,' Fiona said realising she loved Simon when he was normal, 'before he became violent, I could live with the drinking and gambling. But the other women, that was the hardest part to cope with. It is the most degrading insulting way to treat a woman.'

The girls listened in silence, sipping their Vodka.

Fiona shook her head in disbelief as if recalling the hurt again, 'It was dreadful,' she hoarsely whispered.

'Don't think about it if it upsets you,' Lucinda was quick to suggest, afraid the night might take a downhill turn and at all cost she could not let that happen. Not now when the weekend held so much promise.

The girls could see it was too late, the normally stoic Fiona allowed the tears to roll down her face, leaving white lines on her mud mask. Wiping her eyes she noticed the mud on the tissue and began to laugh, 'Don't tell me I have to reapply this bloody face mask again.'

The others laughed with relief that the uncomfortable moment had passed.

Fiona continued, 'It's just that as his wife I felt like a failure, I couldn't stop him drinking or gambling. I knew they were addictions that he would have to overcome, but even in the bedroom where we were at our most intimate, his womanising made a joke of that too. For a long time I believed I couldn't even satisfy him in bed, it was as if he had to look elsewhere for fulfilment ...' She paused searching for the right words, then quietly explained, 'I often think it was my fault, I could not get one area of my marriage right. I hear all of you talk about dates and how the men performed in bed and how you give them marks out of ten. Well Simon was all the experience I ever had. I really loved him. I put all of my energy into him. I gave every area of that marriage ten out of ten.'

'It must have been so humiliating,' Alice said giving it consideration for the first time.

'It was more than humiliating, I thought everybody saw it except me.' Fiona appeared to grow angry, 'Then these women who slept with him were as bad. They have no regard for his family or Emmet or I, only what they could get out of it. It never occurred to them how detrimental it is to a home. There were so many nights I denied it to myself, those times were the loneliest. Not being able to talk to anyone about it, until now,' jokingly she raised her glass of vodka, then shook her head again in disbelief that she was even discussing it. After all of those years of suppressing the urge to confide in at least one person, it was easy at last. 'Anyway, I know Emmet and I are much better off without him,' she shrugged her shoulders. 'Sometimes I can't even acknowledge to myself how badly things went wrong.'

Fiona sipped her drink then informatively faced the girls, 'Do you know I'm still paying debts that he rose in my name and will be for another two years?' Fiona looked around at the rest of the group, all sets of serious eyes peered out from mud masked faces giving them an alien look.

'Is there anyone who can throw a sod against that story?' she said, embarrassed she had said too much.

'More Mr Smirnoff for everyone,' Lucinda said refilling the glasses, utterly appreciative she had overcome her weak moments throughout the years when she was about to divulge her own story. Of course she would have changed Vincent's name and other credentials. As she refilled their glasses she swore never to discuss him with another living soul for the rest of her life. After such a heart rendering account from Fiona, Lucinda was even more adamant to put it all behind her and never again think about it.

The following morning the girls woke cursing the vodka 'At least we can lie in bed for the day,' Lucinda said to Rose who appeared dead underneath her duvet. She switched on the TV and phoned Alice and Fiona to invite them to their room. They had staggered their appointments with the beautician. Alice being thoughtful made the first booking for noon which was late enough to allow everyone a lie in. Rose lay in her bed curled under the duvet relishing her planned lazy day as Fiona and Alice arrived with food supplies, breakfast rolls, chocolate biscuits, orange juice and the tea making facilities from their room. Lucinda was first to the beautician for a facial and manicure while Fiona and Alice got into her bed. At some stage they discussed going into town to shop, all were relieved to hear the rain pouring outside feeling less obliged to go sightseeing on such a miserable day.

When Lucinda returned from the beautician the girls inspected her nails and face. She undressed and got into bed beside Rose while Alice got up for her appointment.

'Wait till you see the beautician, Liz is her name, she's a lovely wee dote,' Lucinda said in a Donegal accent imitating Liz.

The girls listened in suspense as Lucinda began her description. They loved meeting new people and between them they would piece together their life stories from the small snippets of information they gathered. Rose poked her head out from under the duvet for the first time that day to hear about Liz.

Lucinda was full of the joys of life as she described Liz, she knew the girls would love analysing her. 'She's in her late 30's, shoulder length blonde hair, a little too blonde,' she added, 'very pretty although she's slightly overweight. She has a 16 year old son, Alex is his name. I was trying to establish if the husband is still on the scene, there was no mention of him and I didn't like to appear too nosey by asking.'

Alice started to laugh, 'And why didn't you Lucinda, get right in there and ask Liz to reveal a few skeletons in her closet while you're at it.'

Lucinda continued, enjoying Alice's amusing observation, 'She has been a beautician since she was 19, drinks bottles of Carlsberg and that second pub with the red exterior we were in last night is her local.' Lucinda sipped her tea pleased with her morning's work. 'I almost forgot, she gave me the name of a fab restaurant right next door to the hotel, it does everything from Indian to Italian, should we make reservations?'

While Alice went for her back massage, the girls continued to feast on chocolate biscuits and tea.

Rose's granny-knickers were a large part of the conversation. 'I love them, big comfy vulgar knickers,' she said as she walked from the bathroom back to bed.

'They look awful,' Alice said, 'in fact, they are probably the most unflattering garment any woman can wear.'

'With the exception of too tight pop socks that are visible,' Fiona said.

'Yes,' Lucinda agreed, 'When the fat is tipping out over the top of the sock and some woman is sitting opposite you with her legs wide apart.'

'Especially when it's a woman who hasn't waxed her legs in years and you can see the hair on her shin through the skin coloured pop sock,' Alice added daring one of them could come up with a worse description.

'I think we should leave it at that unless you want our breakfast to reappear,' Rose said knowing they were about to try and outdo their own vulgarity.

'So you couldn't manage the thongs at all?' Lucinda asked Rose aware of her failed attempts.

'I don't know how you wear them,' she said scrunching up her nose irritated at the thought of the discomfort. 'On a few occasions I've managed to brave it for about two hours. Once I disposed of one in the sanitary box in the bathroom of a restaurant. I'd rather go without than suffer the annoyance of thinking my undies were caught between the cheeks of my bottom.'

Rose got up to make a cup of tea, wearing only her granny-knickers and t-shirt. She stood at the top of the bedroom, her hand on her hip striking a pose similar to the models on the catwalk and began to imitate the informative voice of the compère at a fashion show.

'Here we have Rose,' she exaggerated an upper class accent, 'Rose is wearing size 16 white cotton knickers from 'Marks and Sparks', you can see how it magnificently accentuates the size of her already extensive posterior.' Rose began to walk the length of the bedroom, exaggeratedly she wiggled her hips then did a full turn.

'These pricey knickers are €6.99 for four pairs, they are guaranteed to explode out of shape and lose their colour after four washes. This lovely collection of lingerie must never be worn opposite one's partner, as they may scare every good living heterosexual into a raving mad homosexual.'

Much to the girl's amusement, she walked back to her bed wiggling her bottom while they began to applaud and wolf whistle.

Alice returned to the bedroom and found the girls in rapturous spirits.

'Not one of you have gotten up yet, how lazy can you be?' she joked as she undressed and got back into bed while Fiona rose for her appointment.

'How did you get on? Or more to the point how was Liz?' Lucinda asked dying to hear what information Alice had extracted.

'Liz is lovely, first of all the massage was only alright, I won't be getting it done again. My Sickly Prince has given me as good. Just before it finished she started chopping on my back with the sides of her hands and I had such trouble holding in the laughter. That was about the highlight of it.'

'Did Liz reveal any of her life stories to you?' Fiona asked anticipating their meeting.

'Two children, you knew about the 16 year old son, and a daughter, five. Liz is 35,' Alice said, pointedly raising her eyebrows and glancing at the girls.

'She looks older,' Lucinda interrupted. 'I'd say she's had a hard life,' she added excited at the prospect of another love saga.

'Like you said Lucinda, there was no mention of a husband on the scene, although she did say she got married at 18. Their last child was a real shock. She said she's still getting over it, but naturally loves her very much. She finds it difficult coping with a child that age again, her mother minds her while she's working. She has lived all of her life here in Letterkenny, her own father died when she was a child and she loves her job.' Alice thought for a moment, 'Oh yes, she is also a

hairdresser.'

'Oh that's good,' Rose said.

'Yes, I told her you couldn't care less about facials or how you look, however you occasionally like to get the hair done. So Liz said she'd be only too glad to oblige. I also took the initiative and asked her would she have time to do your eyebrows,' she boldly added.

'Are they really that bad?' Rose extended her finger the length of her bushy eyebrows.

'Yes,' everyone retorted.

Rose was the last to arrive at the dinner table, her hair appointment with Liz had run a little late. At that stage the other three had collected a small database of facts on Liz. The girls obligingly admired Rose's hair.

'You were right, she is lovely,' Rose said adjusting her napkin. 'And there is a husband.' Suddenly all of the girls became quiet, they were certain there was a long tale of woes.

'That's amazing,' Alice murmured disguising her disappointment that Liz didn't have the enormous problems to merit so much of their afternoon's discussion.

'Well, it's her second husband, the first one has a story similar to your own Fiona.'

'Oh dear, was he a gambler, drinker and womaniser?'

'Yes, and he went off with another woman and left her with huge debts. But she's mad about the new fella, Gerry is his name,' Rose continued brightening as the story of Liz's life improved. Equally she knew the girls were only gagging for a happy-ending tale. 'Gerry is a mechanic and has recently started up his own business.' Rose began reading the menu as she spoke. 'Liz said they will both have to work hard for a few years until it gets off the ground and they will live on her earnings for the foreseeable future. The first husband lives in England and hasn't even bothered contacting their son.'

'At that age boys need their fathers,' Fiona said.

All of the girls nodded sympathetically, relishing Liz's trauma.

Rose continued, 'She has no feelings towards the ex and told me she should never have gotten married to him, but she married Gerry two years ago and he idolises their little girl, Jennifer—that's their five year old.'

'Well done Rose,' Lucinda said pleased that the story of Liz had reached a happy conclusion and thankfully was not without its troubles.

'So, all's well that ends well,' Rose lifted her glass.

The clinking sound of their glasses and a happy ending momentarily silence the worry that Lucinda was hiding. 'All's well that ends well,' she said wishing she could forget about Simon Keogh and what might yet happen.

# CHAPTER 17

Quickly and repeatedly Simon inhaled the sweet smoke. He passed the joint back to his cellmate irritated he had to resort to dope smoking. Drugs of any sort were never his preference, he thought them dirty.

'Great gear,' his cellmate said, rolling a second joint.

Simon didn't answer him, he resented being around dope heads. He hated their lingo and their antisocial behaviour repelled him. It had been two weeks since his arrest and with every sober moment Simon grew angrier. Where the blame lay varied from day to day. His agitated mind jumped from his childhood to his adult years, back to his teenage years, his married years and back to his childhood. He always hated his father, strangely he remembered liking his mother, although in later years he also hated her. Every employer was unfair, selective, greedy, jealous, cruel or stupid. There was always a problem with those in authority, from his teachers to the Gardai. Civil servants in the dole office or tax office or solicitors were treated with suspicion. Sometimes he clashed with people in no position of authority, the odd taxi driver, or bar man, or shopkeeper. He saw his brothers and sisters so seldom they were only acquaintances, his son was also about to become another distant kin.

He sucked harder on the joint again and gritted his teeth thinking about Fiona. She thought she had it all worked out with her pub and money.

Simon heard everything he needed to know about Fiona from Billy Ryan. While in the exercise yard, Billy remembered Simon as Fiona O'Donnell's husband. Simon knew Billy was a head case when drunk and was barred from most of the pubs in Tipperary. He eagerly listened to all the recent news on how popular O'Donnell's Bar had become.

'You know the way that was always just a bog man's pub?'

'I know what you mean,' Simon said wondering since when did Billy from the arsehole of Tipperary think he had become a sophisticated urban boy.

'Now the whole town including all the yuppies are drinking there. You can't get in the door on a Saturday night, its chock-a-block.'

Billy was delighted to have someone to listen to him. Simon was the first familiar face he'd seen since arriving in prison. 'There's some right cracking looking chicks in there as well, half of them are game ball for anything.'

'Really?' Simon doubted any of the so called yuppies would give Billy too much attention. 'To tell you the truth, they don't really serve me but the odd time I nip in and there's a great buzz about the place.'

Simon couldn't help wondering if his wife Fiona was in that category of "game ball for anything women."

'I'd say she's a millionaire at this stage,' Billy explained with a serious expression. 'Every night there's a crowd in the pub, between quiz nights and card games and parties and . . . fashion shows and . . . fancy dress do's.'

It didn't occur to Simon that Billy was enjoying exaggerating the O'Donnell's prosperity. Billy's information had Simon at boiling point and there was not a thing in the world he could do while locked up.

'She's changed the car and driving a Volvo now, brand spanking new. She's rolling in money. They reckon the money she's spent on the renovations are only a dip in the ocean compared to what she's made from the last year alone.'

Billy could see Simon was dying to hear more.

Simon's ears widened, 'What renovations?

'They're having a big bash because Fiona has pumped millions into the pub. It's going to be a state of the art place with dance floors four stories high and all these VIPs are expected for the opening night. It's all over The Tipperary Star. They're coming from all over the country.'

Simon couldn't bear to hear anymore about her millions or VIPs. 'My son? Have you seen my boy lately?' Simon needed to hear something apart from how wealthy the bitch had become while he hadn't the price of a packet of cigarettes stuck in prison.

Billy thought it was a bit rich to be asking after his son, everyone in Tipp knew Simon left the pair of them without a backward glance. Nonetheless he told him what he wanted to hear. 'You should see him now Simon, he's a fine man, he's big and tall just like you with your colour hair and eyes. A fine looking man.'

It was irrelevant that he was nine years of age.

Alone that night, Simon lay on his cell bed thinking about Fiona again. Chilled from the weed, he began to recall the early years of his marriage. A warm kind of feeling came over him when he thought about that time of his life. She introduced him to a side of life that was a far cry from his beginnings. There was tenderness in Fiona's world that provided his first sense of security. Her friends behaved as if the world was theirs to play with, they spoke a foreign language about travel, fashion and books. Unlike his counterparts from his childhood area, Fiona's friends were privileged and behaved so. Those Tipperary girls were not weighted down with the pressures of daily life where he had grown up, they were not single mothers getting by on a meagre government allowance. Nor did they have to watch family members die from drugs, neither were they turning tricks to finance their heroin habits, or bolting their doors afraid of aggressive burglaries or assaults. When he thought about the contrast it always angered him.

When Simon woke the following morning, he was thinking of Fiona. She had the perfect body, not like the real skinny women that were everywhere, she was more athletic. He could picture her black hair and brown eyes, she had a long neck and great legs. Fiona's legs were longer than most women's and she had a beauty mark at the top of her thigh. She was strong and healthy. But no matter how athletic or fit or strong she was, Fiona could never fight him off. She would wriggle and put up a great battle but on the few occasions when she refused him, he took what he wanted and believed it was his for the taking. Simon wondered how she would react when she'd see him. She might ignore him. He could gradually get round her despite everything he had done. After all, he had beaten her to within an inch of her life and she forgave him, even blamed herself. Simon was very cautious after that beating, especially when her father became suspicious.

Simon overheard Fiona emphatically deny any sort of domestic violence. 'It's just not possible Dad, Simon wouldn't do that to me.'

'You would tell me?' Sean had pleaded.

Simon got a fright that day, his comfortable lifestyle could have come to a premature ending if Sean's suspicions had been confirmed. Fiona had been terrified and did everything to save their marriage. Simon took a long drag from the joint; she had good reason to be terrified. With a bit of luck he'd be there to join the VIPs for her grand reopening.

In Donegal Fiona nodded to the waiter. He dimmed the lights and arrived at their table with a chocolate muffin topped with a single burning candle. Caught unawares, Lucinda only realised it was for her when the girls began singing Happy Birthday. Some of the customers sang along and the waiter kissed her on the cheek and wished her a happy birthday in broken English.

'Any words of wisdom now that you're a year older?' Rose asked, taking a small wrapped parcel from her handbag.

'Yes, I could throttle you lot for making a show of me.'

'Nobody knows us in this remote corner of Ireland, much less this anonymous little restaurant,' Alice said placing her small parcel beside the other gifts. 'Except our new best friend Liz.'

'And that cute waiter has the potential to be an obliging friend for one of you single girls tonight,' Lucinda said.

'Yes I noticed him,' Rose said, 'I'd say he'd put your fitness levels to the test Fiona.'

'Fiona? What about your own fitness levels Rose? He mightn't be my type.'

'Liar, he's every woman's type.'

Lucinda ripped open her presents. They were the thoughtful gifts only her friends could have chosen and each year they knew exactly what she wanted. The imitation pearl earrings, Nivea anti-wrinkle cream, L'Oreal set with cleanser, toner and moisturiser, and the Bob Dylan Greatest Hits CD to replace her scratched one. Not for the first time over the weekend she was reminded of how foolish she had been. Her nearest and dearest were sitting at the table, friendships rarely lasted this long or ran this deeply; It occurred to her again how careless she had been to jeopardise the more precious aspects of her life.

None were more surprised than her that when she began to thank them her voice broke, 'Girls, you shouldn't have . . .' she stopped and put her hand on her throat appalled at the thoughts of getting upset in public.

When the moment passed Alice handed her a napkin and asked, 'Was it the Bob Dylan CD that did it, or the L'Oreal set?'

'No, these emotional outbursts come with age, I'm no longer the young ruthless hard person I was yesterday.' She wondered would she ever regain her buoyant youthful self after Vincent.

They paid the bill dividing it three ways; the birthday girl never pays. After the meal, the girls resumed their pub crawl from the previous night. Several drinks and pubs later when all were in high spirits, the icing on the cake came when they bumped into Liz and her husband Gerry.

The following morning as they drove south towards Dublin the girls were trying to establish who spotted Liz first and caused the others to get as hysterical.

'You screamed,' Fiona said to Alice. 'And then you ran across the pub like a wild woman and threw your arms around her.'

'I didn't scream,' Alice corrected her, trying to suppress her guilty smile. She had been the first one to spot Liz and knew she had screamed and got a little over excited after drinking so much wine, naturally she was pleased to see her and threw her arms around her.

'I was the first to see her,' Alice admitted, 'and each one of us followed suit and threw our arms around her.'

'We must have looked like her long lost family,' Rose said finding their reaction hilarious.

'That is an understatement, her poor husband looked completely lost.'

'Do you blame him the way we got so carried away? Less than 12 hours earlier we didn't know Liz, then suddenly we appear to be having the emotional reunion of the year,' Fiona said. 'While we were doing our "long-lost-sister-hugging-act" he didn't know where to look. When Liz finally introduced us as customers she met that morning, the guy was lost for words.'

'He's probably at home quizzing Liz on what exactly happens during a facial.'

'We bonded with Liz, I feel like I've known her all my life.' Lucinda said, a little emotional after the weekend.

They stopped in Derry to visit the art gallery where Lucinda bought her 1950'sDublin painting. Fiona had always loved Lucinda's painting and thought it would be ideal to dot the newly painted white walls of the pub with similar, interesting paintings. Lucinda recalled the one and only time she had been to the art gallery. She could even recall what time of the year it was, what she was wearing and almost every minute of her trip to Derry with Vincent. It was one of the few times she was not swayed by Vincent's opinion.

He thought her painting dull and dreary. 'That represents the poverty stricken era and the poorest people of Ireland. Could you not pick a more uplifting painting?'

The evening fog and old inner city buildings captured her imagination. Even as Lucinda was paying for the painting Vincent had continued to object to her choice. The painting exuded a noise of unity in her mind that only she could hear.

Fiona bought five framed black and white historical paintings similar to Lucinda's theme. Her cities were Dublin, Derry, Kilkenny, Cork and Kerry.

'You can almost smell the smog of Dublin from that painting,' Lucinda whispered, 'he has captured the era so accurately with the air polluted from the factory smoke. You can sense the poverty and just imagine how overcrowded the tenement flats were,' she said, outlining one of the buildings in the painting.

The four girls listened, for a moment all were absorbed in the seriousness of the art world.

'Do you sense the warm eerie feeling of history?' she asked, bending over the painting. The four girls were huddled around the painting trying to pick up on the eerie feeling Lucinda was so enthusiastic they discover. The only noise in the art shop was Lucinda loudly whispering her interpretation of the painting.

'You see the window of the tenement building with the clothes drying on the balcony.' Lucinda pointed to a distant dot on one of the buildings, 'The artist leaves us thinking about the woman who washed those clothes, what kind of life did she lead?'

'You sound like a BBC reporter on the Antique Road Show. I think I'm going to see a camera peering in between us,' Rose said, suddenly finding their serious stance comical.

With that the four girls began to giggle. The shop attendant frowned at them quizzically only adding to their hysterics. When they managed to regain their composure they all agreed with Fiona that the paintings would be a beautiful addition to the newly decorated white walls of the bar, and the black and white effect of the painting would add character. Similarly each of the girls agreed that the prices of the paintings were reasonable. Each of them bought something as a memento for their lovely weekend together, while Alice also bought a picture for The Sickly Prince. Lucinda left the art gallery one step closer to knowing that life could be lived without Vincent.

A few hours later as they approached Dublin with Lucinda continuing to do the driving, she began to dread the imminent feeling of loneliness. It was like a creeping ivy plant meandering its way up her body and claustrophobically resting on her neck. She could not afford to sit around moping. Some days she had to make a conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other, until night, then she could close her door and silently shed her tears of loss for a man she knew was never hers.

'Back to work tomorrow,' Alice sang dismally.

'I was just thinking the same thing,' Lucinda echoed relieved she was not alone.

'Anybody fancy Eddie Rocket's?' Fiona asked, 'One final splurge before we all join Rose's new healthy eating regime tomorrow.'

'I've a better idea,' Rose offered, 'why don't we get a take-away from Eddie Rocket's and all come back to my place for the night.' Rose wanted to make the most of the weekend. 'We can rent a DVD and finish off with a few little sweet things,' she added, exaggeratedly smacking her lips together.

'Count me in,' Lucinda replied instantly, her spirits already lifting and the lights of Dublin did not loom ahead as threateningly. For another night Vincent's absence would not hurt as much.

Later that night Rose and Lucinda sat alone by the fire cleansing and toning their faces with Lucinda's new L'Oreal birthday present. As planned, they returned to Rose's with their hangover take-away from Eddie Rocket's and a few packets of biscuits. They changed into their pyjamas and munched and chatted by the open fire for the night. Alice and Fiona had retired to Rose's bed while Rose and Lucinda would sleep on the blow-up mattress and couch. Lucinda rested her feet on the coal bucket enjoying the warmth of the fire on her bare feet.

'We're a miserable lot, not a man between us,' Lucinda sighed. That's as close as she could get to discussing Vincent without bawling crying. 'Except Alice and her Sickly Prince. Can you imagine if that got serious or they got engaged or something drastic?'

'That's unlikely, my mother would surely start advertising in the local prisons if any of you got engaged,' Rose said. She was also thinking of Alice buying the small gift for The Sickly Prince in Derry.

'I know we take the piss out of some of the men we meet, but it must be nice to have somebody else to think about. Or somebody to meet at the end of the day or even making plans to spend the rest of her life with him. You know what I mean,' Lucinda trailed off.

'Is that why you had the affair, did you think you would end up together?' Rose asked the question so calmly it surprised her as much as it astounded Lucinda.

Momentarily the question hung awkwardly between them, Lucinda looked as if she was holding her breath.

Rose was amazed how the burning controversial question seemed to roll out of her mouth so effortlessly. Or had she assumed that Lucinda had suddenly become placid after a weekend in Donegal and changed the habit of a lifetime. For what seemed like an eternity, Lucinda looked at Rose. Rose tried to establish if Lucinda was angry or embarrassed. Slowly she reclined in the arm chair and much to Rose's relief, did not storm out of the cottage as Rose anticipated.

Aware that lying would have been pointless Lucinda sighed noisily. 'No,' she eventually answered, 'no, deep down I think I knew he would never leave his wife or family. Somehow I fooled myself into thinking we would be together eventually. Of course there were great nights when I did believe he would return to me the following morning with his bags packed. The two of us would make great plans about spending the rest of our lives together or plan children and the privileges of ordinary couples.'

Lucinda sighed, 'But it was never the real thing,' she added, honestly reaffirming what she came to believe was the true nature of their relationship. 'It was a joke, all of it.'

Lucinda suddenly began feeling the relief at sharing her secret, it was like a dark corner of her mind finally clearing. Rose nodded her head sympathetically.

'How long have you known?'

'About a year.'

'The other girls, what do they think?'

'They don't know and I'm not going to tell you how I know.'

Lucinda smiled at how well her friend knew her but guessed it was Aengus, because if it was anyone else Rose would have told her. 'What do you think of it then? I have been a stupid gullible fool and probably deserve everything I got. But I really believed I'd found the real deal with him.'

Rose thought for a moment, then sat up straight in her arm chair with her index finger pointed towards the ceiling. Lucinda knew from Rose's pointing finger and thinning lips that she was about to air a strong opinion. That was usually the position she assumed when she wanted to emphasise her point or fling torrents of abuse about a politician or any issue that irritated her.

'I know you're no angel Lucinda, but I blame him. That bastard took advantage of you.'

Typical, Lucinda thought, realising Rose would never go against one of her own friends.

'Married men do not give a fiddlers about anybody, not their mistress, their wife or their children,' Rose continued with her index finger wagging, 'every time I hear a mention of Andrew O'Keeffe, I would like to give that rat a piece of my mind, what a . . . thoughtless . . . bastard!' She spat the word from her mouth in disgust.

Lucinda looked at Rose speechless for the second time that night. She had almost gotten it right, but so completely wrong. Briefly she thought how uncomplicated it would have been if Andrew had been the one. The love she had for Andrew was so much less complicated yet so solid.

Rose continued venting her rage, 'He took advantage of you. He should have known better, you'd think he would have finished it when you two became such good friends, but all along he kept you suspended allowing you think he would eventually leave his wife.'

Pointedly Rose stopped and looked at Lucinda, 'Am I right in assuming that?'

'Something like that,' Lucinda answered half-heartedly.

While Rose ranted and raved about the state of Andrew's morals, Lucinda was devastated. Just when she thought her greatest sordid secret was out in the open finally liberating her and allowing her to enjoy a new freedom, Lucinda felt as though she had been handed back the burden of the secret. With each condemnation of Andrew the bundle of lies, piece by piece was like an added weight placed on Lucinda's lap. Several weeks later Lucinda regretted not having told the truth that night. It would have been so simple, but she couldn't bring herself to allow the truth escape her. In hindsight, if she had been honest, those few words would have been enough to even partially set her free. Keeping the affair secret was one of the hardest parts of the relationship, now when there was no need to keep it a secret any longer, it was proving to be as hard letting it go.

When Rose eventually calmed, she apologised, 'I'm sure you can guess who is not on my Christmas card list.'

Lucinda was more aware of the unspoken truth, like an uncomfortable wedge distancing her from Rose.

'Do you love him?' Rose asked.

Lucinda paused, surprised at the unexpected question, 'Yes,' she answered referring to Vincent, 'I love every bone in his body.'

'Do you think he loves you?'

'No, I don't believe he loves me the way I love him.' She paused sadly realising the truth again, 'I did believe it, I wanted to believe it so badly I convinced myself he loved me.'

It was Rose's sympathetic eyes that prompted Lucinda to continue.

'I never thought this kind of thing would ever happen to me, naturally it started as a bit of a joke, over the years I drifted deeper and deeper until there was no going back.'

'Over the years? How many years?'

'Ten.'

As Lucinda began to reveal the saga pretending it was Andrew, it became all the more clearer to her that she had been used. Rose had been accurate in surmising that the affair had taken on a life of its own. Lucinda told Rose about the nights when he would call to her apartment and do everything to make him comfortable. Vincent would tell her all of his daily tribulations, in turn how she would never dare betray his confidence, just listen and offer advice like a subservient mistress. She told Rose about the little gifts he had bought her, and the confidence boosting compliments he had paid her, and how she valued his opinion more than anybody else's.

'Then he finished it?' Rose wanted to hear the story in its entirety.

'Yes,' she replied, 'and do you want to know how?'

'Nothing would surprise me about that . . . creep.'

'He sent me an email,' Lucinda stated flatly, reliving the disappointment again.

'Typical, he didn't even have the respect to meet you and tell you.'

'Yes, I only realise it now. I still can't believe he did it like that. After that I lost it, I was so shocked initially I couldn't believe the message was intended for me, so naturally I had a few drinks,' Lucinda continued to reveal the rest of the details to Rose. 'So the next thing I knew I was in the crackpot ward of Elm Park surrounded by maniacs.'

Rose started to laugh at Lucinda's description knowing how uncomfortable the experience would be for anyone, but Lucinda would be the last one on earth able to cope with that situation.

'Seriously Rose,' Lucinda said earnestly, 'I thought I'd be lynched in my bed, you don't know what those loony tunes would be capable of doing.'

Rose began to laugh louder and for the first time Lucinda saw the funny side. She told her about Morticia Addams, her pale skin, jet black hair and dislike of sunlight. Rose listened tickled by Lucinda's description, and more entertaining was the fact that she had to associate with the kind of people she would normally shun. Lucinda told her about Anna and her peculiar yellow hair and face. She imitated how Anna wanted to know how everybody was "feeeling" and what they did to merit such a prestigious place in the psychiatric ward.

Lucinda said, 'The crazier the suicide attempt, the more Anna loved it. She was besotted by a woman who kept sticking her head in the gas oven.'

Lucinda did not mention her encounter with Simon Keogh for several reasons, mainly because he was a stark reminder that the true version of her tale could rear its ugly head.

# CHAPTER 18

Barbara could hear Vincent's electric razor behind the closed door of the ensuite. He hummed with contentment mirroring her gratification that their marriage was once again happy. Like every marriage, theirs was no different with their ups and downs. Admittedly Vincent had his faults like every other husband, just as much as she was not the perfect wife. But lately things were so remarkably blissful she would have had difficulty recalling the more trying times of her marriage. For the last few days with the ease of his normally pressurised work load, Vincent was just like his old self. He was considerate to a fault, loving towards her and the children, and offering to do some household chores. Not to mention the added attention he had been lavishing on her. Last night they had had one of those rare evenings together that reinstated her reasons for loving him. They had dinner in her choice of restaurant, then went for a few drinks and sat by the window in The Shelbourne Hotel and watched the world go by. Later they made slow lingering love, Vincent had been most generous, that glorious generosity that only Vincent could do so wonderfully.

'Good morning,' she whispered.

Vincent sat on the side of the bed, 'I hope I didn't wake you.'

'I'm pleased you did.'

He tucked her hair behind her ear then kissed her, they both smiled recalling the intimacy of their previous night.

Vincent sighted as if surrendering, 'I'm so in love with you.' He slipped under the sheets and protectively wrapped his arms around her naked body, revelling in their remaining few minutes together.

'If only it could be like this all of the time.'

Vincent held her tighter, 'It will be,' he earnestly believed it. 'I promise,' he kissed her again but with more urgency.

Vincent was hoping to beat the early morning traffic and get down the country as soon as possible, either that or spend half the day stuck in his car. His earlier plan was to bring his son, but decided he'd be better off at home with his toys, although Sean would love to see his grandson parading about the farm mesmerised at the unfamiliar animals and farm machinery. His father would be as predictable as ever and drool over the child, 'I can see he has the farming in his blood,' Sean would say hoping at least one of the upcoming generation would have an interest in the land. 'Isn't that right Sam? You'll make a fine farmer yet.' Vincent couldn't be bothered listening to it, he'd travel to Tipperary without his son.

Vincent and his father had an appointment with Peter O'Brien, Sean's solicitor, during the afternoon. Sean wanted to show Vincent the field he was giving him. Vincent knew he would have to do his best to pretend to be interested in the minor piece of greenery he couldn't care less about. Parts of his plan was to treat his father to lunch, as always Sean would accept the offer and thank him profusely for such a kind gesture. Hopefully that would shorten the ordeal of having to stand in Wellington boots among mounds of shite and gawk at moronic cattle. No doubt his father would insist on admiring everything from the blades of grass in the field to the view from the field to the trees and shrubs bordering the field. Farming or anything remotely like it was not Vincent's forte while his father could quite contentedly spend his life discussing livestock, land and all things rural.

After making love again Vincent rushed from his home hoping to beat the rush hour. Not yet bright, he glanced up at the bedroom window as he sat into his car and was touched to see Barbara wave from their window. Life can only get better, he vowed. No more risky business or childish games with the likes of Lucinda Tidy or any other women for that matter. He flashed the lights acknowledging Barbara's wave. His recent good fortune seemed to have a ripple effect in every aspect of his life, including his marriage. Rekindling his love with Barbara made him feel so much more youthful; with that and the alleviated financial situation he felt entirely renewed. Spending time with the children was almost a pleasure, albeit a small pleasure, he found he had much more tolerance towards them. Of course he would pursue interests of his own now that he had decided to knock the extra marital affairs on the head. With so much more time on his hands, Vincent contemplated joining a gym, not that he was out of shape, but he envied the younger men with their toned physiques. Maybe he could spend three evenings a week pumping iron and start jogging again. He had done it for many years during the rugby and hurling years. Not that he would ever consider hurling again, he felt he had nothing in common with the hurlers and the Dublin clubs attracted too much of a working class element. Vincent was reminded of his father's pub, hard working men who followed every Tipperary hurling match the length and breadth of the country. He found it hard to believe that he too had been one of those avid hurling fans proud to wear the Tipp jersey at every opportunity. Continuing to watch the games and attend the bigger matches, he had no other interest in GAA. Rugby was more appealing, he liked the game along with the rugby pubs and supporters. Most of his work colleagues were either affiliated with a club or ex-players. Yes, that was another option he would explore later. Nothing is unattainable; he smiled to himself once more calculating the profit his investment would yield.

In Tipperary Fiona sat in the bar opening her mail and was pleased with the progress of the renovations. She had risen early and taken the first train to Tipperary to allow the painters entry to put the final touches to the pub. Fiona busied herself hanging the new paintings, instantly she loved the contrast. After such a fun filled weekend she realised that there was so much more to life than pining after Simon and a torturous marriage. As she admired the dramatic results she still couldn't believe her father had agreed to such changes. The new maroon sofas and bright colour scheme were like a breath of fresh air. With the added extension and overall airiness, it fuelled Fiona's enthusiasm towards improving the pub. Fiona checked her mobile phone in anticipation of a text message from Alice who promised the long awaited photo of her Sickly Prince. Alice had been harping on about The Sickly Prince's new form of art through video. Alice had called wanting to know if Fiona was alone and could her mobile receive video clips.

'Why?' Fiona cautiously asked hearing the boldness in Alice's voice.

'You wanted a picture of my Sickly Prince and you shall receive an image of my Sickly Prince,' she gleefully announced.

Alice decided to send Fiona one of the Sickly Prince's video clips.

'I take it this video clip is not for the faint hearted?' Fiona asked suspiciously, moving as far away from the painters as possible.

'Yes,' Alice declared unabashedly, 'it is totally and utterly gross, shocking in fact, he thinks it's art and sent it to me as a kind of a . . .,' Alice hesitated trying to put a phrase to her boyfriends bizarre gesture, 'it's a keepsake.' Considerately she added, 'If you don't want it, it's understandable, but it is The Sickly Prince, warts and all.'

'Is he naked?'

'Completely and utterly starkers.'

Not knowing what to expect from Alice but sure it would shock, she agreed.

'If you are not alone put your phone on silent, he talks too,' Alice warned as if she was referring to a novelty act.

'Jesus Christ, you hardly think I'm going to view naked images of your boyfriend with men in the bar,' she whispered, mortified at the thoughts of it. When the tiny envelope flashed on her mobile phone Fiona went to the ladies bathroom.

'Welcome to my life, babe,' his male voice sounded from the black screen.

After some fumbling his face appeared. Fiona assumed he was trying to appear seductive but instead looked menacingly into the camera. He was lying on a bed with one had holding up the camera and the other confidently resting behind his head. 'You are my world, babe, I am you.'

Fiona assumed he was reciting poetry.

'You are me, we are one,' as he continued with his dialogue he began to move the camera slowly down his long lean naked body. Fiona noticed his protruding ribs and his pale skin, the camera stretched the length of the side of his body avoiding his penis. She was a little disappointed until he brought the camera back to his face, this time from a different angle that made him less evil, she was surprised how sweet and boyish he was.

He continued reciting his poetry, raising his voice, 'our souls are one, you and me babe, melted as one.' In an instant the camera appeared directly over his erect penis while his voice had escalated into a roar, 'this is for you babe, this belongs in you babe.' As he thrust himself towards the camera masturbating at a furious rate, 'I'm coming babe, oh babe, this is for you.'

Speechlessly Fiona stared at the mobile phone.

Vincent stood in the centre of the new lounge. 'Shocked, I'm completely shocked with the overhaul.' The pub had suddenly jumped forward from a dilapidated midcentury hard-core drinking bar to the type of establishment even he and Barbara would frequent.

'Shocked? A good shocked or a bad shocked?' Fiona asked, curious about her brother's opinion.

'I love it, I'm really impressed,' he said inspecting the new stage and the partition. Vincent was equally surprised that his younger sister could be capable of employing the contemporary theme or that she was adventurous enough to try it.

Vincent had always labelled Fiona a 'Bacon and Spuds' woman; she was practical not artistic. He would have expected sensibly chosen wallpaper and safe colours like cream and coffee, not bold wines and bright whites or experiments with paintings. In fact, he noticed a vast improvement in Fiona, her tired eyes were livelier and she had started smiling again. He also noticed her fashionable clothes, unlike the normal jeans and jumpers she had worn for years. He wondered if his sister had a "new man friend", using his father's delicate phrase.

Sean sat in the bar leafing through the newspaper listening to their conversation. He had to admit he was very pleased with the resulting new structure and regretted not having done it sooner, although he knew he would never have thought of the colours or any of the extra touches Fiona added. It was like having two different bars where they could cater for two separate crowds who would normally never mix. Sean could continue to keep the regulars happy because not only was their money guaranteed, he also had a sense of loyalty towards them. Some of the regulars had been patrons for over 50 years, they were lifelong friends and Sean felt an obligation towards them. He thought the two separate bars an excellent solution. Fiona could cater for the younger crowd with her rock bands or whatever queer music her crowd wanted while his crew could enjoy their conversations in peace.

'I'd say that took some convincing,' Vincent said, winking at Fiona, knowing how their father hated change.

She opened the lounge windows wider hoping the smell of paint would have gone by Saturday night, 'You'd better believe it,' she returned his wink.

'Tell the truth and shame the devil,' Sean shouted out from behind the partition. 'I'm too soft these days.'

To do anything decent with the bar Vincent thought the building would have to be levelled. As he inspected the finer details he noticed all of the fixtures were good quality. What capped the décor were the interesting paintings of five different cities of Ireland. As Vincent admired each of the paintings, his eyes rested uneasily on the 1950's Dublin painting before he remembered where he had seen it so many times. Briefly he could see Lucinda standing in her apartment before the painting, smiling as if the slums and she shared something he couldn't see.

As soon as Sean and Vincent left the bar Fiona's phone rang.

'What do you think of my boyfriend's premiere?' Alice asked referring to the video clip.

'Sick,' Fiona muttered, genuinely agog at how anyone could confess to doing such a thing, not to mention recording it. She was also amused at Alice's boldness about it all.

'Really,' Alice laughed hearing the disgust in her voice. 'But don't you think he has a fantastic body, didn't you notice the size of his . . . manhood?' she overtly gushed.

'Apart from Simon, your Sickly Prince is the second naked man I've ever seen.' Fiona said, 'and after such a disgusting performance I don't care if I never again see a naked man. He is really shameless.'

Alice laughed.

'And so are you, the pair of you have little to do with your time.'

'I know,' Alice admitted, 'my poor Sickly Prince thinks he could be awarded a scholarship for film school with that clip.'

'No doubt, with your encouragement the poor fellow probably thinks he could also collect an Oscar.'

'Well, I do think he is artistic. There is a certain element of art in that video clip,' she said seriously. 'Do you think he's attractive? On a scale of one to ten, where would you rate him?'

Fiona thought for a moment, 'I'll have to have another look later, to be honest, I was so surprised that I can't recall his features. Remember I haven't lived, you both must be very comfortable to swap images like that.'

'Maybe,' Alice said not wanting to bother with the serious side of the relationship. 'Surely you must have an opinion on his beautiful body?'

Fiona gave it more consideration, 'He's too thin, he looks rakishly thin in fact.'

'But he's beefy in the right areas,' Alice gushed again.

Realising what she meant, 'The pair of you are well suited.'

'You better believe it. Anyway, I must go and do a bit of work,' Alice sighed.

'Are you busy?' Fiona asked, trying to imagine Alice sitting at her office desk with her computer and surrounded with the eternal paper work she moaned about.

'No, I've nothing much on this morning. I'm going to ring the rest of the girls to see what they think of my lover's latest movie.'

'You need your head examined.'

'Were you aroused by my Sickly Prince?' Alice teased, also hoping for some small compliment to boost her ego.

'Not particularly.'

'I think it's kind of cute,' Alice said dreamily, 'you know, just that he made that effort for me.'

'If you ever give up the day job you could go into the soft porn industry, you seem to have the stomach for it.'

'Das riiiiiight,' Alice imitated the Tipperary accent before hanging up.

Just as Vincent predicted, later that day he found himself standing amongst dumb cattle in the middle of the field freezing his nuts off studying green grass. From his knowledge of land, there was little, if any difference between two blades of grass from the same field. His father seemed to be in his element discussing the texture of the plain ordinary everyday bit of grass. Granted some fields had more grass than others, or land varied from one area to another but to discuss it in such detail was obsessive Vincent thought. He half listened to his father and eyed the surrounding fields.

'My father used to think that God had blessed this field with the finest soil for growth,' Sean said pulling up a clump of the grass. 'Do you see how rich the grass is?' Sean asked rubbing it between his fingers. 'Our part of the county is blessed with the finest Rye grass.'

Vincent looked at the clump of grass in his father's large worn hands.

'Yea.' He tried to think of something relevant to say, but nothing would come. 'It's fairly green,' he managed.

'And for years this field threw up everything from beet, to turnips, to wheat and oats,' Sean added proudly.

'Yea, that's fairly good.' Vincent answered nonchalantly. He thought the whole exercise of inspecting the field utterly unnecessary. As for examining the grass, he would not have been surprised if his father had gotten on all fours to taste the grass.

'This field belonged to my father,' Sean said casting his eye's the length of the acre field, 'and now I'm giving it to you as he gave it to me.' Sean admired the view and could see the village from where they were standing. 'From up here little has changed.'

The same spire of the church was visible 70 years previously, as were some of the old buildings of the town, many more houses and buildings had been added and life had changed, but not much of it apparent from the safety of his haven. 'I've great auld memories, life has been good to me,' Sean suddenly said.

Vincent buttoned his Barber jacket, tightened the scarf and regretted not dressing warmer for the occasion. The way his father was ranting and raving about the field they could be here all night. Anyone would expect a priest to appear to join the sermon his father believed he was officiating.

'Thanks Dad,' Vincent mumbled hoping his father wouldn't start bawling with emotion.

'When I proved to my father that I could farm, eventually he gave me the other fields and over the years and through sheer hard work I added more land to this,' Sean said pointing at the surrounding greenery.

'Did you?' Vincent was alert again. He was dying to know exactly how much land his father had accumulated but knew never to directly ask. Information such as that would only ever be revealed after his death.

'Shortly the town will have grown out here and they'll be building apartment blocks and shopping centres on this very field,' Sean said with disdain.

Vincent smiled.

Sean spoke with caution, 'Certain buyers would love the view, and developers could destroy it all in a matter of weeks.'

During Sean's adult life, he could have counted the number of times he cried. For that brief time when Vincent and he were alone together, he could have cried with despair. What Sean feared, Vincent planned. From the moment Vincent put on his jacket and wellingtons his jovial mood depleted. Sean realised his son couldn't even fake an interest in the field, he looked bored and bordered on revulsion at the sight of the cattle. Foolishly Sean had held onto the belief that maybe someday Vincent would return to his roots and develop an interest in farming. Or work the land part-time which a lot of men were doing. It never became more apparent that day that the poor spoilt boy could never belong on a farm or anywhere near hard work. Sean had wanted to tell his son how his father and he had worked the field the old-fashioned way with horse and ploughs. How they painstakingly tilled the land, nurtured the crops and finally reaped the rewards. All Sean wanted to do was help Vincent understand that the field belonged in his blood as much as the generations who went before him. Even if he wanted to cover it all with concrete, let him understand its origins. Sean hoped to humour him and tell him some of the old tales that had been handed down to him, how his own grandfather had acquired the land. But Sean realised how little interest Vincent had in any of it. He was too detached to be sentimental. If he wanted to attempt reaping the rewards from part-time farming, Vincent would never have the patience or foresight to nurture the crop. The thought that left Sean in the greatest despair was that he knew his son would decimate the essence of nature for a quick buck. He did not appear to appreciate anything apart from money, and he had so little true respect for the one thing he idolised. The beautiful scenery before his eyes he could only view from a monetary angle. Equally Sean knew Vincent had gotten what he wanted. He would invest his money and anybody else's money he could get his hands on. He'd probably make himself more money without ever having broken a sweat. More power to men like him, but Sean couldn't help thinking that Vincent would never know what it was to truly earn or develop a healthy respect for his money. Men like Vincent were rarely happy. He noticed how Vincent seemed more interested in the surrounding land than his newly acquired field. Sean would have to think of a solution for the problem he faced with his property.

# CHAPTER 19

The more Lucinda thought about her confession to Rose the previous weekend, the more troubled she became. It was Friday afternoon and the girls had agreed to meet for lunch. Lucinda had not seen Rose all week but was plagued with guilt from their last conversation. For some reason lying to Rose seemed more morally incorrect than committing adultery. Not that Lucinda had ever given too much thought to the sin of adultery; in her opinion it was one of those outdated sins. Maybe if they had been caught, then it might have become a sin. She dismissed any guilt by deciding that hurting someone was a greater misdemeanour than having a bit of harmless adult sex.

'Are you not hungry?' Rose asked, watching Lucinda idly push her pizza around the plate.

'No, I ate too much last night.'

Unable to concentrate on their conversation Lucinda's guilty conscience was gnawing at her. Lying to work colleagues, or acquaintances, or potential boyfriends was part and parcel of daily life, telling selective lies to close friends was also harmless. Those lies were usually about exaggerated sexual encounters or the price of clothes or underplaying her drinking, but no matter what angle she tried, Lucinda could not shake off the bad feeling for misleading Rose. To make matters worse, Rose had been very understanding. So much so, she never once judged Lucinda, only considerately suggested she change job to get away from Andrew. If Rose only realised that Andrew had kept her sane throughout the years. Unlike her previous reasons for keeping the affair quiet, misleading Rose made it an even greater priority to take her increasingly heavy burden to the grave.

'So what do you girls think of my little boyfriend?' Alice grinned when everyone had finished eating. She had forwarded The Sickly Prince's video clip to each of the girls. 'Rose?'

Rose paused searching for the correct wording, 'I think it's a howl.'

'Is that a good howl or a bad howl?'

Rose sipped her latte, 'A funny howl.'

'Do you think he's kind of cute?' Despite Alice being so brash about his video clip it seemed important to her that the girls thought he was attractive.

'Are you asking me if I was aroused by his exhibition of puffing and panting and roaring like a heroin addict withdrawing from drugs and thrusting his erect penis into a mobile phone?' Rose asked.

'Didn't you find it kinky?'

'I suspect The Sickly Prince thoroughly enjoyed his own performance, which is more than I can say for myself.'

Lucinda noticed she was not the only one suffering from her nerves as she listened to Alice's persistent insecure questioning.

'Seriously, what did you really think of it?'

'I seriously think he has brainwashed you into thinking that was alternative sexual art. Or you have developed highly irregular sexual tendencies; tendencies that have not yet been diagnosed by any of our pioneering therapists.'

'Lucinda, didn't you find it erotic?'

'Not if my hormones were pouring out of my ears, for a quick three minutes of sex would I find that appealing,' Lucinda answered flatly.

In truth, Lucinda could not even contemplate sex nor any form of affection from a man, not to mind finding anything remotely arousing about The Sickly Prince.

Realising she might have sounded too harsh, Lucinda added, 'You know I don't like the college-boy type, I like older men in suits with some sort of experience. I find grey hair and maturity attractive.'

'Do any of you girls want to take another moment to linger on a re-run,' Alice was pretending to be sarcastic knowing she sounded desperate, 'please say one positive tiny appealing aspect about his début, just so as I don't leave this restaurant thinking I am some sort of undefined sexual fiend.'

'Actually, I did find it slightly arousing,' Rose said, 'but before you get your hopes up, I think it was one of the new guys in the laboratory.'

The girls huddled together adapting their usual position when being discrete.

'What? Was the new guy at work masturbating and roaring into his phone too?' said Alice pretending to be confused.

'No,' Rose innocently answered, 'the new guy is not particularly handsome, but he has a beautiful open smiley face with brown eyes that seem to look right through me. The weirdest thing is that he speaks fluent Irish.' Rose paused trying to make sense of Thomas. 'With his eyes and accent . . .' she shook her head in confusion, 'I think it's just the Irish thing that makes him so attractive,' she finally sighed.

Immediately all of the girls began to speak at once, mainly enquiring where and when her next work function would be.

When they stopped gabbling Alice asked, 'Where does The Sickly Prince fit in?'

'After you sent me the clip I couldn't believe what I was looking at, so I replayed it on silent mode. Coincidentally, Thomas was having a full blown conversation in Irish on the telephone at the same time; that's when I became aroused,' she whispered.

'Oh Thomas,' Lucinda repeated his name enthralled, temporarily forgetting about her lies.

'Ach Thomas,' Alice said equally as intrigued, 'mo ghrá,' she attempted a little Irish while Lucinda began making growling sounds imitating the throaty Irish language.

'Oh Rose, rrraaahhh, tá tú go maith ar fad, rrraaahhh.'

When the girls could not stop laughing the waiter appeared at their table and quietly asked them to keep the noise down. They apologised before resuming their conversation outside under the heated canopy to people-watch and drink their coffees.

'I never realised the obligatory Irish we studied at school could provide such entertainment,' Rose said, amused that the girls could be so childishly entertaining.

'I'll just have to get The Sickly Prince to do an Irish voice-over on his next movie. Phew, what a relief, there is hope for a career in the movie business,' Alice clicked her fingers as if suddenly realising.

The girls grew quiet while they considered the Irish speaker and The Sickly Prince's performance.

'How did you get him to perform?' Rose asked.

'I asked him for an imaginative clip of his declaration of love for me.'

'Ahhh,' the girls chimed.

'And he hasn't stopped sending me movies since.'

'Why don't you ask him to Tipperary on Saturday night for the re-opening of O'Donnell's Pub?' Rose suggested.

'Only if you invite Thomas,' Alice retorted before whispering, 'Rrraaahhh.'

'The entire town will be in O'Donnell's, we could put a face on the groaning voice,' Lucinda suggested.

Alice remained silent for a minute, 'I don't think so,' she admitted quietly, 'I think he's just a phase I'm experimenting with.'

'Very good, ten out of ten for accuracy.'

'I could be in love with him,' Alice said defensively, although too faintly to be credible.

'I don't think so,' Rose shook her head unconvinced. 'If you were in love with him you would not be sending video clips of the poor imbecile jerking off on your mobile for our amusement.'

'I know,' Alice admitted, 'he is beginning to bore me,' she said sounding defeated, then cheerfully added, 'I'm not going to dump him immediately.'

'You want to learn a few more tricks?' Lucinda teased.

'Das riiiiiight.'

'What else has he taught you?'

Alice sipped her cappuccino, 'We're going to try Tantric Sex,' she quickly corrected herself, 'it's more than just the sex. I feel like a 20 year old cool chick which I never was. I should have been living like this when I was 20. Instead I was burrowing a hole of manic depression with Tipperary Ted. I like experimenting with the club scene and occasional drugs and alternative music,' she knowingly smiled, 'he makes me feel like I'm living.'

'Would you marry him?' Rose asked, more for a reaction than a reply.

'Dear God, no way, that will never ever happen with him.'

'Well, what are you doing with him then?'

'It's not that kind of relationship, it's more like I'm playing a role in a movie. I slip into the cool girl I missed out on ten years ago. Sometimes I think I'm seeing life for the first time.' Alice readily admitted the relationship offered her a glimpse into an alternative side of life with music, art and poetry; all things alien to the world she had inhabited. She added, 'It's only a phase, I expect I will grow out of it someday in the next . . .' she frowned as if concentrating, '50 years. Yes, I will be 81 and ready to settle down with a sensible equivalent at that ripe old age.'

'What about children?' Rose persisted, genuinely curious what was Alice's current stance on the serious subject of babies.

'Sometimes I worry about it girls,' Lucinda interrupted, 'our eggs are disintegrating at a rapid pace every single day.'

'Relax girls, I stumbled on this fantastic new theory as I was busily surfing the net recently.' Alice began, 'Science is progressing so rapidly and us humans are exceeding our expected life span, I imagine by the time I'm emotionally ready for a child, say at the age of . . .' she thought for a moment, '95 when I will be mature enough. Science will have advanced so much that we will be having children into our 100's and living until we are about 300, so plenty of time yet.'

Although none of them took Alice's theory seriously, they thought about babies and their eggs. There and then, Lucinda didn't care if she never conceived. Alice believed she'd leave it until the last hour. Rose was thinking about Aengus, not Thomas or his Irish or The Sickly Prince's orgasm.

By Saturday morning Rose wondered if she was only appeasing her mother by inviting Aengus to Tipperary. It might briefly halt Doreen's insistence that Rose urgently find a man, date him, marry him and conceive a child ASAP. Or did she really want another night in his company? A group of colleagues attended a lecture in Trinity College on the new environmental crisis and both developed different opinions which they debated at length with their friends in town. They resumed their discussion in Rose's cottage and ended the night by sleeping together. Unlike their previous occasions, they were only slightly tipsy and it had been wonderful; blissfully, earth movingly, so wonderful Rose relived the finer moments again. The following morning, unlike any other time that Aengus stayed, they lay together long after they made love again enjoying the texture of their bodies. Both reluctant to wake when they were obliged to revert to their casual friendship. When Aengus eventually prepared breakfast he returned to bed with two bowls of porridge and the daily newspapers.

'Aren't you having your fry?' Rose asked.

'While in Rome,' he said, tasting his first bowl of porridge in 20 years, 'do as the Roman's do.'

Rose was grateful for the kind gesture as her resolve with her new diet was beginning to wilt. She was unsure how much longer she could cope without her unhealthy mounds of sugar and fatty treats, especially during the weekend when she missed her treats; on Saturday's or Sunday's she would have gobbled down a full fry. After lounging in bed reading four newspapers, she reluctantly got up to pack a bag for her trip to Tipperary. Rose picked through her wardrobe and rooted in the wash basket, regretting having left it so late to get something to wear for the opening night of O'Donnell's Bar.

'Tut, tut,' Aengus mocked from the bed, 'if your friends could see you now.'

Rose smiled knowing how right he was. None of the girls would be so casual about a night out. No doubt they either knew from the previous weekend what outfits, shoes, accessories and make up they would wear, or more than likely, their outfits were new along with all of their accessories. Even if Rose felt she had the patience to shop, she never knew what to buy. Fashion was her blind spot. As for rooting in the wash basket; they would equate that with picking through the rubbish bin for something to eat.

'What am I bloody well going to wear?' she sighed, peering into her wardrobe. 'The world and its mother will be here tonight. Of all the times to leave it so late to prepare.'

'Will your parents be there?' Aengus asked.

'Yes, my mother will spend half the day putting curlers in her hair and pressing one of her archaic pleated skirts and detailed frilly blouses. Then she'll complain about the loud noise and packed pub and they'll go home after two drinks. Although it's nice of them to make the effort for Fiona's sake.'

Panting, Rose took a refuse sack from the wardrobe and emptied the contents onto the floor, 'If I don't find something soon I might be glad of one of my mother's archaic pleated skirts and frilly blouses.'

'I've a suggestion. Why don't I come with you?'

His offer hung awkwardly between them. Rose felt her cheeks burn, embarrassed that it hadn't occurred to her to invite him. She found the prospect a little daunting.

Sensing the silence, 'I'm such a fine specimen of a man when they see me by your side they won't even notice what you're wearing, and I'd like to see Doreen and Matthew again,' he smiled recalling how welcoming Rose's parents were.

'Are you serious?' she asked looking at his pale naked arms resting on the duvet. His wild strawberry-blonde hair stood on end and his confident toothy smile; on another day that could have enticed her back to bed, except she was getting stressed over her outfit problem.

'Would you really like to come to Tipp?' Rose asked.

'Yes, I'd love to, plus I'd like to see what Fiona has done to the pub and how your parents are keeping. Then there's the added bonus of the entertainment of a crazy drunken night out with your crowd . . .' he pretended to whisper, 'with the exception of another dreadful rendition of ''The Rose of Tralee''.'

'OK, you can come to Tipperary and your only job is to put masking tape over my mouth at the first inclination that that song is going to leave my lips.'

'You have no idea what a pleasure that would be.'

Rose knew she would enjoy the night all the more with Aengus, and Fiona would be thrilled to see him again. Naturally, Rose kept Aengus briefed on the continuing saga of Lucinda and her broken affair, along with all of her friend's news. Rose would call Doreen when they were en route, knowing how her mother would put herself under unnecessary pressure to prepare. Both of her parents were very fond of Aengus and Doreen secretly loved his doctor status. To stop her mother's persistent suggestions of a possible wedding with Aengus, on his first visit to Tipperary she told her mother that she and Aengus were work colleagues and there was no hope whatsoever of a romance.

Dismissing Rose, Doreen retorted, 'Young people always say that. Nonsense, you'd make a great couple.'

To put a complete halt to her mother's persistence, Rose was forced to tell a white lie, 'There's a rumour that Aengus is gay, but I've never asked him and it may only be a rumour.'

'Impossible, he doesn't look gay and besides, he's too nice to be gay.'

Although she refused to accept it, it was enough to cast doubt for Doreen. Her nagging lessened until she eventually stopped referring to him as her favourite son-in-law or humming 'Here Comes the Bride'.

Rose could imagine her mother hearing the news that Aengus would be staying the night, 'Sweet Jesus, Rose's doctor friend is coming and not a thing in the house.'

As long as Rose could remember, Doreen kept their house stocked with food and yummy goodies, it never even dwindled slightly. Doreen was the perfect housewife and host, and loved nothing more than planning and cooking for visitors. She loved to prepare a three course meal or make tea and dish up her homemade tarts.

Helplessly Rose wandered into the spare room hoping to find something to wear. Finally she spotted something, unlike her friends who were possibly removing the labels from their new designer gear, Rose suddenly found part of her outfit taped to the window in the spare bedroom.

Lucinda Tidy sat before the mirror in the hairdressers imagining every conceivable scenario of Vincent's reaction tonight. The moment she knew the date Fiona was having the reopening, Lucinda made a lengthy list. At the top was her hair appointment, she prepared in advance by booking the top stylist in her favourite hairdressers. The previous night she had her eyebrows, upper lip and legs waxed wanting to look like she had never looked before. For the occasion she bought a figure hugging Karen Millen silver and black dress with a turtle neck collar, a matching black clutch bag and extremely high heeled open toed sandals. To top all off she justified splashing out on the full range of Armani make-up. To accentuate the collar of the dress she would wear her hair in the up-style. Apart from not being able to walk in the sandals, she would perish with the cold but Lucinda intended to look her very best. She could live with the consequences if she was laid up with pneumonia and elephantiasis in her feet for a month after the event.

With trembling hands Lucinda sipped her coffee hoping she would not be too overdressed. When she had stepped out of bed unsteadily this morning she'd realised how terrified she was. She started having visions of fainting on top of Vincent or vomiting her drink on his feet. She was unsure whether she was dying to see Vincent again, his wife present or not, or if she wanted to lynch him. Although two very contrasting desires, Lucinda had no idea what she wanted but knew how daunting the prospect of coming face to face with Vincent would be. At some stage she would have to get a drink somewhere before walking into the pub if only to stop the shaking.

Rose was looking forward to the night ahead, she enjoyed her nights out in Tipperary and equally liked it that the girls were very fond of Aengus. Tonight he could spend some time talking to Lucinda and see what he thinks of her mood since her hospital stint and ending the affair with Andrew.

'What do you mean I can talk to Lucinda and find out what her intentions are?' Aengus asked handing her a coffee then getting back into bed.

Rose was busily stitching the hem of her skirt, the same skirt that were her temporary black-out blinds on the windows of her spare bedroom.

'Exactly. She might tell you something she wouldn't tell me. I'm concerned and want to know what you think. Will you think she's depressed or genuinely happy or distant?'

'You mean manipulate information out of her like I'm some kind of spy.'

Rose missed his playful insult; she was thinking of Andrew O'Keefe and wondering how Lucinda managed to work in the same building as him. 'She might tell you what she thinks of Andrew now, or if she's softening towards him.' Rose didn't say any more about Andrew, she made a conscious decision not to talk about him. Each time she mentioned his name, he made her incensed all over again.

'You women are scurrilous.'

This time Rose heard his wit, 'If any of the locals reveal any bits of juicy gossip, you can make a note of it and tell me later.'

'Whatever you say boss, would you like me to talk to any of your friends as well. Maybe have a word with Alice and see what her intentions are?' he teased.

'No, Alice is fine. She's living for the moment and as always, she's thoroughly enjoying it. She'll spend like crazy and see fashion in clothes that the rest of the world would dump. I think she's ready to move on from The Sickly Prince.'

'Did Lucinda meet a man in Donegal?'

'No she didn't,' Rose guessed that a relationship was the last thing on Lucinda's wish list.

'What about Fiona, would you like me to have a few words with her?'

'Fiona's fine. Now that Simon is off the scene, Fiona is in with a great chance of enjoying a peaceful life,' Rose surmised.

'Did she meet a man in Donegal?'

Rose was about to answer him when it occurred to her that he'd asked before, 'What's this? That's the third time you've asked about men and the Donegal weekend. Are you getting a little jealous?' She sat on the side of the bed and playfully poked him in the ribs.

'Is it?' he began to laugh.

'Why do you ask?'

'I hate to think of you making a wrong decision about a man, at least I should be there to oversee your choice.'

'And what kind of choice would that be?'

Aengus took the coffee from her hand and pulled her back into bed.

'Let me demonstrate.'

In the hairdressers Lucinda read the text message from Fiona.

'Am nervous wreck.'

Lucinda could barely spare a thought for Fiona or anyone else. She was going to meet Vincent again and she must let nothing unnerve her. It was bad enough that she was shaking at the prospect of coming face to face with him without thinking about Fiona as well.

Lucinda managed to text, 'dont worry wil be fab nite.'

She noticed the hairdresser inquisitively observing her jittery hands. She had no notion of engaging in silly conversation today with the young girl. Quickly she switched off the phone and tossed it into her bag feeling the need to plan. Later when she had settled a little she would call Fiona and offer her some support, but right now she desperately needed to concentrate on her own problems. If Lucinda wasn't so stressed she knew she would love to have been in the thick of O'Donnell's Bar from early morning, or screaming down the phone adding to the drama. Lucinda admired the fake tan contrasting against her French-polished finger nails. If Vincent asked was the tan real she would tell him she was just back from a holiday in Cuba or some exotic part of the world.

'I was in Kathmandu,' Lucinda always liked the sound of it, 'with Renaldo, the guy I'm currently dating.'

She'd make Renaldo sound exotic but not exotic enough that he sounded like a refugee. 'He's in the foreign affairs department,' then she would humbly add, 'actually he's the ambassador to Kathmandu, but that's neither here nor there.'

She made a point to consult the internet later. Was there an ambassador to Kathmandu?

'The trip was both business and pleasure,' she would laugh coyly, 'actually a lot of pleasure.' Then she'd pretend they were rubbing shoulders with a few celebrities, 'Bono and Ali were in the apartments next to us, gosh, their children are so well behaved.' Then she'd make up names that Bono might have given his children like Africano after his campaign for the third world countries. While Lucinda was at it she might as well go totally universal, 'Bill Clinton was there also, such a sweet guy.'

Vincent would be really impressed with that, he liked Clinton.

'Bill and I intend to keep in contact, we had a series of discussions on the Northern Ireland, we swapped mobile numbers, or cell phones as they say in America,' she would wave at some of the local customers so Vincent would think she was really popular. 'Bill thinks I've mind blowing ideas, as he said himself.' Lucinda might concoct a few rock stars, maybe another intellectual like Bob Geldof. Then it dawned on her how ridiculous she sounded. Momentarily she queried her sanity; who in their right mind would believe such tripe. The voice of reason returned and told her to go to Tipperary and enjoy the night. Chances are Vincent would avoid her like the plague, Lucinda knew she could be unpredictable when she drank and Vincent certainly knew it. The last thing he wanted was a scene. With a bit of luck, he would have the jitters about her quarrelsome behaviour and stay well out of her way. Looking on the bright side, she had spent a mint on the outfit which would add yards to her confidence. Apart from initially seeing Vincent, there was not one single thing to worry about she reassuringly repeated.

Mentally Lucinda ran through the rest of her day. When finished in the hairdressers, she would go straight home, get something very light to eat so as not to have a bloated belly in her new dress. Expect to be on the road by 3.00pm, she would wear her casual clothes while driving, arrive at her father's house by 5.00pm. Spend ten minutes talking to him and begin the beauty preparations. With a little more ease she sipped her coffee and tried unsuccessfully to get absorbed in the Hello Magazine. Now that Lucinda had curbed her own anxieties she began to think of Fiona. She retrieved her mobile from her bag and switched it on.

'Let me kno if i can do anythin,' she texted.

Fiona responded instantly,

'just turn up.'

Lucinda didn't text back, If I don't faint with nerves.

# CHAPTER 20

Barbara nodded pretending to agree with Vincent. It was difficult trying to concentrate on her driving and pacify him at the same time. They were on their way to Tipperary for the reopening of the bar. The children were strapped into their car-seats and thankfully Sam was quietly playing with his toys while Raymond slept. Sean had specifically asked Vincent to bring the boys. Only to keep his father on the right side, Vincent obliged. He had coerced Barbara into doing the driving by pleading a pulled muscle after overdoing his first gym session, but he was more troubled by his father than anything else.

'Peter O'Brien must think the old man is such a ridiculous stickler. My father forgets that Peter has been a solicitor for as long as my father has been a farmer,' Vincent was rehashing the events of Monday when he went to Tipperary to meet his father's solicitor.

'Yes?' Barbara was hoping Vincent's raised voice would not wake Raymond.

Vincent continued venting his rage, 'He spoke to Peter as if he was some kind of imbecile repeating himself and stuttering.'

'Sean probably wanted to make sure the job was done properly,' Barbara said, feeling the need to defend her father-in-law.

'Barbara, how simple could it have been?' Vincent stared angrily at Barbara for not understanding. 'All he was doing was signing a piece of land over to me, there's nothing whatsoever complicated about that. I'm sure Peter does a similar job once a week.'

'Maybe you're right,' she said vaguely.

'Typical illiterate countryman.'

Barbara felt sorry for Sean. While Vincent had almost fallen about with laughter at Sean being on the verge of tears in the field, Barbara understood how it could have been a momentous day in a man like Sean's life. Possibly with the deepest sentiment imaginable Sean's father had passed that same piece of land onto him. Men like that probably saw their land as an addition to the family.

Vincent just could not see it that way. He thought his father was doting. 'Who the bloody hell has an emotional attachment to a mound of soil?'

Vincent asked incredulously, 'Only a man in the latter stages of dementia,' Vincent answered his own question. 'You have no idea what it was like, I thought he was going to burst into tears when he made me look at the blades of grass.'

Barbara was beginning to regret that she had agreed to do the driving. Vincent seemed agitated and maybe the driving would take his mind off his father. Nonetheless, she knew it would probably aggravate him further if she suggested they swap positions.

The more Vincent thought about Sean, the more he came to believe that there was something amiss with him.

'Putting aside his emotional moment, the fact that he allowed the pub to be so dramatically renovated and the money he used, it speaks volumes. Dad never invested a penny in the pub, even with all of the money he made, he was too mean to fix it.'

'Yes.'

Thinking aloud Vincent continued, 'Every ten years he painted the pub and then would complain about the smell of paint for a full year. I wonder what's happened to him? I'm beginning to think he could be losing it,' he pointed to his head.

'He's not getting any younger,' Barbara said wishing he'd change the subject.

Vincent kept his remaining thoughts to himself. Although Sean was almost 80, it was quite possible he would live for many more years. That was never the issue, while his father had an active brain he would always accumulate money, only spending the bare minimum. During his lifetime Sean had never abused his body, apart from smoking a pipe and the occasional whiskey he had no vices. He ate well and preferred healthier foods like vegetables, disliking fat and grease. At his age he could work as well as most men 20 years his junior. Vincent imagined the physical work his father did on the farm every day of his life was the equivalent to an average guy doing a three hour workout in the gym. Then his father had the added bonus of the fresh air. There had never been any complaint about a bad heart or blood pressure that seemed to plague most adults of his age and many years younger.

Physically Sean had the frame of a 60 year old, he was stocky but not fat.

After some silence Vincent returned to his father again. 'The extremely worrying aspect is his state of mind. With Dad's physical health in such good condition he could live another 20 years, but without the mind he could linger in a nursing home,'

Vincent didn't add aloud that Sean would eat into their money with the price of those retirement homes. Although it would only slightly dint his inheritance it would all depend on how his mental illness would progress. If his father was slightly coherent Vincent knew he could not touch the land, but if he was totally gaga of course he could use that to his advantage. Then that would be so much more complicated, involving solicitors and doctors among others. Of course a sudden straight forward death would solve the entire problem and make the whole solution so much simpler. Worst case scenario, if Sean lived to be the grand old age of 100, Vincent would be 64 by the time he could avail of his estate. Ideally he would prefer it to happen long before then. Vincent wanted to be able to enjoy the money while he was still young. Nonetheless, with the price of property dropping, if Sean died tomorrow he wouldn't sell it until the country improved. No doubt in ten years time the world slump will have improved and the land will be worth so much more then. Vincent guessed he could afford to buy his own private island at that stage. Naturally he did not share these thoughts with his wife. Unlike Barbara, he regarded himself as a realist and knew matters such as the imminent death of a parent had to be considered.

Vincent could not share with his wife his other preoccupation with the night ahead. He sincerely hoped that Miss Lucinda Tidy would keep a respectful distance. The last thing he wanted was her drunkenly dribbling wine and saying something inappropriate at the end of the night. He was in no doubt she would be present, dressed to kill in one of those revealing dresses with her light brown hair sexily bouncing on her shoulders and her inviting hazel deep set eyes. Vincent lay back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes recapturing how incredibly sexy she was. He thought of her pert breasts and soft skin, how she had desired him and pleased him, wriggling so passionately and crying out with pleasure. When Lucinda went down on him he had reached a state of eroticism like no other time, she could hold him there prolonging the moment. She had known all the tricks and was as naughty as she was addictive. Lucinda would cup his buttocks with her hands and massage his balls expertly with her mouth then suck him until he was ready to explode. She was the ultimate shag. Quickly Vincent sat forward, adamant that the affair would never be reignited.

It irritated Vincent that he had thought of Lucinda again. She did not fit into his well laid plans, but a girl like her knew what buttons to press. Not only was she every man's dream, he could recharge his battery and satisfy every aching need in her apartment. While he could easily admit to loving his wife, the ultimate orgasm was with Lucinda, and during the week like a recurring dream she kept popping into his mind leaving him aroused. Vincent daren't admit there was more to his visits to Lucinda's apartment other than sex. He tried to convince himself it was the aroma in the apartment, those scented candles she burned, the gentle background music. Maybe it was the way she had massaged his shoulders while they lay naked on her couch eating a take-away. Lucinda was a wonderful hostess in every sense of the word. He tried not to recall how he would call into her after work and unburden his daily problems to her, while she would patiently listen and offer advice when he asked for it. He tried not to admit how he had enjoyed her girlish impulsive outbursts and had loved making up to her. Lucinda had a wonderful way of making him feel welcome. He had often told her how his visits kept him sane. It was true, his day had always gone smoother when he knew he would be calling into her. Of course he tried to convince himself otherwise. It had been her childless apartment, he could relax without the squabbling voices of children interrupting his TV viewing. Or Barbara wanting him to do some job around the house. It was easier to call on Lucinda and enjoy her easy company and tranquil home. He tried not to admit he enjoyed her company and loved too many little things about her. He tried not to admit he missed her.

Alice understood why so many Americans went berserk with road rage and occasionally blew another motorist's head off with road rage. It was 4.30pm and her original plan meant she should have been in Tipperary unwinding after her car journey at this stage, not stuck in traffic with the rain pelting down. Foolishly she had gone to Liffey Valley at the last minute to buy a fur jacket and a 'Good Luck' card for Fiona. To add to her poor timing there was an accident on the M50 having a knock-on effect and the traffic was worse than a Friday evening on the Naas Road. Irritated, Alice scrolled through her mobile needing to break the tedium and speak to someone.

Lucinda answered immediately, 'Hello Alice?'

'Where are you?'

'Just outside Tipp, why?'

'I'm stuck in traffic not even outside Dublin and there's an 'L' plate in front of me exaggerating the speed limit so much that I feel like getting out and pushing the car.'

'Really,' Lucinda wasn't listening to a word Alice said.

'Where is everyone going? I've never seen the traffic this bad on a Saturday. It's as bad as Christmas. What is it all for?' she asked forgetting that she too was part of the shopping frenzy.

'Yeah.'

'Anyway, I was out with The Sickly Prince last night. It was one of those crazy sessions, I'll tell you when I see you.'

'Yeah.'

'Yeah, I'm kind of sick of him. I'm going to finish it when I see him again.'

'Yeah.'

'I'll tell you tonight, I've got to go, the traffic is moving.' Alice was expecting a better reaction from Lucinda, she could have at least sounded interested Alice thought, scrolling through the phone for someone else to call.

Alice's initial plan was to spend Friday night indoors and do some of those dreaded domestic chores. They had a monthly cleaning rota in the house she shared, her job this month was washing out the food cupboard. Alice felt the rota thing was a bit ridiculous, as everyone cleaned after themselves and she had been putting off her washing-of-cupboards chore for almost the full month. After washing she prepared her two sets of clothes for Tipperary and performed her monthly ritual of waxing, plucking and grooming. Her plans went a little askew when she agreed to meet The Sickly Prince who was on a college night out.

When he invited her out using his student lingo she couldn't refuse him, 'Babe, my buddies are dying to hook up with you again, it'll be a laugh.'

Alice didn't need much more encouragement, she felt she deserved an enormous reward after her few hours of washing-of-cupboards and domestic slavery. Although Alice had met his friends on previous nights out, she was conscious of the age difference. Her Sickly Prince was streets ahead in the maturity stakes compared to his peers. Unlike some of his classmates, he was interested in having a conversation on any topic, as opposed to his friend's obsession with sex, drugs and music. They referred to everything as 'deadly' or 'savage' or 'brilliant'. As the night progressed, Alice noticed how they lived up to the reputation of the boisterous drunken college students. Several times the barman cautioned some of the group. They had stayed in the pub until closing time and one of the guys had a free house. Free house; she thought those days were well and truly over. By the time they arrived at the free house, their group had multiplied several times. Alice gave away her age when she asked the host if the neighbours cared about the volume of the music.

'It's just that they might have small children or need to be up early.'

He had laughed into her face and asked her if she was serious, or to quote verbatim, 'Are you fucking serious? Who gives a shit.'

She quietly reminded herself whose company she was in. Yes, naturally, she had chimed, who cares about the neighbours, then used current lingo, 'Who gives a fuck about the neighbours or their fucking children.'

With the host's seal of approval Alice performed all of the required student antics exceedingly well. She snorted a few lines of coke, outdid everyone with the most vulgar jokes, competed in a drinking game, expertly vomited in the bathtub, sobered up, smoked too much weed and passed out on a child's bed with a Barbie duvet.

The following morning Alice woke with an unmerciful hangover. She tried to brush her dried-puked-in-hair using a bright pink brush with a picture of a Barbie doll on it, the only brush she could find in the child's bedroom. Rather than leaving the hairbrush with puke attached, she wrapped it in tissue and put it into her handbag, then left the price of a new brush discreetly under the pillow with a Barbie pillowcase. The Sickly Prince was nowhere to be seen and the host was still sitting up with a few all-nighters smoking weed. She must have looked a mess because they all burst out laughing when she thanked him for the invite and a lovely night. Or maybe it was her lack of student dialect. Either way she was too ill and tired to bother trying. Luckily Alice hailed a taxi immediately, slept for six hours and was thankful she had everything packed from the previous night.

Still stuck in traffic outside Liffey Valley Shopping Centre with her new fur coat and 'Good Luck' card for Fiona she guessed she would be in Tipperary by 7.00pm. Barely enough time to change and relax before heading out again for the night. At least her hair was done, and she would wear her relatively new white lacy skirt and black and white halter-neck top. The six hours sleep had done her the world of good, later she might manage to eat something, and by eight she would be propped on a bar stool in O'Donnell's for the night and probably early morning.

On Clover Hill Road Alice's side of the road was at a standstill, the traffic coming against her was free flowing. She noticed a man striding out between two cars and walking straight into the path of oncoming traffic. Alice found herself clinging to the steering wheel willing the man to run. The car braked but slid on the wet surface stopping inches from Alice's car door. The following car screeched to a halt on the far left side of the road and blared the horn at the passing pedestrian. The driver in the first car looked around him as if checking to see if he was hit. Alice rolled down the window, incredulously she watched the pedestrian continue to walk oblivious to the danger he had caused.

'What kind of bloody moron are you?' she heard the motorist shout at him.

He looked in her direction, but never reacted.

The street lights were lit although it was not quite dark, the rain made little difference as he was only ten feet from her, but Alice was sure. It was Simon Keogh.

By the time Simon walked through the gates of prison to another chance at freedom, he was too blinded by rage to count his blessings. With such a lenient sentence and overcrowding in the prisons, his stint was minimal. He didn't bother shielding from the torrential rain or checking for oncoming cars. He purposely walked towards the first off-licence. Some motorist roared abuse at him. It was not the time to deal with that. Nothing mattered except sorting out those who had put him in the clink for another few weeks of hell. It was Saturday evening, dark, wet and cold, he had no money or means of transport but he would get to Tipperary if he had to jack a car. At last he would give every one of those bastards what they deserved. Within minutes he was in and out of the supermarket with a half bottle of whiskey concealed in his jacket. As far as Simon was concerned, it was those culchie bitches that made him stoop so low as to rob drink. It had been years since he was a boy shoplifting, only then it was out of necessity. During his youth more often than not, he had to steal to survive.

Quenching a thirst that had escalated during his three weeks of confinement, Simon guzzled the alcohol. He relished the burning sensation sliding down his throat and hitting the spot right on; almost immediately it took effect. He loved that first bolstered sensation. Knowing he had to be compos mentis he recapped the bottle and doubted his next move would be as easy. With intent, he advanced to the shopping vicinity to steal a car. The first person he would beat the living shit out of would be that tramp Lucinda Tidy, because of her he was on his way out of prison with no money. That bitch of a wife of his was next, he would smash her head off the bar counter and finish her off for good once and for all. At their big opening night in the bar, he would wipe the smile off each one of their faces. Simon could just imagine the line up of VIPs. It went without saying the local politician would attend to support Sean as they were old friends. There would be a photographer from the local paper knowing how great the interest would be. He could imagine the lot of them, sipping their drinks in comfort thinking they had it all sewn up now that he was well out of the way. I'll give that fucking politician something to talk about in the Dáil. The boyo with the camera for the local paper will have some fine fucking shots for the next issue of his newspaper. Those Tipperary culchies will do some blabbering when they buy their next issue of The Tipperary Star. Vincent O'Donnell would be charming the pants off all the old biddies and all the young girls cooing over him. We'll see who will be doing the cooing after tonight.

The cute shit-house rat Sean O'Donnell had spent his time eyeballing Simon, afraid he'd steal a buck too much. Simon reckoned Sean had spent his miserable 80 years watching more money pile on top of his millions.

'Well, Sean, Old Boy, I've got news for you, you'll cough that fucking pipe out of your mouth tonight with fright. I'll torch the goddamn fucking pub with the lot of you and your fucking redneck friends wining and dining like bog men. I'll give Old Sean a few sleepless nights worrying about money gone up in smoke.' Simon began to smile as he anticipated their reaction.

Randomly he began checking the door handles on the parked cars knowing there was always one forgetful idiot who left the car door open. Within minutes he changed tactics, he found an old car. It had been so long since he stole cars the newer models were fitted with immobilisers and other safety gadgets making a silent robbery impossible. With minimal sound he smashed the driver's window and within ten minutes was sailing down the motorway, 15 minutes later he was on the Naas Road and a little over an hour from his destination.

Fiona took one more look around the bar double checking that everything was in its place. The extra staff began to arrive at 6.30pm, all wearing black shirts with 'O'Donnell's Bar' embroidered in small white print. Fiona had devised a system of stocking the shelves to make it easier for the hired staff. She explained the cash register in each of the three bars, where the beer and soft drinks were stocked and when they ran out, where to find the refills. The bottles of spirits were all full and the more unpopular spirits were on a shelf with a spirit measurer. That morning she had had her hair trimmed to above her shoulders, blow dried straight and flicked out at the end. As she nervously paced behind the bar she wished the girls would arrive to reassure her that the shorter length hair suited her or the bar looked well or just to calm her nerves.

As the band began to set up their equipment she suddenly became aware of Tony Cummins again.

'Are you all set for the big night Fiona?'

He had that lopsided smile, as if they were sharing a private joke. His peculiar smile prompted her to smile. Then she blushed again. Fiona was baffled by her sudden blushing when Tony was around. During the week he called twice to check the size of the stage and that there were adequate plugs and fixtures for their equipment. Each time Fiona could feel her cheeks burning. Although on both occasions they discussed business, his expression tickled Fiona. She imagined it was his eye contact that unnerved her, or the way he smiled. As he stood before her again she experienced a little unsteady flutter. In her line of business Fiona had dealings with mostly men and some of them much more attractive than Tony, but something about his presence made her ridiculously self conscious. Now is not the time to behave like a 14 year old with a crush on a guy you don't even know, she scolded herself. Blaming the girls and all their talk of men and sex, Fiona thought it must be rubbing off on her.

'Nice hair-do, you look very well,' he said, and for a change seemed serious.

Taken unawares Fiona could not think of any response, but stared open mouthed, blushing.

'Do you have a double adapter?' he asked again.

Fiona stared at him wondering was it an innuendo before she realised he actually needed a double adapter.

'Of course,' she replied and swiftly left him standing while she rushed to their living quarters. Hopefully at the end of the night one of the girls would be sober enough to tell her if she fancied Tony or explain why she got so embarrassed. At her age Fiona found it hard to believe she could behave like a dumbstruck school girl. Simon was the one and only man who had ever altered her heart beat.

# CHAPTER 21

Upstairs in their living room Sean sat in the armchair with his youngest grandchild on his lap. Emmet played with his cousin sharing his toys even though he didn't like little boys as young as Sam, but this was a special occasion. Wisely he hid his favourite games, afraid a younger child might break them. Vincent and Barbara sat together on the couch having a drink before going to the bar.

'Yes, he's your son all right Vincent,' Sean joked after scrutinising the child for over an hour hoping to find some likeness with his side of the family. Their presence was such a rarity and Sean was so enamoured with his grandchildren he behaved with childish excitement, much to Vincent's annoyance.

'The colouring is different but by the shape of the face he is definitely an O'Donnell.' Sean said pleased with his discovery. 'They grow so quickly,' he said, amazed at Raymond's growth spurt since he had last held the boy.

'Can you see it Vincent?' Sean asked his son.

'I can . . .' Vincent answered vaguely. 'Raymond's colouring is completely different but I see little things.'

Vincent was growing tired of such nonsense, his father had stared at his two year old son for so long of course he was bound to see a resemblance. If he examined any nameless baby long enough every fool would see a resemblance, most children that age looked the same. Vincent had agreed with his father simply to shut him up. There was a murmur of voices from the bar below them, he wished his wife would put the children to bed freeing them to retire to the bar for the night. Even she seemed in her element accepting his father's compliments, going as far as contributing her own share of gibberish rubbish to the already stale conversation. As if things were not bad enough, Sean began pulling out old photos of him and Fiona as babies. Barbara seemed fascinated comparing Vincent's baby photos to their children. While his wife and father 'oohed' and 'aahed' at the pictures, Vincent's tolerance waned.

'Vincent in the bath,' Sean passed another snap to the eager Barbara.

'Ah, isn't that cute,'

Vincent listened, doubting she was feigning interest.

'Fiona's third birthday.' Vincent watched Sean beam like a doting mother.

'You'd recognise Fiona immediately,' Barbara commented, noticing the shape of her face and black hair and dark eyes similar to Vincent.

'Don't you think so Vincent?' she asked trying to include her husband in the conversation. Having never seen the photos before she would like to have browsed through them at a leisurely pace but was conscious Vincent was getting impatient.

After listening for a little while longer Vincent was in no doubt that his father was in the clutches of his dotage.

'I think I'll leave you two at it and go to the bar to see what's happening,' Vincent got to his feet trying not to sound impatient.

'You do that,' Sean said. He noticed Vincent lost interest shortly after their conversation began, 'I'll get you another drink Barbara and another ice cream for the best two children in Tipperary,' Sean said, taking Barbara's empty glass and the children's ice cream dishes.

Barbara kicked off her shoes relieved Vincent had gone. She was enjoying the old photos and beginning to unwind after the car journey. Sean had the fire lighting although they rarely used the sitting room. The papered walls were dotted with old framed photographs, some dating back to Sean's grandfather's time. With the old comfortable deep couch and the children on their best behaviour, Barbara could have quite contentedly lazed on the couch for the night. Sometimes her life seemed a constant rush. Between doing the necessary household chores and caring for their two children and even appeasing her husband, quiet moments like these were a rarity. Vincent was irritable again, as always he had trouble disguising it. Sean returned with three bowls of ice cream for his grandchildren and a glass of wine for Barbara. She hoped Vincent would meet some of his old friends in the bar who would help improve his humour and her absence would go unnoticed while she savoured the relaxing cosy living room for a little longer.

Lucinda put the finishing touches to her make-up in her old bedroom in her father's house. She examined her full length reflection in the mirror. First at a sideways glance, left and right, then standing directly in front of the mirror with her right leg slightly in front. If she was to stand directly in front of Vincent, she would put the right leg first, only because it felt more comfortable. Then she examined the back. The black and silver dress was just below the knee, her extremely high black opened toe shoes made her taller and thankfully the up-style hairdo accentuated the elegance of the turtle neck of her dress. The delicate Marquisate bracelet and earrings finally capped the outfit. Not to mention the new make-up, she felt superb. Well worth every penny she approvingly thought, justifying maxing her credit card for the occasion.

To settle her nerves she had a drink with her father before going to the hotel in the centre of town. When she got there, she would have another glass of wine and text Rose to see where she was. Unable to relax, Lucinda tried to focus on TV and listen to the local news from her father. Surveying the living room of the home where she had grown up, Lucinda knew her father did not believe in wasting money on maintaining his house. She doubted he had ever noticed how dilapidated his surroundings had become. With the exception of the TV and an additional armchair, all of the furniture was exactly the same, situated in exactly the same position as it had been 30 years ago.

Lucinda's father worked as a mechanic, he backed horses in the same bookies, drank in the same bar and socialised with the same men throughout his adult life. In his spare time he tinkered with engines and most of his work was on the front lawn or garage shed. He did not welcome guests to his home or into his life. His sombre expression rarely changed, he never laughed heartily or cried bitterly and Lucinda never knew what he thought, and she no longer wanted to know. Together, they drove the mile into town in silence. He would go to mass, then continue to his local pub, arrive at seven as he always did, stay until closing time, ignore the breathalyser and drive home. On Sunday he would fry a steak, be at the pub at noon, spend the day there and drive home. From Monday to Friday, apart from his working hours he was alone. Lucinda had always felt excluded from her father's life as much as he hated the rest of the world. She never liked to give it too much thought.

Simon hated that feeling when his mood began to sink. He regretted not stealing a full bottle rather than the half bottle of whiskey. This was the part of the drinking he hated. The come down which brought him, not only to the horrors of the hangover, but way below the hangover. It was like witnessing a light dimming with a growing terror at imminent darkness. Simon hadn't quite arrived at the bottom yet but knew it was close, he urgently needed more drink to keep those demons at bay. Carefully he selected a parking space in the centre of Abbeyleix. Reversing into the space with the car facing for Tipperary, Simon weighed up his options. It was the first small town he passed after he left the motorway. With the lights switched off and the engine running he left the car to urinate behind a statue. Idly he loitered in the shadows contemplating his next move.

The car park was dimly lit except for the lights from some of the shop fronts and passing cars. His first possible choice approached. Simon stood behind a van three cars from his parked car with the engine running. He watched an older man approach, and inquisitively glance at the running car with the lights switched off. Immediately Simon knew he was too big to tackle, he wouldn't entertain the possibility of mugging such a bulk of a man. Three candidates later he was beginning to lose his patience and wondered did any small men or women live in Abbeyleix.

Wading through the crowd in the packed bar, Simon guessed the drinkers were the remnants of a funeral party. Cynically he felt he was back in culchie land recalling how they loved attending funerals. Almost every week of his married life either Sean or Fiona would attend a funeral. They discussed everybody they met at their funerals, even the condition of the corpse and occasionally remarked on the coffin. Simon walked through the bar, on his way he located an unguarded handbag. He concealed it and made his way towards the bathroom where he took what he wanted. On his return through the bar his old survival techniques prevailed. Effortlessly he picked a drunk mans pocket, his victim even apologised for bumping into him, Simon nodded his head accepting his apology and left. A few minutes later he was on the road to Tipp. He pushed the car into fifth gear, dangerously overtaking a line of cars, then complimented himself on how easy it had been to revert to his boyhood tricks.

'Easy peasy pie,' he sang.

Once at a safe distance ahead of the other cars he rifled through the wallet removing a wad of notes and discarding the rest out the car window.

By 8.30pm the bar was beginning to fill up, much to Fiona's relief. After she opened the main door some of the locals were slow to arrive, which added to her apprehension. As they arrived she was left in no doubt that the decorating had transformed the pub, Fitzer was mesmerised and stood in the middle of the floor gaping as if it were some tourist attraction.

'It really needed to be done,' he said diplomatically taking his seat at the bar.

Sean stood in his usual spot at the end of the bar tipping his cap at the familiar faces while Vincent was in his element mingling.

'We might need you to tog out for the match in the morning,' Vincent's old hurling coach said half seriously. 'We'll be playing the Sars for the Dan Breen Cup.'

'I'm a bit rusty, it's over 20 years since I held a hurley.'

'Not to worry, we'll put you in wing back.'

Vincent laughed nervously at the prospect of the hammering he'd get from the Sars who were the rival hurling team and renowned to be dog rough players. 'The only place I'd be able for is the side line.'

By the time Rose arrived with Aengus and her parents, the band had started to play lively rebel music.

Doreen handed Fiona a 'Good Luck' card, 'Sacred Heart of Mercy, I'm after asking Matthew if we're in the right place.'

Fiona was pleased Doreen and Matthew made the effort as neither were pub lovers, and she was surprised and pleased to see Aengus.

'I came to wish you luck,' Aengus said stretching over the counter to kiss her cheek. 'And if I may say so myself, you are a beautiful addition to the fabulous new décor.'

Fiona gave them their first drink on the house and they wandered around looking at the paintings before Doreen found them a seat in full view of everything.

A few minutes later Alice made her grand entrance with two pink stripes through her blonde hair. She had a white fur coat on over a check dress.

'Is this O'Donnell's Bar?' she playfully asked Fiona, 'It's just that I think I could be in the wrong town, it's way too up-market for the pub I'm looking for.'

Fiona handed her a drink.

'You look fab. Love the new hair,' Alice added.

'Last minute decision,' Fiona explained with one eye on the door and another on the bar. The staff was distributing finger food and sandwiches.

'I'll leave you to it,' Alice said and took her seat with Rose and her family.

Lucinda stepped over the threshold of O'Donnell's Bar oozing with confidence. The four glasses of wine hit the spot. Like most patrons of O'Donnell's she acknowledged Sean standing in his usual spot at the end of the bar, in turn he tipped his cap. Lucinda tried not to look at Vincent standing next to Sean with a group of men. Aware of her racing heart, she acknowledged the group with a nod of her head as one would to any ordinary group of familiar faces. She briefly spoke to Fiona, accepted her complimentary drink and told her she would talk to her later when it got quieter, then took her seat among her friends. At least she could hide among her friends while she got accustomed to the idea that she was under the same roof as Vincent, in the very same room and not 20 feet away from him. She took several deep breaths and tried not to think about it.

'Hello Mrs Morrison and Matthew,' she said finding it disconcerting to see Rose's parents in a pub.

Doreen gasped at the sight of Lucinda's outfit, 'You're like a model straight off the catwalks of Paris.'

Lucinda was very relieved that they approved of the dress, 'You don't think I'm a bit overdressed?'

'Not at all, you look great.'

'What are you wearing?' Lucinda asked Rose thinking her skirt looked familiar.

'I forgot I had it,' Rose told a half-truth. 'I found it in the spare room.'

'Yes, I think I've seen it before,' Lucinda distinctly remembered seeing the skirt sellotaped to the window. As always Rose paid little attention to accessories or make-up. Thankfully her brown hair was naturally curly and required little attention.

'Men today are spoiled for choice,' Rose's dad, Matthew said, handing Lucinda her drink.

Fiona divided her time between the three different bars ensuring each area was stocked adequately and the bar staff had everything they needed. She was aware of how self-conscious she felt each time she passed Tony while he belted out his lively Irish tunes. The crowd enjoyed his music and sang along or danced when he encouraged it. To get a break, Tony invited anyone who could sing to take the stage while he nipped out for a breather.

'When are we going to have your party piece?' Tony asked Fiona.

She was in the smoking area emptying the ashtrays, more relaxed around him with the distractions of the night. Fiona noticed the collar of his shirt was wet with sweat. He was wearing a light blue shirt with the top two buttons opened, there were a few hairs barely visible just below his neck, his body seemed so masculine. At last she understood what Alice had crudely referred to when she talked about "the scent of sex from the real man." Even the expression made her self-conscious again.

'No Tony, I want the customers to stay at least till closing time.'

Tony grinned. He finished his glass of water, 'I'd better get back before Frank Sinatra sings them to sleep,' he said referring to one of the locals who believed he had a better voice than Sinatra, so much so, he was dubbed locally as The Crooner.

Doreen and Matthew surprised the girls by dancing to both slow and fast music. For a couple in their 60's who rarely ventured out to pubs, they seemed to know everyone and while Doreen accepted a dance from anyone who asked her, Matthew danced with all of his daughters friends. Alice was the only one who could dance, while Lucinda was mortified but couldn't refuse.

'You're a glutton for punishment Matthew, your toes will be black from me standing on them,' Lucinda said getting up for another dance.

'Thankfully I had the foresight to wear steel-capped shoes,' he smiled leaving her wondering if he was serious.

As the night progressed Lucinda became less and less conscious of Vincent. While doing his rounds he stopped at their table to exchange pleasantries. Lucinda's heart did beat harder but she didn't keel over with panic or drop her drink with nerves.

'Mr Morrison, I'm glad to see you're keeping these girls on their toes. Your dancing technique is putting the rest of us to shame. What's your secret?' Vincent asked Rose's father.

'Years of practice and Tipperary's finest selection of ladies.'

'You certainly have,' Vincent rose his glass and glanced at everyone at their table. 'Tipperary's finest.'

Such charisma, Lucinda thought, Tipperary's Finest. She reminded herself he did not pay her that compliment, she was not to get carried away analysing his words or by the end of the week she would be convinced of a reunion. Vincent was so good at complimenting everyone without complimenting anyone in particular. No one would ever suspect a thing. Lucinda smiled amicably and acknowledged his compliment with the rest of the group.

'Go away you old plamacer,' Doreen playfully pushed him.

'Mrs Morrison, you are the finest of them all.'

'Stop it Vincent O'Donnell.'

'An elegant lady like you could teach all our generation a few tips in etiquette,' Vincent added with such sincerity even Lucinda was beginning to envy Doreen Morrison.

'I'll have to get a dance from you Vincent,' Doreen challenged.

Vincent put his pint on the table, 'What are you waiting for?'

Lucinda watched, reminded again how gregarious Vincent could be. He had it every way. He had every social grace to accompany his appearance. He knew exactly how to deal with people on every level, what to say and exactly how to behave. Most people loved him. Doreen jumped up, while Lucinda was caught between love and hatred as she watched him, fascinated with his jiving rhythm.

Fitzer joined the group and took Lucinda for a dance then insisted on buying her a drink.

'Oh Lucinda why was God so unkind to me? If only I'd been born in your generation, I'd have been married ten times over with women like you.'

'I'll take that as a compliment,' Lucinda said accepting his drink.

'Maybe if I got the grey beard dyed and got a hair transplant I'd be in with a chance with one of your friends,' Fitzer patted his bald head. 'I'd probably need to get a bit of a face lift to carry if off.'

Lucinda was enjoying his company when the voice on the stage distracted her.

'What song do you want to sing?' Tony's voice could be heard distinctly over the microphone.

'It's a song about love.'

'Love?'

'Between a married man and a whore.'

Lucinda slowly got to her feet on recognising Simon Keogh's voice. She wanted to see his face just to make sure. Her hands dropped to her sides and with resignation she closed her eyes. Forever more she would be viewed differently in Tipperary. She would be hated by some and shrouded in suspicion by others.

Sean appeared at the door of the lounge, he thought he had seen Simon walk though the bar into the lounge, until he saw him standing on the stage he was not entirely sure the Dublin boy had come back.

'It's a song some of you will know only too well here in Tipperary. You culchies are great at bed hopping,' he sneered. With his free hand he took a plastic bottle from his jacket pocket.

A hushed silence fell over the crowd, some of the audience who were not familiar with Simon assumed it was a well played party piece of a vagrant. They smiled waiting for the punch line while the rest of the crowd watched apprehensively, some turned away from the stage.

'What's he doing here?' Vincent accusingly asked Fiona.

Lucinda clutched her handbag and made her way through the crowd. Once outside, the cold night air had a sobering effect. Lucinda didn't delay, she knew what she had to do. Like always, she would put one foot in front of the other and survive. With each step and as events unfolded in the bar, her distance increased. Aware it would be a long time, if ever she could enjoy the comfort of her home town or the warmth of her friendships, and once again she felt she was without foundation, back to the old familiar sense of being different.

Simon placed the plastic bottle on the speaker stand, he lit his cigarette lighter and continued, 'A story about adultery,' he glanced into the crowd as if deep in thought, 'this affair I'm going to sing about lasted ten years,' pleased to have the audience's attention. 'This is a real love song.'

Sean stealthily began to make his way towards the stage.

'This song is for you Vincent O'Donnell and Miss Lucinda Tidy, you two love birds . . .' Quickly Simon dipped the lighter into the plastic bottle setting it alight and threw into the crowd.

Driven by a determined strength Sean sprang onto the stage and smashed into Simon, they slid backwards knocking over the drums. Sean pinned him to the ground and scuffled to get a grip on the only person he learned to hate in his long life.

'Ask your son did he enjoy screwing Lucinda Tidy,' Simon continued to taut him as Sean delivered the first punch.

'Ask him.'

Sean clutched Simon's neck allowing years of hatred finally boil over.

'You're mad,' Sean bellowed.

He began to punch Simon, ignoring the voice beneath him, or the blood he spat at him, or the men's hands that unsuccessfully tried to pull him or the pinching sensation beneath his chest. Sean punched him again and again and again. His rage numbing his crushing fingers, the screaming background noises died and he felt nothing only his own pain.

# CHAPTER 22

Sean had said very little on the matter, neither did anybody want to raise the subject. Each time he thought about the events of the previous week, he was filled with remorse. He almost beat a man to death. How would his children and grandchildren ever live with that kind of a legacy? He shuddered at the prospect. Regardless of what calibre of a man Simon Keogh was, no man deserved to die at the hands of another man. Having the heart attack was a disguised Godsend in several ways. It certainly saved Simon's life and Sean possibly beating his own son into the same condition. At least in hospital with nothing else to do Sean saw a more appropriate way of dealing with Vincent. After three nights in the hospital lying on an uncomfortable bed with wires and machines bleeping around his head, Sean felt compelled to sign himself out. The doctor agreed he probably would recuperate quicker at home as he was so unsettled out of his own domain.

He gave Sean so many dosages of different tablets to be taken at different hours of the day, Sean felt like a freak with the mound of medication. 'I wouldn't put this amount of chemicals into a herd of cattle.'

He dubiously asked Fiona, 'Do you think that doctor is a bit of an eejit?'

'No Dad,' she said knowing how her father mistrusted doctors. 'That is your medication and you will be taking every one of those pills.' Fiona didn't want to have an argument with her father with each pill his took.

Before leaving the hospital Sean saw Simon for the last time. It had all became so irrelevant what Simon had done in the bar or what he intended to do with the other home-made explosive device found in his coat. In a few days Simon would be gone and Sean would be left with a very different problem. Maybe Simon was another Godsend, it just took Sean a few days of idly lying on a hospital bed with nothing else to think of before he saw it.

Sean knew what had to be done. Fiona had travelled with Sean in the ambulance, she was the one who kept a vigil by his bedside. His grandson Emmet knew his granddad was sick, instead of Sean reading the child a bedside story Emmet had started reading his granddad a bedside story.

'It's my turn to mind you,' Emmet had said the night Sean returned from the hospital. He took Sean's hand and led him to his bedroom as Sean would do with Emmet each night.

Touched by the child's generosity Sean went along with it. He got into his bed and allowed Emmet cover him with the blankets and attempt to tuck them under the mattress as Sean would do.

'What story would you like Granddad?'

'You chose one Emmet.'

'No Granddad, I'll do whatever to make you better so you pick your favourite one,' Emmet said.

Sean thought, 'Read me something about Dumbledore from Harry Potter.'

Sean enjoyed the Harry Potter novels and was enthralled how anyone could think up such eccentricities as Dumbledore. Also he loved the sound of his Grandson's voice as he followed the words with his index finger. The rhythm of the boy's voice lulled Sean into the best night's sleep for over a week.

Each morning Fiona had the fire lighting and reassured Sean that the farm and pub were well manned and there was nothing whatsoever to worry about. While Fiona waited on him hand and foot Sean began to think about Vincent again. Like a scurrilous rat Vincent had fled the following morning. Work obligations prevented him from returning he would say. And why would he return? Vincent had his loan on the strength of his field and the rest of the land would fall into his lap in time.

Sean accepted a cup of tea and the day's papers from Fiona. 'This is the best I felt all week,' he told Fiona.

Fiona raised her eyebrows, 'Really?' She assumed he was only saying it to console her.

'Honest to God,' he said, relieved by his own improvement, 'I'm right back to my old self.'

A hopeful smile crept across her face, 'The colour is back in your cheeks,' she said also hoping it wasn't a ply for her father to return to work.

Every day Sean accepted Fiona and Emmet's care, utterly grateful to have such a good pair looking after him and secretly charmed how they fussed over him. Every morning he took the armchair Fiona and Emmet had designated for him. Emmet held his blanket in his arms waiting to cover Sean's legs when he sat down. He was equally grateful to be alive and not facing a murder charge. Most of the week he had sighed with relief. On leaving the hospital the doctors gave Fiona distinct instructions that he was not to lift a finger, nothing too stressful and not even visitors. Fiona would not allow a single solitary soul up the stairs to him. Each time she returned from the bar with news of other well wishers or Mass bouquets, it brought another little flicker of joy to him.

'Fitzer said to say hello, Doreen Morrison left you this mass bouquet, Lorcan Moore was three sheets to the wind and was nearly beating his way up the stairs to see you. I think Mick Ryan is very offended I wouldn't let him up to you.'

Sean was just as pleased to be left alone for another few days, the whole incident had knocked him for six. He would deal with one crucial bit of business on Monday and after that it would be back to normal.

Before he got too settled, there was one final job to be done. The first call was straightforward, and although he had never called his solicitor Peter O'Brien at home, Peter had always offered that service in case of an emergency. Sean had been baffled what could warrant such urgency to call a solicitor at their home that could not wait until office hours. Calling a doctor or vet would be understandable, for the first time he knew why the solicitor had offered his home phone number.

'I'm sorry to disturb you on a Saturday,' Sean apologised.

'I'm glad you knew you could call me outside working hours, we both go back a long way,' Peter reminded him.

Sean had a simple request and his solicitor sounded only too pleased to oblige.

For the second call Sean sent Emmet on a small errand for a few minutes' privacy. The call would not take long. Sean punched the number into the phone, he knew it by heart but for the first time had no hesitation in phoning the number. Usually he was conscious of interrupting his son's busy schedule or family life, but not anymore.

Barbara was preparing the afternoon snack for the children when the phone rang. All week she had watched Vincent flinch at the sound of the ringing phone and sneak towards the nearest exit.

He pretended he was afraid every call would be the harrowing news conveying his father's death. 'This could be the call, you answer it darling.'

By the third day of his charade and overplaying the role of the concerned son, Barbara was tiring of his antics and screamed, 'liar.'

The ferociousness of her scream even surprised her. Barbara had entered and lived in the marriage with her eyes firmly closed. For too many years and like so many other women she could not accept her husband could be unfaithful. Truthfully Barbara did not want to believe what she had suspected. During their 12 year marriage it had entered her head on and off. Each time she banished the thought as quickly. Shortly after their first child was born Barbara found an empty condom wrapper in his car.

'Eric in the office borrowed my car to impress some girl,' Vincent explained and Barbara remembers being pleased that Vincent had confided in her. 'He must have scored.'

Vincent had made it sound so casual she had no option but to believe him.

To every woman it would be the most damning evidence of infidelity. But like a gullible wife she accepted his explanation and had not thought of the incident until recently. Yesterday she had been reminded of another incident of mistrust, she wondered what would tomorrow bring.

During conversations with her girlfriends she had arrogantly declared it was not part of Vincent's persona to be unfaithful. 'He says he has everything in me.'

How she regretted such naive words. It wasn't Simon's declaration to the entire social scene of Tipperary that opened her eyes to his infidelities. Following the incident, Vincent's behaviour epitomised his guilt. The sight of his anxious eyes staring at her, then his apprehension at the ringing phone, his avoidance of Tipperary, it all revolted her. Words like cowardly and spineless sprang to mind. To see his fear at facing the consequences of his actions propelled her into unfamiliar ground with her husband. Like every other person in the bar, she too had heard what Simon had said, but unlike the others she believed Simon. Naturally Vincent's friends would rally to his side, they'd publicly condemn an agitator like Simon who undoubtedly was intent on causing as much harm as possible. Later that night a few of Vincent's old friends lingered in the bar.

'Keogh is a lunatic, we all ignore what the likes of him says.'

'Sure we know you wouldn't be carrying on like that with the beautiful wife you have.'

'You're too much of a family man to be going on like that.'

Their consolations went into the early hours after the incident. Vincent sat at the bar getting drunk with a few hangers-on.

'Who would believe the word of a good-for-nothing like Simon Keogh against a man of your standing?' His old hurling coach had slapped him on the back and in the mirror over the cash register Barbara noticed him wink at the other men behind his back.

Since returning to Dublin he spent every waking moment in his office avoiding any two-way discussion on the matter. He aggressively attempted to vindicate himself which included slating Simon angrily. Barbara continued with her daily routine attempting to bring some semblance of normality into her life at least for the children's sake. Disguising her devastation wasn't her intention, it came naturally to behave as she did, she simply didn't know what else to do. For some reason Vincent must also have thought it his wife's obligation to reassure him of her devotion, and soothe his fears about a dying father she knew he did not give a damn about. He had not gone to the hospital to visit his father, or made a phone call. He resorted to using the most pathetic excuses.

Tired of playing, Barbara asked, 'why don't you phone the hospital?'

'I'd never get through to Dad, you know he won't be able to leave his bed. I'd say there's a heart monitor attached to him.'

By the third night she could no longer bear the thoughts of him crawling into their bed seeking solace. Before he entered the main house she went to his office and dumped a duvet and pillow on the floor.

'What are you doing honey?' Vincent asked, looking at the obvious.

'You like it so much in here, you can sleep here as well.'

'But darling?' he said, his eyes gaping at the duvet.

Barbara slept comfortably that night, relieved that she did not have to endure her husband overplaying the role of the victim of a slanderous vendetta. At one point during his exaggerated disbelief at the infidelity accusation, he had pointed the finger at Fiona.

'There's a lot more to my sister than people would believe. She is far more manipulative than Keogh. Darling, I wouldn't be surprised if she had a part in this to show me up in front of Dad. I'd say she paid Keogh to give that performance. Think about it sweetie. When Dad dies, God forbid it will be anytime soon, but when he passes on, there is a lot of money at stake. You think that hasn't occurred to Fiona?'

Barbara was appalled by his suggestion. 'You're stooping to a new low with that.'

'I will be proven right yet, just you wait. Fiona has always been jealous of the bond I share with Dad.'

'What bond?'

'The father and son bond.'

'I've never noticed any bond.'

'You know sweetie, you've seen how close Dad and I are when we're together.'

At that point Barbara left the room. Vincent was clearly a spoiled disinterested son when he was with his father. Sean wasn't entertaining enough to hold Vincent's attention, nor did he hold a high enough position in the community to warrant his attention. It was clear they were hemispheres apart in every respect. One of the hardest tasks of all was listening to him playing the concerned son. The night before she altered his sleeping arrangements he arrived to bed reeking of alcohol.

'I think it could be the end of the road for Dad. What will we all do?'

'If you're so worried why don't you go to Tipperary and visit him?' Barbara asked.

'I've too much to do here . . . you know . . . work obligations . . . commitments . . . the children . . .'

'You can knock the children off your list of chores. Judging from the smell of alcohol, I'd imagine you didn't get a lot of work done today.'

'I couldn't bear to see him in such pain. He's probably attached to a machine and can barely talk. It would be too much for me.'

Barbara wanted a good night's sleep and couldn't be bothered arguing with him. As for Simon, the mere mention of a name vaguely similar bought rehearsed tears to his eyes.

'Keogh is loving this one. He'll get great mileage out of the carnage he has caused. That low-life trouble-making bastard.'

Despite Vincent's condemnation of Simon at every given opportunity during the week, Barbara believed they were closer in character than others would dare to consider.

Barbara checked the caller ID, Vincent sat at the table staring at the same spot on the paper, clearly waiting. Since Barbara insisted he sleep in his office had changed his tactics, now he spent all his free time around the house bending over backwards to please Barbara. Overdoing the most trivial of jobs, if the garbage needed to be emptied, not only did he empty the bin without a mutter of protest, he also washed the bin and the lid of the bin before replacing the bin liner. In spite of the week being one of the most distressing in her life, several times she found his tactics entertaining.

Vincent rose his head from the paper she knew he was not reading, 'who is it my sweetie?' he asked with a shade of terror on his face.

Calling her by name was another thing of the past, his new approach was to refer to her as 'my love' and 'my darling' and on one occasion 'my sweetest, most divine of pure angels.' Surely in his hour of desperation he must have realised how stomach churning she found his grovelling.

'It's your father,' she answered and enjoyed watching Vincent pale at the news. 'Hello Sean. How are you?' she asked sincerely.

Vincent began to wave his hands wildly, then shook his head emphatically, 'I'm too busy to talk,' he whispered loudly, getting up from the table. In his haste he nearly fell on one of the children's toys.

'I'm much better today Barbara,' Sean explained. 'I won't delay you, is Vincent there?' Sean asked gently, not wanting to drag his daughter-in-law into the sorry state of his son's poor conduct. Sean could not imagine the regrets she must have experienced during the week.

Vincent made a bee-line towards the door, 'I'll be in my office, I'll call him back.'

'Yes Sean, he is right here beside me.' Barbara held the phone towards him.

Enough was enough she decided.

Vincent's cheeks burned. He took the phone, cursing his wife's new found bravado. Her defiance was knocking Vincent off balance. Dealing with her could wait, first things first. He went to their bedroom for privacy.

'Daaad,' he cooed, 'how have you beeen?' he asked exaggerating each word.

Sean found himself rolling his eyes upwards. The day for pussy footing around this boy was long gone. 'Thank you for asking Vincent, but I'm fine now.'

'I'm sooo glad to hear it Daaad, we have beeen sooo concerrrned.'

Sean got straight to the point, his son's insincerity was irritating him, 'Vincent I have something to discuss with you.'

'Yes Dad, I understand,' Vincent said assuming his business-like tone, 'I have been considering legal action against Keogh, my reputation is at stake here, my family life has been dreadful since that unfounded accusation . . .'

Vincent waited for Sean to say something, anything that would give him an indication of how he felt about the incident. When he didn't respond, Vincent continued, 'Not that Barbara believes a word of it, Sacred Heart of Mercy above in heaven.' It was always vital to put on a show of holiness when speaking to his father. He was a regular mass and confession attendee, so Vincent reckoned that it scored him a few brownie points. 'Have you ever heard the likes of it Dad? Keogh is mad, there's no denying that . . .'

Sean cut him short having heard enough, 'I want you to come down to Tipperary on Monday evening, be here at five.'

Vincent was taken unawares, Sean had never made a request like that before. He had expected his father to question the validity of Keogh's allegations or even scold Vincent in some backward way. In the unlikely event that his father might believe Keogh, with time he felt his father would naturally blame Lucinda Tidy. After all, he was a red-blooded male, it was difficult to turn down all the offers of sex. But travel to Tipperary, this was something new.

'Monday evening, can't do,' he said assertively, 'I have a prior engagement.'

'Well cancel it son, I want you here at 5.00pm.'

Vincent took a deep breath rehearsing his most imperative excuse, after all he is a major player in the financial sector of Ireland. A man of his standing could not just drop everything at a moment's notice and rush to his delirious father's bedside. Before he could exhale the phone went dead.

Stunned, he stared at the handset in disbelief. 'The world is gone bloody mad.'

Vincent retreated to his office where he could think alone. He poured a Brandy, sat on his swivel chair and put his feet on the desk. He was irritated he had not told his father the truth, or part of the truth. Chances are he probably knew that some little fling occurred between him and Lucinda. It was highly likely Lucinda told one of her friends the truth who in turn would have conveyed an exaggerated version to Fiona, and by the time it reached his father ears, God only knows what version he heard. Sean was a man of God, he always did his very best to do the correct thing in life, and he would most certainly frown on a married man having an affair. That would have been the biggest 'no-no' in his book, especially when he had grown so fond of Barbara. But even to a pious man like Sean, blood was thicker than water, naturally he would make allowances for his only son.

Despite Sean's undemonstrative exterior, Vincent knew his father idolised him. Men like his father were not capable of showing it, but never for one moment did Vincent doubt his father's love. Sean would probably make some lame excuses for his son's behaviour and recite the age old saying that boys will be boys. What could he do with tarts like Lucinda? Of course Sean would make concessions for his boy. Vincent could tell him he had learned the error of his ways and something as reckless as that would never again happen. He would tell him he loved his wife and adored his children and could not face a day without their presence. Spin him a yarn about how difficult the past week had been and if he concentrated hard enough he might even make himself cry. He would pretend to take Sean into his confidence and tell his father how he even contemplated something crazy like suicide. In time Sean would get over his disappointment, Vincent would make a better effort to visit and they could all return to normality. Simple. Every day of the week Vincent dealt with and manipulated men far more shrewd than his aging father. If he couldn't use his killer selling technique on an 80 year old farmer who adored the ground he walked on, what hope did anyone have?

Cheerfully Vincent got to his feet. He felt like a round of golf followed by a few beers and maybe even head into town. No more moping around the house trying to pacify Barbara. He left his office and returned to his rightful bedroom. He could hear one of the children crying again. Barbara needed to be left alone for a few days, she would have to get over her little sulking period and realise which one of them made the money to maintain the lifestyle she enjoyed so much. He should have told her to stay in Tipperary, seeing as she enjoyed his father's company so much. The pair of them like two old biddies searching the old photographs for similarities in his children. To hell with her, he thought, opening his wardrobe and selecting his clothes for the night ahead. As if things were not bad enough she made him feel like a visitor in his own bedroom in a house where he paid the mortgage. He stepped out of his clothes, leaving them on the floor and stood under the shower. Before leaving Vincent retrieved a new phone number from his computer. One of his colleagues had introduced him to a new employee, a lovely cute fresh faced brunette in her early 20s. Vincent reckoned she was game ball for anything, she even gave him her number. Just in case, he typed the number into his mobile, saving her name as Michael Hughes, close enough to Michelle Hughes. In these uncertain times it would not do to have too many miscellaneous girls' names. Especially beautiful fresh faced girls like Michelle Hughes.

# CHAPTER 23

Vigilant of crossed phone lines, Doreen Morrison whispered into the receiver, 'There's fierce talk she was seeing other married men as well,' she paused hoping her daughter could shed some light on the goings-on of Lucinda's love life. If anyone knew, Rose would certainly know.

'Could she not have picked a single man?' Doreen moaned a little upset at the recent rumours.

'As simple as that,' Rose said flatly.

'Exactly Rose,' her mother said failing to notice Rose's sarcasm, 'aren't there plenty of men who would love to have a girlfriend like Lucinda.'

'Maybe,' Rose neither agreed nor disagreed.

At times like this, it was a blessing not to live in her home town. She could not have listened to any more speculation about Lucinda or Vincent or where the blame lay. Did Lucinda throw herself at Vincent? Or did Vincent pursue Lucinda? Although she should have expected Doreen to have gathered a sizable data bank of information on Lucinda's supposed sex life. Sadly Rose did not know what to believe regarding Lucinda. Thinking she had known her friend for most of her life, it was almost incomprehensible how she had an affair with Vincent for ten years without ever breathing a word. During those ten years Rose knew there must have been times when Lucinda was madly in love or desperately unhappy. She couldn't fathom how Lucinda resisted confiding in one of her friends. That is, if Simon Keogh was to be believed? Judging from his wild eyed deranged manner that night, his appearance would not add credibility to his version of events. But then Rose suspected there must be substance to his story, why else did Lucinda leave? Afterwards when Rose thought about it, the moment Lucinda saw Simon she left the bar as if she had been forewarned. Rose wondered how or where Lucinda's path had crossed Simon's.

'Any word from her yet?' Treading carefully, Doreen did not want to upset her daughter further.

'Not a dickey bird Mum.'

If only Lucinda would answer her phone, not because Rose was eager to hear her version of the story, only to let her know she was safe.

'Where do you think she is?' Doreen asked, 'It's been a week. She'd be too clever to be dead,' she answered her own question, knowing Rose knew as much as she did.

'She's probably with some work colleagues,' Rose was about to say she could be abroad on a week's holiday but decided to keep her thoughts to herself. Tomorrow's rumour would be that Lucinda was off in the Caribbean sunning herself without a second thought for what she had done.

'She could be anywhere.'

'So she wasn't in work all week either?' Doreen wanted it clarified.

Rose was about to lose her patience but was aware her mother was also concerned, 'I tried twice. It's anyone's guess. Wherever she is, I hope she's alright.'

'Sean O'Donnell is out of hospital but still not able to see visitors. Poor man is probably too embarrassed to face the crowd after that son of his playing around.'

'Maybe he's not well enough, he did have a heart attack.'

'But he is alive Rose,' Doreen wasn't convinced, 'Surely the heart attack doesn't deny him the power of speech, or being able to sit in a bed and chat to a few friends. In fact, a few visitors would do him the world of good.' Doreen went into a litany of friends who called to the pub but were denied access, 'All concerned friends who have his best interest at heart.'

Apart from one brief chat and a few texts, Rose's contact with Fiona was minimal since the event. Later during the afternoon she would call her, hopefully Fiona might not be too busy between the pub and Emmet and her father. The only indication that Rose had, was that Fiona referred to Lucinda by using the 'C' word. Years ago the girls were unanimous in finding the 'C' word the most uncouth description; they agreed none of them use it, even under extreme circumstances. Rose had never heard Fiona use it until now.

'He's mortified,' Doreen reiterated, 'it might be a while before he can face anyone at all. They might sell the pub over the whole thing.'

'I wouldn't go that far,' Rose tried to stop her mother from getting sucked into the hysteria of it all. 'He's an old man and he's just had a heart attack, he probably wasn't well for a while and the event brought it on.'

'Did Fiona tell you something?' Doreen asked believing her daughter had inside information.

'No, I'm only assuming.'

'Oh right . . .'

'Anyway Mum, we could talk about it forever,' Rose sighed, she was dying to get her mother off the phone conscious Alice would be arriving shortly.

Not wanting to discuss Lucinda anymore, Rose was more than relieved when the phone call ended. She was tired of all of the surmising and suspicion surrounding Lucinda. It also bothered her that she too was getting drawn into such cynicism. During the week, she began to wonder what else Lucinda had done. Were there many more secrets to a sinister double life? Several times during the week Rose was enraged with her. She deliberately misled Rose, allowing her to think that Andrew O'Keeffe was the other man. Rose even wondered were there times when she felt she was laughing at both Fiona and Sean? They were neighbours who respected and loved Lucinda, she was supposed to have been one of Fiona's best friends. Once again Rose wondered what Lucinda must have been thinking during all those years. Did it ever occur to her that somebody was bound to get hurt?

Rose started to clean the spare room, a job she always turned to when she needed something to focus on. Ideally she'd like if things could move on from the Lucinda fiasco. Over the last few days, they had even started bickering among themselves. On the rare occasion when it did happen, it was forgotten within a few hours. This time, Alice had become irritated with Lucinda's lack of responsibility and harped on far too long about it, Rose was tiring of it all. Admittedly Rose was relieved to know that Lucinda was alive, she had sent several text messages which were not delivered, then she had emailed her and Rose knew Lucinda had checked her mail on Friday. It was irrelevant that Lucinda hadn't responded. Rose knew Lucinda was hiding from everybody's reaction, it was an old trait of hers, lie low until the dust settles, then resurface only when she felt it safe.

Rose began to work her way through the room by removing all the clothes from the floor and dumping them in the bottom of her bedroom closet. It seemed a bit futile to move heaps of clothes from one bedroom to another. Eyeing her unmade bed Rose thought of Aengus again. Last night had been the first time they made sober love. Aengus had called with a diet pizza, diet cokes and a DVD , all of which was normal enough, except Rose had made an effort for his visit, albeit a small effort. She wore the black skirt she knew he liked and red top on the pretext she had worn the clothes to work. Equally she knew he wore a clean shirt and had showered before his arrival. Both were adults and both were playing down their affections for the other. They sat together on the couch, ate the pizza and condemned the useless DVD . Without any effort, they kissed, retired to the bedroom, impatiently undressed each other and made love surpassing all of their previous occasions. The following morning, at a more leisurely pace they made love again, and that moment had lingered with her far too long.

Fiona ignored Rose's phone call, she turned the mobile to silent and resumed her conversation with Fitzer. Fiona knew Rose was not a gossip and would be more concerned about Fiona and her family. Rose wouldn't want to know Fiona's opinion on Lucinda, or Vincent, or Simon and whether she still had feelings for him, or her father, or what her father thought or what Barbara's parting words were that night. Fiona was sick to death of playing down the incident. Fiona had her own opinions and she would certainly not listen to the likes of Rose's sympathetic attitude towards Lucinda. Maybe if people stopped making allowances for Lucinda's behaviour, none of this would have manifested in the first place. Every time Fiona thought about that deceitful traitorous bitch, who listened with compassion in Donegal to the details of the demise of her own marriage, the rage resurfaced. All the time she was quite happily screwing her brother. To put it ever so mildly, Fiona didn't believe she could trust her own behaviour if she came face to face with her. They had been such close friends over the years, yet Lucinda had been able to deceive her for such a long time.

Fiona was convinced the conniving bitch had entertained herself with her sick game. Pretending to have her best interests at heart by buying her the items of clothing, or recommending new make-up and the most despicable of all was pretending to be her confidante. Lucinda had allowed Fiona to trust her and confide the most intimate account of her marriage to her. The whole affair infuriated her so much she was on the verge of tears from the frustration every time she thought about it.

Fiona chose to ignore Rose's call because she was dying to resume her first bitching session about Lucinda. At last it was nice to find a safe person to whom she could vent her rage. Normally Fiona had a strict policy never to discuss disputes with anybody other than those involved and especially not customers in the bar. Fitzer was different, he was a friend, her most regular customer and she knew him to be very discreet. Therefore she justified breaking her own code of ethics and indulging in a full on whining session about Lucinda.

'I was as shocked as you,' Fitzer said in hushed tones. 'I don't know how she managed it, being as sweet as pie to you then having an affair with your brother.

She's one devious lady to be able to go on like that. Makes you think.'

'That's it,' Fiona said.

'Then you have these Holy-Joes saying she didn't know the difference. Her mother carried on like that, so she'll carry on like that. Like mother like daughter.'

Fitzer shook his head dismissively, 'There's no excuse for what she did to you or your father.'

'Exactly,' Fiona said, 'she's been coming to this house all her life. We were great friends and now she's left my father on death's door.' Fiona didn't add that maybe Vincent was as much to blame, but she couldn't begin to think about him yet.

'Lucinda had us all fooled, she has no loyalty to anyone, least of all her own poor father. I heard he hasn't been out all week with the shame of it all,' Fitzer informed her. 'No loyalty to anyone,' he repeated sipping his pint.

'Makes you think what else has she done.' she said to Fitzer inviting him to air his theories.

'I didn't hear who the other married men were, but I believe Vincent was not the only one.' Fitzer volunteered honestly.

'You just don't know what her kind has been up to, God knows what other families have been devastated by what she's done to them.'

'People like Lucinda can cause terrible destruction.'

'I know it only too well,' Fiona agreed extremely relieved how understanding he was. 'I'd say there were loads of other men,' she alleged with contempt.

'You don't know what to believe. Maybe it's only lies, but none of us know the truth, it could be only gossip,' Fitzer said, softening towards Lucinda. 'People love this kind of gossip, sadly they love to blame someone.' Thinking aloud Fitzer added, 'their sympathies lie with you and Sean so they'll blame Lucinda, then they add stories to the stories to console themselves.' Fitzer shrugged, 'Nobody really knows,' he sighed finishing his pint thinking maybe he had been too harsh on Lucinda.

Fiona was depleted instantly, his words of understanding had undone the joy of the entire conversation. At least she thought Fitzer would continue the conversation by calling her all the sluts under the sun, she wished he would use the 'C' word, or get a bit vulgar and say "the whole country was riding the arse off the whore" as one customer had put it. Unkind, aggressive and vulgar words would have made her day. In fact the last thing she wanted was another sympathetic opinion.

Naively he folded his paper and tucked it under his arm. 'Be sure to tell your father I was asking for him.'

Fitzer exited the bar leaving Fiona to absorb his words. Could Fitzer not see that Lucinda was to blame? Was it not as blatantly obvious as the hairy nose on his face? Was she the only one able to see the entire picture? Fiona dismissed Fitzer's opinion thinking him too neutral to care. Retreating behind the bar, Fiona dialled Alice's mobile. Judging from her text messages of support during the week, it was obvious Alice was equally as furious with Lucinda.

Alice quickened her pace. One of her new year's resolutions was to walk at least three times a week which she had stuck to religiously. The extra spring in her step was not for the benefit of her health but to join Rose for a pizza and relax with her friend rather than return to the awful bickering. With her iPod blasting motivating dance music she felt as if she could have sprinted the two miles. Alice had been feeling guilty over what she had said about Lucinda. While Lucinda's whereabouts was still unknown, she had been a tad insensitive when she said she couldn't care less if she never again saw her. In Alice's opinion, there were certain things you just don't do, and screwing one of your best friend's married brothers is just one of those things. Regardless whether he looks like a male model, it was very black and white in Alice's book of morals.

'Typical Lucinda, she does exactly what she wants and couldn't care less about anybody else, an affair is wrong, but an affair with your friend's brother is entirely wrong,' Alice said, 'I couldn't care less if I never again set eyes on the two-faced cow.'

Her judgemental attitude didn't surprise Rose. 'How do you think Lucinda is feeling?' Rose gently asked.

'Who gives a damn what she's feeling? She brought every ounce of this on herself.'

'To a certain degree, that is true but it did occur to me that the affair began ten years ago. We were all young and gullible at that stage. Vincent is ten years her senior and despite Lucinda's arrogance, a charmer like him could twist any woman's arm especially a young impressionable girl.'

'I see what you mean,' Alice conceded, 'but we all know screwing married men is wrong.'

'Don't you think Vincent is responsible for adhering to his own vows?'

Alice hadn't thought of any of that, she realised she probably did sound harsh, but all of this fighting annoyed her. If Lucinda hadn't had the affair, none of them would be arguing, Fiona would not be up in a heap about her father and the re-opening night in O'Donnell's would have been a happy night to remember. Even if Simon had tried to ruin it, his attempts would have been ignored. What an awful shame Lucinda had not come clean sooner. Alice began to think it an uncertain time, all of their nerves were slightly frayed, Fiona's father was on deaths door, Lucinda was missing again and with the gossiping in Tipperary she didn't know what to do about The Sickly Prince. Several times she thought about dumping him but got distracted when they met. Alice didn't know what she wanted.

Breathless, she answered the vibrating mobile in her pocket. 'Hi Fiona, how are you?' Alice asked not breaking her stride.

'I'm OK, still totally pissed off about it all.' Fiona complained thinking Alice would be a safe bet to have a good bitch about Lucinda.

Alice winced, she didn't want to ruin her good mood by going back into it again. She couldn't bear to re-hash the whole sorry saga again with Fiona.

'I suppose it's understandable,' Alice said trying to keep a safe distance from discussing it. 'What's that they say, "Time is a great healer", you know as the days go by it won't seem as bad.'

'Any news from that cow?'

'Not a word, I hope she's OK.'

Fiona couldn't believe how she'd changed her tune, 'You hope she's alright?' she asked indignantly. 'I can't tell you what I'd like to say to her.'

'Yes,' Alice didn't sound sympathetic enough for Fiona's liking.

'What are you doing? You sound winded.' Fiona asked, annoyed with her change of heart.

'I'm walking to Rose's, we're going to have a pizza and maybe watch a movie. I don't know what to do about The Prince so we'll have one of our guy-chats.' She didn't add that they hoped to avoid discussing Tipperary as much as possible or any of her family or her brother.

'Enjoy yourself.' Fiona said and hung up. Not knowing whether to be relieved her family were no longer the focal point of the gossip, or a little flummoxed how little time was spent on her problems, Fiona wished she could find one person filled with as much anger as her.

As Lucinda watched the Atlantic Ocean angrily smash off the rocks in windy Ballybunion, she realised how desperate she had been to hide when she came to this freezing corner of Ireland in the middle of winter. The urgency to escape led her to believe a holiday idling by the beach in the picturesque village would provide a much needed break. With such limited options, she thought a few days alone would help her form some kind of plan. One of her work colleagues had been harping on about her cosy cottage in one of the most beautiful holiday spots on the coast of Ireland. Several times she had offered Lucinda the use of the holiday home, simultaneously she had worded it so magnificently making it sound like the most alluring and tranquil sanctuary. Dismally Lucinda watched the raging sea from the cliffs dressed in an inadequate jacket. Fleeing so quickly, she had no time to compile her list of items and packed as if she was going somewhere warm. She thought Ballybunion the bleakest, wettest, coldest spot in Ireland where she would have a greater chance of losing her mind, rather than finding a solution to her problems. After spending five days in isolation she knew she could not spend another night listening to the howling wind making her feel as if the weather was also angry with her.

Alone in the cottage she mulled over her choices and began to slowly gather her belongings. Tossing her mobile phone into the bottom of her case without switching it on, she tried not to think of the girls or what they thought of her now. Would she miss them? Lucinda didn't bother exploring her own question. Maybe in a few years time, they could meet by chance at some social engagement or their paths might inadvertently cross. Without delving too deeply she hoped it would be a long time before encountering anyone from home, not to mention her own father. After she left the bar that night she tried in vain to get a taxi, then was forced to make the mile-long trek alone freezing in her dress and in agony wearing her high heels. As always Lucinda attempted a hasty get-away but her father arrived before she escaped. She was not surprised that he had heard in the intervening two hours it took her to walk home. Nor was she entirely surprised by his reaction.

On leaving the Ballybunion cottage, as instructed Lucinda locked the front door and returned the key to the next door neighbour.

'You look much better today,' the old lady said taking the key. 'Them bruises look worse before they get better,' she smiled reassuringly at Lucinda's yellow bruised face.

'That's it,' Lucinda returned her smile and tried not to recall her father pinning her to the wall and pounding her face with his fists.

If she concentrated enough she would not recall his angry roars of injustice served upon him by women. Lucinda's tears would remain hidden if she could forget his unkind words and her tears would remain at bay if she could forget the same sight she had witnessed as a child. More than 25 years earlier, she watched the same scene unfold with her own mother on the receiving end of her father's punches. Except her mother had been rescued and possibly blessed with a man, who not only rescued her from death that night, but also allowed her to begin afresh in a new country. Her mother was removed from the scrutiny of too many prying eyes where she would have been forever defined by her infidelities. Unlike Lucinda , her mother must have found a greater form of love than she.

'At least no one was killed,' Lucinda said referring to the car crash story she had concocted to push the events of that night to the furthest corner of her mind.

She kept another memory in the same dark corner of her mind, a similar memory of childhood rejection. When that recollection resurfaced, she needed shopping or a night on the town, or just plain havoc to distract her from the memory she tried to deny. Lucinda never heard from her own mother after that night. The last sight of mother, whose name she sporadically forgot, was her running to the waiting car. The following morning Lucinda found one of her mother's shoes. For months she kept the shoe believing her mother would be back, for many more years she kept the shoe hoping her mother would return if only to retrieve the it. Lucinda thought of the child she had been then, forever living in hope for a sense of security, while the adult she had become lived in hope for love.

# CHAPTER 24

Vincent woke late on Monday morning. It was the first morning that the coldness of his office didn't bother him. He didn't envy his wife in their comfortable bedroom or wish to wake beside her feeling the heat from her naked body. Instead he got up from the couch after sleeping in his clothes, he dragged the duvet into the main house and went directly to their bedroom. It was 9.30am, Vincent knew Barbara would be out for another few hours. On Monday mornings she visited her mother and did the vegetable shopping at some country market, as if she was vying for The Most Wholesome Mother of The Year Award. There would be no more pussy-footing around her. There was only so much hysterics a man could take, by Christ Vincent believed he had taken his quota of the over-hysterical wife. Barbara was really milking the whole affair thing, she made it sound like the end of the world. The more he thought about it the more ridiculous it seemed, even her flinging the duvet into his office. Back in the comfort of his bedroom he switched on the heat and the electric blanket, then took a quick shower and got into bed for a few hours before going to Tipperary. That was another thing, his father summoning him to Tipperary. So bloody what, he had an affair and got caught. No big deal. It happens every day of the week.

Warm and comfortably wrapped in the fresh bedclothes Vincent decided that he would not spend one more night sleeping in his office. He had done his duty and allowed his wife her space to act out her anger, but now the nonsense stopped. At this stage she could move into the office and sleep there for all he cared. Immediately he felt relaxed realising it would be the first proper sleep he had all week. Sleeping on the office sofa was impossible, then on Saturday night he had met with and slept with Michelle Hughes. On Sunday morning she kindly washed and dried his clothes. They had breakfast together and promised to do it all again, even though Vincent had no intention. Michelle Hughes was too submissive, she didn't have that wild spark, the sexy boldness Lucinda oozed. On Sunday afternoon, he met up with some of the younger members of staff from work and relived his single days. It had been a great weekend, and if Barbara didn't pull in her horns, there would be many more like them. He wouldn't like a re-run every single weekend, but the odd weekend would do him the world of good.

Relieved to see the colour return to her father's cheeks, Fiona began to relax. His healthy glow allowed her believe there was more longevity to add to his long life.

'How are you today?' she asked cautiously, not wanting Sean to think he was under her constant scrutiny.

'Every day I'm getting back to my old self,' he answered truthfully and hoped to ease her concern. Sean didn't fool himself and knew he wasn't getting any younger. Maybe this needed to happen to allow him enjoy what was left of his life and retirement.

Fiona seldom thought of the day Sean would no longer be with them, she always tried to ignore his age only taking comfort in his great health for a man of 80. He had said nothing about the incident, nor did she raise the subject, for fear of further health risks. There wasn't as much gossip as she expected to hear, with the exception of the normal drunk exaggerating their sentiments by swearing to kick the head off Simon Keogh. Scarcely having given Simon a thought, Fiona was still too consumed by Lucinda. By Monday morning she could safely say she hated her with a vengeance. Every memory she once held so dearly repelled her. Lucinda's small failings that normally amused her now revolted her, and the likes of Rose who sympathised with her were blinded by their dumb loyalty to her. Fiona couldn't see beyond the point that it was all her fault. To add to Fiona's agitation, her father informed her that his solicitor Peter O'Brien would be arriving shortly and needed her for a bit of business.

'Peter O'Brien is coming here?' she repeated thinking it very peculiar. 'What for?'

'You'll know soon enough,' he revealed nothing, merely folded the daily paper and got to his feet. 'Vincent will also be joining us.'

A few possibilities ran through Fiona's mind. She guessed it had something to do with some other deal he and Vincent would enter into, or maybe something to do with the farm.

Sean ventured into the bar for the first time since the incident, his first time in nine days. In all of his life he had never been absent from the bar for that length of time. Sean never went on holidays, he had never been abroad and with the exception of spending five days in Donegal for his honeymoon 47 years ago, that had been his longest period away. Pleased with the repair job done to the fire damaged floor where Simon had thrown his make-shift bomb, and satisfied with the rise in the weekly takings, it reaffirmed his impending decision. There was no doubt about it, Fiona had the right idea, reluctant as he was to admit it. She had a great head on her shoulders and nobody else could have done the job she had done. At least today he could give her what she deserved. Only for her clever foresight, he would have been forced to close the doors and sell the licence like so many other publicans in his trade. She was forward thinking and brave enough to believe in her own convictions, a girl like her would bring the bar further. Sean escaped upstairs before customers arrived; he knew the men meant well but wanted to save his energy for his business this evening.

Vincent woke at two in the afternoon feeling more rejuvenated than he had been all week. Downstairs he found the house eerily quiet and tidy. Normally at that hour, Sam would be playing and could have two or more school friends running riot. For small boys of that age they made more noise than an unruly classroom of 30, then the two year old, Raymond, could be as needy as Sam. Vincent found Barbara sitting alone in the living room.

He stood at the door with a coffee in his hand, 'Where are the children?' he asked, finding her stillness strange.

'Vincent we need to talk.'

Barbara's sombre attitude annoyed him. He shrugged his shoulders, 'OK, talk.'

Barbara's expression appeared indifferent, her unscathed pretty face turned towards his, her large blue eyes were neither challenging nor submissive. Vincent sat in the armchair furthest away from her.

Barbara noticed he'd washed and shaved and was dressed in fresh clothes. 'Do you want out of this marriage?' she finally asked.

Vincent sighed with impatience. He couldn't hide his annoyance at her prolonged tantrum.

Barbara ignored him and continued, hoping to gain an insight from the man she had loved, 'Because I really don't know what your intention is in this marriage.'

Vincent said, 'Could we have less of the hysterics, it's beginning to bore me.'

'My hysterics bore you?' she laughed incredulously at his response, 'Does it bore you that I know you screw around with other women, or that you didn't come home on Saturday night, yet crawled into our bed for a few hours rest after being with God only knows who? Does it bore you that you leave everything around the house to me?' Barbara looked at him genuinely curious, 'Do you know that there is more to parenthood than being a good provider?'

'You have everything you need,' Vincent tried to interrupt her.

Barbara raised her voice, 'And I am reminded every single day of our married life of what a great provider you are and as your wife you think I should be eternally thankful?'

'You really don't know how good you have it,' he shouted, furious with her.

Barbara didn't respond immediately, she looked away from him. While the foundation of her world began to crumble, outside in the quiet neighbourhood she had grown to love, the silence of the day held the same essence of harmony for Barbara. The chaos within Vincent had over flown. With each response from Vincent it was as though the polished exterior he groomed so carefully was peeling to reveal his true self.

'You really believe that. You arrogant fool,' she replied. 'I believed in this marriage, after everything I hoped at least we could talk.' Barbara looked at his hardened expression, his mouth firmly closed and down turned. 'To be perfectly honest with you Vincent, I cannot stay married to a man with your ideas.'

Vincent had heard just about enough of his wife's self absorbed rubbish. 'Now you listen to me, I have done what every man would do. So what, I fucked a few women; sex with them meant nothing and you know that.' He pointed his finger accusingly. 'If you want out of this marriage, so be it on your head. Like it or not, you cannot afford to leave me. According to my earnings last year I don't have enough money to pay the mortgage on this house not to mind feed, educate and clothe a family. You will get very little maintenance from me.' He waved his hand, 'Go on and leave me, if you want to raise our children in some drug-ridden inner city flat. Get your pittance of child support from the government and what the court awards you from me, see how you'll afford a car and pay for all those luxuries out of that. In other words,' he sat forward restating his point, 'on paper, I have no money.' Vincent stood up to leave allowing his wife absorb the fact that she was nothing without him.

Barbara's expression remained still, she watched him put on his jacket and aggressively zip it closed. She noticed every little detail as if seeing him for the first time.

Vincent walked towards the door, his parting words, 'Go right ahead, file for a separation and see how your life will change. Then you might develop a little gratitude for the lifestyle I have provided.'

Lucinda sat at the counter with Andrew, lapping up the noisy bar after her week of solitude in Ballybunion. Like two friends rekindling an old friendship they both picked up where they had left off. Lucinda decided to come clean and tell him about the sorry mess that had unfolded over the past few weeks. She included the overdose incident, her short spell in hospital, and her encounter with Simon. Only Lucinda made it all sound hilarious and even normal. She had a way with words that made the listener bypass the enormity and replace the severity with humour.

'By the fifth morning of waking to the sound of a noisy ocean and bawling seagulls, I went for a long walk hoping to actually speak to someone. I had forgotten what my own voice sounded like.' She took a breather and sipped her Coors Light beer enjoying dressing up her awful week. 'There before me was a most peculiar Kerry man wearing the traditional black and white coat. So with this man, I saw the promise of an actual conversation for the first time in a week. All I wanted was a bit of idle chit-chat. I said "Good morning sir," to which he replied "moo". I was so desperate I just ignored the fact it was a cow and I had a great chat about the weather and politics and global warming,' she said informatively.

'It can't have been that bad,' Andrew smiled, entertained by her narrative.

Lucinda interrupted him, 'It was that bad. I thought I would go bloody mental! The next time she offers you that cottage, only accept it if you want to turn into Jack Nicholson in The Shining.'

'Yes, for a person on their own it would be isolating,' he agreed.

'So here I am darling, after escaping death at the hands of my own father and been branded a bigger tart than Mary Magdalene. My friends are now my greatest enemies and I'm going to be forced to resort to advertising for friends on the internet, because nobody who knows me wants to talk to me.' Bravely she smiled at Andrew, 'So how have you been?'

Theirs was a peculiar friendship, socially and privately living different lifestyles, yet they were as close as friends could be.

'What are you going to do?' he asked.

'I told you,' she pretended to be impatient, 'aren't you listening? I am going to change my phone number. I might even move apartment and advertise for new friends on the net. I'll also pretend I've been living in Ballybunion for the last five years and that will explain any oddities my new friends will notice.'

'Why don't you go one step further and get plastic surgery, change your appearance and go to O'Donnell's Bar, meet the girls and introduce yourself as someone else.'

'Excellent idea,' she said, 'That would really solve the problem.'

'You could change your name by deed pole, become a man for a while if you want.'

'No, the new spring collection of clothes for the average male are awful, I'll stick with being a woman until the autumn stock arrives. Maybe one of the girls might fancy me and that would confuse the issue altogether.'

'Do you really think your father would have murdered you?' Andrew asked, horrified at the prospect of his own father even raising his hand to him, not to mind boxing him like he was a punch-bag.

'Yes, he was angry enough.' Lucinda answered without a twinge of emotion, it was easier now that she was so far removed from the scene.

Each time Lucinda thought about her father's assault during the week, the choking sensation returned and tears of frustration filled her eyes. It was a stark reminder of the night her own mother left. Strangely Lucinda had never remembered her mother's departure until that night; 25 years earlier her final wavering innocence had died. That night propelled her into a premature adulthood where her secrets became sacred, instinctively knowing to guard the truth by fabricating fantasy. It seemed more acceptable to create the additional stories about her mother living in America where the sun always shines and the cars don't need roofs. Lucinda knew her mother lived in London.

Not long after her mother's departure, she had asked only once where her mother was, 'Do you think she lives near here?'

Her father's response was as bitter as he was, 'That dirty filthy slapper is living in a shithole in London with that bastard Mike Caswell. I hope the pair of them are murdered.'

After her father's response, glorious sunny America sounded so much more appealing than London. She imagined Americans as being happier people, with an all year-round tan and broad American accents. The girls played along, picturing Lucinda's mother among the millionaires with their big huge trees with fresh oranges at the bottom of their gardens and swimming pools and stylish clothes. Lucinda told the story of her mother living in America until she grew to believe it, only when she got older and she knew her version was doubted, she no longer discussed her mother. Finally her mother's appearance faded from her memory. The only definite memory she retained was her mother's back, running towards the waiting car, hand in hand with Mike Caswell.

'Who would replace me?' she asked deviating from his question. 'Just suppose my father had murdered me and buried my body in some shallow bog hole, who would be good enough to fill my shoes in work?'

Andrew thought for a moment, 'There's nobody there to replace you right now,' he paused, 'for the foreseeable future don't go home to your father until I arrange some interviews.'

Lucinda believed she would never again be going to her home, the next time she expected to visit her childhood house would be to bury her father. Apart from Andrew, nobody would ever know what happened. Her Dad certainly had no notion of ever discussing the event. Eventually if he died before her, she would play the dutiful daughter by returning to Tipperary to choose a coffin and a final resting place. Lucinda hoped it would not happen in the immediate future, she couldn't bear to return with the events so fresh in her memory and as fresh in everybody else's memory in Tipperary. There would be very few people rude enough to say it, but she would never be seen in a favourable light. Until the affair came to the fore, she was Billy Tidy's daughter who had done well for herself coming from a home like she did. Her choice in career earned her respect from those who liked to believe her life would amount to nothing. The two bed-roomed cottage where she had grown up was as outdated at the old disused bits of engines her father liked to tinker with, over the years he let them pile up and they were strewn around the yard like his own neglected self.

She recalled with sympathy how awkwardly her father had shaken hands with other parents the day of her graduation. It was one of the very rare occasions when he had to step outside Tipperary and venture to an unfamiliar place with people he had never met. Dressed in a 15 year old check suit and mismatched tie, his untidy hair and lack of social skills made him stick out like a sore thumb. Only staying the minimal amount of time, he left Dublin that day relieved to return to Tipperary. Sadly Lucinda had been equally as pleased the charade had ended and waved him off uncomfortable to see he had washed the Ford Granada for the event. As a lone father and only child team, they both learned to survive each day. Neither delved too deeply, both learned to adopt a complete independence from the other. They were more comfortable thinking that one would never grow to need the other. It was the viciousness of his attack that upset her, not the fact that they would never meet again.

# CHAPTER 25

Peter O'Brien arrived a few minutes earlier than expected, he touched the tip of his hat acknowledging Fiona, it occurred to her that his old gentlemanly qualities were nearing extinction.

'I'll show you through, Mr O'Brien,' Fiona walked him through the bar and up the stairs to their living quarters where her father was waiting in the living room.

'You're keeping well, Fiona?' he enquired in his pleasant accent.

'We've been busy but thank God my dad is improving every day. He's taking things slowly,' Fiona repeated those same lines so often, it was like a mantra. She prepared tea and left the two men alone in the sitting room.

Before exiting her father double checked she had employed bar relief for a few hours during the evening.

'Peter and I will need to go through a bit of business with you.'

Fiona cursed her father's expression "bit of business", he was never forthcoming about his affairs, but his secrecy annoyed her now.

'I'll be in Emmet's room doing his homework when you need me.'

Fiona lay on her son's bed opening his Irish book first. They always began with the hardest subject. Aware that Vincent was on his way to Tipperary, it occurred to her this would be the first time meeting him since that fateful Saturday night, it seemed like a lifetime ago. As Emmet read the Irish verse from his homework book Fiona was thinking about Lucinda and her brother and the hours they spent deceiving everyone. Attempting to concentrate on the job before her, she had a vision of the pair of them, clawing at each other for cheap sex. She wondered how much truth was in Simon's accusation. Or was it all exaggerated? Surprised she hadn't given more thought to Simon, she recalled the sight of him on the stage: he looked as if he had lost his mind. That old nauseous sensation of terror returned, judging from his stance she knew he wanted to hurt somebody.

Emmet stopped reading and looked up at his mother, 'Mummy, who is that man with granddad?'

'He's Mr O'Brien, who looks after Granddad's legal papers,' Fiona explained, 'Adult stuff,' which was Fiona's gentle way of ending any other line of enquiry.

'Why is he here?'

Fiona only considered it herself then, Peter had been to their home over the years, his visits usually coincided with something significant. Why now? His visit would coincide with Vincent's visit. It suddenly dawned on Fiona, whatever Sean's intention, he had planned the timing that the three of them would be together.

'He's here for a bit of business,' Fiona answered surprising herself by borrowing Sean's phrase and realising that their bit of business could be of greater importance than she first thought.

Vincent could not have predicted that any of this mess would find its way to his doorstep in the ugly manner it did. Who could have foreseen that wretched leech Simon resurfacing in the manner he did? Or that a simple fling would create such a predicament within the confines of his home? It was pointless regretting the past, he enjoyed screwing Lucinda, she was great in bed. For that matter, she was the most sexually appreciative woman he had ever been with, between the sheets, on top of the sheets, on her sofa, in the bath, in an elevator, in a lake, on the bonnet of his car, or strangers cars, there was nothing she wouldn't try. It was all true, although his colleague Keith doubted it until one night Vincent had recorded it on the office dictaphone.

'OK, I get the picture,' Keith stopped the tape after listening to Vincent making the most erotic suggestions and with a lot of puffing and panting, Lucinda had sounded only too glad to oblige. 'Does she have any sisters?'

As Vincent drove to Tipperary he was thinking about his situation. Like most women, she was emotionally unstable and had caused his current marital problems. Vincent regretted the course of action his wife had opted for. She too was proving to be an emotional wreck. Barbara could have been clever, she should have been quite happy with her few days of a tantrum but, she had to take it a step further, surprising Vincent by threatening him with a separation. She of all people must have realised he would not take that lying down. Even if she had been that upset, Vincent was convinced she was pretending. There were several other options to consider. He was supposed to be the ruthless one, what kind of mother was she to even consider dividing a family over a few loose women? She certainly must have taken leave of her senses to think he was about to walk away from a comfortable home. Vincent had no notion of spending the next 20 years providing a lifestyle that did not include

him. He regretted having used the approach he did, but Barbara had left him no alternative. With time she would come round to his way of thinking. If the other women had meant anything to him, surely she should have realised he would have left her. Barbara was his wife and would always be the most important woman in his life.

At least after today that would be the end of this messy business, Vincent wanted the whole thing finally resolved. His father would probably take the pious position and dribble on about the sacred marriage vow, then go on about his lovely wife and family. As Vincent climbed the stairs to their living quarters, he felt the palms of his hands sweating. His father could be tolerant but Vincent suspected Sean would probably give him the good old ear bashing about the disgrace of it all and at least then they could all get on with their lives. Everything could return to normal.

Sean heard his son's footsteps on the corridor, 'We're in here,' he called. Sean more than anyone wanted this final bit of business out of the way. Today would probably be the last day he ever expected to employ the services of the solicitor. The only other time Peter would have dealings with Sean's estate would be after his death. Equally Sean knew this could be the last time he would see his son, depending on how he chose to behave.

The shock was evident on Vincent's expression at the sight of the small gathering. 'Oh . . . hello . . .' he stammered looking from Sean, to Peter, then to Fiona who was setting down a tray of tea and cakes.

Remembering protocol, Vincent stretched his hand to shake Peter's hand first, then changed his mind and realised he should shake his father's hand first.

'Dad, how are you?' he asked as sincerely as he could without sounding patronising. Vincent knew Sean hated insincerity and could see through it quicker than most.

'As well as can be expected,' Sean shook Vincent's hand.

'Mr O'Brien, hello,' he said formally shaking his hand and lastly shaking Fiona's hand as ridiculously formally as he had the others.

'Get yourself a cup of tea or would you prefer a drink?' Sean said to Vincent. 'We can get started then,' he turned to Peter.

'It's far too early for a drink,' Vincent declared.

Vincent automatically regretted his attempt at over-playing the sensible son. His father knew well he regularly drank at 5.00pm. He sat on the couch beside Fiona. Sean and Peter O'Brien sat in two armchairs opposite and on the coffee table, there was a small neat pile of papers.

'So, what's happening?' Vincent exhaled, attempting to sound casual.

Sean took a deep breath and looked from one of his children to the other, struck at how physically alike they were, both had inherited their mother's physical features. 'I'm not getting any younger, and while I still have my health I want to take a backseat in all of my affairs. The farm,' Sean paused, 'it's just too much and I'd never be able to employ a farm manager because he'd never be able to do it right.'

The others smiled knowing how Sean would hate another farmer tampering with his stock and property.

'When you're working land for as long as I have, it would feel like an intruder was dabbling in my personal affairs. As for the pub,' he looked at Fiona, 'thankfully that's in the best hands. I want to enjoy whatever more time God gives me.'

Both Vincent and Fiona frowned trying to decipher what he really insinuated. One with an open expression of concern for his wellbeing, and the other with narrowed eyes and an expression of calculated greed. Sean recently wondered how two children from the same parents could be so different.

Vincent interrupted Sean, 'That's understandable Dad, I've been so concerned lately, you do far too much.'

Sean acknowledged his sons lame attempt at concern and proceeded, 'I was going to make a will but I don't want the land lying idle in the meantime or anybody contesting this in years to come. The land will be leased for ten years and the rent will be divided between the two families until my death, eventually the land will be divided between the two families equally when I die to be sold or do whatever you want with it.'

There was a minute of silence while Sean allowed his children digest the details.

'Do whatever you think is best for yourself Dad,' Fiona said, 'taking a backseat is a great idea but you still have plenty of time to decide. Every day you're improving.'

'Hopefully you're right but this needs to be straightened out now and as I've said, I don't want anybody contesting my wishes,' Sean answered with an element of urgency.

'What do you mean "the two families"? There is only Fiona and I,' Vincent corrected him.

Sean had dwelled on his decision long enough, this is where it grew complicated, he nodded slowly affirming he had heard his son's question.

Focusing on Fiona, 'The pub will belong to you Fiona, as soon as we sign those papers,' he pointed at the pile of papers on the coffee table. 'The pub and the house will be yours to do what you want with it. You have a free reign to change it or hire your bands or whatever you want.' Sean smiled. 'You deserve it.'

Fiona returned his smile, words could not convey what she felt, nor did she attempt to express her heartfelt appreciation, she was as much in shock as Vincent.

'As for the farm, all of the livestock will be sold over the next few weeks. Between the land in Ballycahill, Hollycross, Clon, a small holding in Moyne, and a few more fields, the land amounts to 384 acres.'

Vincent audibly gasped, he had never estimated his father had accumulated that amount, his estimation had been a third of that.

Sean continued, looking from one to the other, 'There are also three houses in Dublin,' he paused, 'Peter wisely advised me long before the property boom began.' Sean and Peter chuckled quietly recalling the day both men had invested in what Sean had called a harebrained idea.

'To be honest, none of us expected the property to increase as it did and regardless of the current dip in the market,' Peter shrugged, 'it's worth a fortune compared to what we invested all those years ago before the Celtic Tiger.'

Vincent wiped his sweating hands on the napkin; he was as surprised that the two men had been such allies as he was at the news of the millions about to befall him. With that money he could retire much sooner. To hell with Barbara, he could give her one of the houses if her nonsense persisted. Vincent sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. 'Where are the houses in Dublin located?'

Sean looked at Peter for help as he had only seen the houses once and was unsure of their addresses.

Without consulting his papers Peter answered, 'Two of the houses are on Leinster Road in Rathmines, while the third house is in Ailesbury Road.'

The address meant nothing to Sean or Fiona, but Vincent grinned satisfied that he need never again work a day in his life. From here on in, he would invest his money and sit on his laurels. Maybe he'd go back to his original plan and see a bit of the world. At this rate, Barbara could stay where she was. An address like Ailesbury Road and a house with that square footage would be more than enough for him.

'Right.' Vincent said, dying to ask how long ago his father purchased the property and how much was left on the mortgage. He guessed the Rathmines properties were flats while the Ailesbury Road address was in offices. He would have the rest of his life to view the houses and do the maths.

Sean paused before continuing. His son's hunger for the money was so obvious it reaffirmed his earlier decision to eliminate him. If he chose to visit his father ever again, Sean knew his motivation would not be money.

Sean spoke slowly and distinctly, 'I have decided to leave half of the land, 190 acres to Fiona along with one of the houses on the Leinster Road.'

Vincent's heart sank, he had not counted on his father being as decent towards Fiona especially when he had just given her the pub, a very profitable business for the rest of her life. It had never been in their family to treat the women as equals when dividing property. Nonetheless, it was still more than he imagined.

'The other half of the land and the second house on the Leinster Road will be left in trust for your two children,' he said to Vincent. 'When they reach 25, which is a mature enough age to know what they want, they will receive all of their inheritance. Between now and the time they come of age, the rent from the lease of the land will be deposited to your wife's account each month. From what I can see, she does the raring of your children, so she will know where to spend the money wisely.'

Vincent opened his mouth but words would not come.

Despite Vincent's gaping mouth, Sean continued, 'The house in Ailesbury Road is the only piece of property I am undecided about. Depending on how you behave yourself,' he looked at Vincent and hoped against hope, it would belong to his son, 'it may be yours, but I will decide down the line.'

It took a few moments to register with Vincent, slowly he sat back on the couch, quizzically he viewed he father.

'What are you doing?' he murmured, thinking his father had forgotten someone.

'I'm leaving the legacy of generations of hard work to those who will respect it, Vincent, and hopefully those who will have a healthy respect for others,' he answered calmly.

Peter ignored the exchange and handed Fiona the papers to sign. He leafed through the papers indicating where her signature was required.

'You think I wouldn't appreciate it?' Vincent continued. His dreams had just been snatched from him.

'I don't believe so,' Sean answered without emotion.

Unfortunately Vincent believed he was entitled to everything, until recently Sean also believed it was his son's entitlement. By omitting Vincent, Sean was breaking with every one of his forefather's traditions. Since he made up his mind, he felt a new freedom and unyielding justification. If anything for the sake and betterment of the simple soil.

Within moments Peter had packed his briefcase. In his long career as a solicitor, he had encountered several different Vincent O'Donnell types, thankfully, his kind were rare, but did exist.

In silence Fiona showed him out, willing night to come when she could be alone to absorb the day's events.

'How could you do this to me?' Vincent asked his father again. 'A few months ago you were telling me that the land would eventually be mine, now you take it back?'

Sean didn't respond. His son would have a few years to think about it.

Vincent didn't want to plead, but there was too much at stake. He believed his father had based his decision on his affair, he tried to explain his reasons. 'I did have a brief fling with Lucinda Tidy, it only lasted two or three months, I can't remember.'

Sean noticed Vincent referred to their relationship as if recalling a trivial encounter with some irrelevant party.

'I'm sorry Dad, I never thought it would turn out like this,' he blurted.

'You're only sorry because you got caught, you're not in the slightest bit sorry.'

'I couldn't help myself,' Vincent implored, 'it's hard when someone like Lucinda . . .' his voice trailed off, he didn't want to get into a conversation with his father about sex with Lucinda.

Sean didn't reveal what Simon had told him the day they spoke in the hospital. Sean had believed Simon when he told him how he overheard Lucinda phone Vincent from the hospital. She begged him for his support after a suspected suicide attempt. Sean had been devastated when he learnt that Vincent had not turned up in the hospital that day. According to Simon, his son's affair was more than just a fling. It shocked Sean to hear Vincent speak so flippantly about a girl he courted for ten years. His excuses irritated Sean. Expectedly, Vincent had as little respect for women as he had for the inheritance he felt entitled to.

'I turn down women every night I go out,' Vincent tried to make his father understand. He sat opposite him imploring him, 'There are loose women everywhere,' he whined, 'I made a mistake.'

Noticing that Vincent had missed the point completely, Sean sat forward meeting his son at eye level. 'Lucinda Tidy was a young girl. Life had not been kind to her. It wouldn't take a genius to see how open she was to be used. You are ten years older than her and you took advantage of her.'

Sean was disappointed, 'I'm not angry with you, I know you for what you are. You're a selfish man. You have to learn that you cannot play with other people's lives to suit your urges. Now grow up son while you're still young, try and be something to your family.'

That night Sean went to the bar and met the locals. After spending so long deliberating over the future of his estate, his final decision came as an enormous relief. Tradition had demanded too much for too many generations. He was not obliged to hand his son something he knew he detested. Sean did not expect any of his children or grandchildren to farm with such an uncertain future. Why should young people break their back doing a seven day week job? Their generation didn't need to work as hard as he had. But at least he could give his grandchildren the choice. He took his heart tablets before going to bed, at least when God took him, he could go to meet his maker content that he had done what his conscience demanded.

When the last customer of the night left and the rest of the house slept, Fiona cleared the floor preparing it to be washed first thing in the morning. She put the stools, chairs and small tables upside down on the sofas, and the last of the glasses were in the dishwasher. All windows were locked. Before bolting the main door, Fiona always stepped outside into the night air. She looked up and down both sides of the street; like most nights, she noticed nothing unusual. The same lights from the same shop fronts, like many other nights, winter and summer, the sky was clear and the stars flickered. Sean referred to the stars as the night lights when she was a child. But after the day's events she saw the scene through different eyes, the adult she had become and the young woman she had to free. It was the first night when she didn't feel burdened or confined with limited options. Her regret that she would never experience a world beyond Tipperary had subsided along with her gnawing impatience at her situation. Fiona felt comfortable with the prospect of spending the rest of her life rooted in Tipperary among her own.

Once inside the door, while bolting it top and bottom, the tears she had kept at bay all day rebelled and poured. Fiona sank to her knees and cried for the girl she had been, the many mistakes she had made wittingly and innocently, including marriage. She cried for the loss of a blinded love she had cherished, and came to realise its strength had never existed. The loss of a man who could not accept himself, or those who loved him, the years she wasted trying to resurrect a love that had never existed. More than anything, she cried knowing her father had finally forgiven her, and in time she could learn to forgive herself.

Barbara sat alone and in silence for a long time after Vincent had gone. During stages of that afternoon took solace from the mild day outside. None of the branches on the beech tree moved, there was no breeze or any extraordinary weather condition. The only extreme conditions were within her own home. By late evening, Barbara finally closed the curtains and reluctantly switched on the lights. Finally she accepted her share of the responsibility. Vincent was always happiest when situations suited him and she had done everything to accommodate him. In the early stages of the marriage, Barbara believed she acted out of love, but for the last few years she only wanted a peaceful life. She was appalled at his tactics, but not surprised. They were tactics she suspected he would use but was surprised he had been so blatant. When Barbara did step into the night to collect the children, she noticed the everyday things she had grown to love, all of the niceties of the neighbourhood she knew she couldn't release.

She realised she had now become one of those women she read about, the women in unhappy marriages with no way out. Her role in life had reversed. It seemed like another girl had lived her single life, met Vincent and acted on what came naturally to her. Barbara was only too happy to be the wife and mother. It was what she always wanted, but she never anticipated her life turning sour, she never experienced the meanness she saw that morning from Vincent. Barbara couldn't take her children from their friends or the security of the local school. Relocating was incomprehensible to Barbara and finding employment seemed out of her reach. What could she do for a living with virtually no qualification beyond a secretarial course? None of it had ever occurred to Barbara. She wondered where Vincent would have drawn the line? If she had insisted on a separation from him, would he have allowed his children to be reared in a high-risk neighbourhood rather than provide for them? She knew she could never put him to that test, not because she enjoyed the so called luxuries, but her life was no longer her own. Her sons would always take priority. With resignation she stepped into the night, prepared to face the rest of her life with a man she resented for the sake of her children.

# CHAPTER 26

Alice explained one of The Sickly Prince's latest theories, 'We are always completing smaller circles of segments of the largest circle of life which represents our entire life, beginning the circle at birth and ending at death.'

Idly Rose twirled the ring on her finger, 'I'd probably have to agree with your Sickly Prince,' she said, noticing Alice taking another helping of apple tart.

'Are you sure you don't mind?' Alice asked raising the last slice of tart.

'Finish it,' Rose said, 'my mother would be delighted someone loved it.'

Although Doreen was aware Rose no longer ate as much sweet food, every time Rose visited Tipperary her mother had at least two tarts waiting for Rose to take back to Dublin. Alice no longer thought the stick thin figure was appealing so she usually ate the tarts Rose brought back. With her gain in weight and Rose's new shrunken frame, the girls were the same size. The day previously, and after a week of cajoling and encouragement, Rose got her hair lightened, styled and reshaped. She also had her first experience of getting her entire body spray tanned. According to Alice, it was a disgrace at her age to admit the latter. When it was Rose's turn to have her fake tan sprayed, Alice waited outside. To hear Rose screaming when the cold fake tan hit her body was hilarious. According to Alice it was worth the week she spent convincing her to get it done.

With Rose's weight loss, and new hair, it was still a shock to see such a transformation. As she spoke, she tried not to dwell on it, afraid Rose would become self-conscious.

'When you think about it Rose, our 24 hour day is a small circle on the scale of our entire life, not a very noticeable circle but it's another cycle,' Alice said.

'The Sickly Prince and I also came to the conclusion that with every cycle, we are mentally progressing.'

'How many circles do you think I will have to complete before I develop some fashion sense?' Rose asked indicating the shopping bags they were about to exchange.

'I imagine that would be many reincarnations away.'

Rose wished Lucinda could be present to witness her own completion of the most wonderful and surprising circle. Now that she was engaged to Aengus, she felt Lucinda's absence all the more. It had been six months since the fiasco in O'Donnell's Bar, not that anybody marked the occasion, but that was the last night the girls saw Lucinda. Rose missed her dreadfully and worried about her constantly, but now more than ever she wished Lucinda would resurface to share her good news.

'When are you going to let the world in on your little secret?' Alice asked when she noticed Rose gazing at her day-old engagement ring.

'I don't want a big fuss,' Rose said, knowing the girls saw her engagement as a legitimate reason to get dressed up and party. 'Aengus and I will probably drive to Tipperary tomorrow and tell my mother that her constant novenas and burning candles have finally been answered. She is going to be so relieved that her daughter is not going to die an old lonely delirious spinster.'

'When I heard the news, your mother was the first person who popped into my head.'

'Can you imagine the screams of joy and baking she'll do for that, although she'll be annoyed that she was kept in the dark about the relationship.'

Rose realised if her mother had the slightest inkling of a possible romance she would have been an embarrassing blatant repetitive nightmare, unashamedly forcing the marriage issue at the most inopportune moments, although more recently Rose suspected Doreen was beginning to regretfully accept Rose's attitude towards marriage. Yet it was easier to pretend she and Aengus were friends and subtly feed the rumour that Aengus was a homosexual. While they were watching The Late Late Show Doreen informed her about another newly engaged couple, then asked how Aengus was. Before her mother could continue in her usual roundabout way of approaching the marriage issue, Rose took her mobile phone from her bag and pointed at the young pretty male musician Ryan Tubridy was interviewing. 'I must text Aengus to let him know who's on TV, he just loves that guy, really loves him,' Rose said with exaggeration.

Doreen's expression suddenly changed from curiosity to horrified. Rose could hear her mother quietly gasp in disbelief, 'Sacred Heart of Mercy, what is happening to the world?'

Rose guessed that Lucinda changed her mobile number and she knew she had taken a few months leave from her job. Two weeks after the incident in Tipperary and after several unsuccessful attempts at contacting her, Rose rang Andrew. He told her Lucinda had gone to Asia and he hadn't heard anything from her, he was also unsure when she was due back to work. Rose didn't believe him. Andrew was the only one of Lucinda's good friends not connected to Tipperary and Lucinda would have undoubtedly kept in contact with him. During Rose's conversation with Andrew, he had been polite but neither of them mentioned the reason for Lucinda's disappearance. Andrew was as courteous as ever and said he would call if he heard anything. Rose didn't expect him to call.

'What occasion had you in mind?' Alice asked laying out one of the skirts and blouses they were about to exchange, 'A colourful Gypsy Party?'

'I thought the colours in the skirt were eye-catching,' Rose said referring to the layered gypsy skirt, 'and I thought the red in the skirt could be highlighted with the red in the blouse,' Rose explained referring to the red tartan patterned blouse.

'If you wear these opposite your fiancé, he will terminate the engagement on the spot.' Carefully Alice folded the clothes, 'We'll look for clothes appropriate for an engagement party,' Alice smiled hoping Rose would agree to having some kind of celebration.

Rose began to protest, 'I hate those showy events.'

'A small engagement party,' Alice persisted.

They gathered the shopping bags and began the ten minute walk into town, Alice's excitement was contagious, forcing Rose to think that maybe a small gesture to mark the occasion might be a good idea.

Just as Andrew had said everything was in order, Lucinda collected the keys for the apartment she would rent from him. As arranged, her car was parked in the designated space and in the apartment there were six boxes containing her clothing stacked neatly in the corner. Everything else was self explanatory. It mainly consisted of slotting back into her old life after six months of travelling. On Monday morning she would return to work, don the bank uniform physically and mentally and get on with life. Lucinda began to empty her rucksack doubting she would ever wear the fake labelled t-shirts or colourful flip-flops that looked so great in Asia but did not reach the mark at home. The new apartment was only a stone's throw from the old one. Everything was almost the same except she would rent from Andrew. He had offered Lucinda the apartment before her departure to Asia, during the interim he stored her belongings and car and promised to have them waiting in the apartment on her return.

Eager for rest Lucinda dressed the bed. She was so exhausted she felt she could have flopped onto the bare mattress and slept to eternity. Once she got between the sheets she recited Rose's home phone number knowing she would not call her, only wishing she could. Asia had been a fantastic distraction. During her time there she estimated that she had travelled more than the average person could wish to in their lifetime. Constantly on the go and preoccupied with new people from the most diverse corners of the planet, it was an ideal distraction, except at night when Lucinda closed her bedroom door and was left to contend with herself, she felt the ache of loneliness more acutely. The eminent feelings of regret loomed over her every thought. Regardless of how much she pretended not to miss any of the girls, her load would have been so much lighter if she could have sent an email, or if she thought she could meet them on her return. Every night she told herself she would make contact when she returned, but now that the hour of reckoning had arrived, Lucinda remained reluctant to respond to the countless emails.

When booking her return flight from Asia, Lucinda decided to call to London, Camden Town to be precise. It was easy to locate the bar in the area run by the Irish couple, Mike Caswell and his wife and their two children. Lucinda had never forgotten his name after she learned who her mother had eloped with. During her college days she learned that a man named Mike Caswell from Tipperary and his wife ran a great pub in Camden Town. His niece was studying the same course in college, a group of her friends went to the Tipperary pub in Camden and brought back great stories of the couples' wonderful Irish hospitality. Lucinda never forgot the name of the pub or the description of his wife.

The pub was not at all what she expected. It was a nice establishment that served soup and sandwiches all day. There was a selection of teas and coffees. She watched the girl behind the bar fill a pint. Lucinda noticed how they shared the same deep-set hazel eyes and oval shaped face but everything else was different. She waited until she finished filling the slow pint and the hissing beer tap stopped.

'What can I get you, love?' the bar lady asked.

Lucinda was surprised to hear a girl so much younger than her address her as "love."

'A ham and cheese toasty and a skinny latte,' she said quietly finding a neutral accent.

'Take a seat and I'll bring it down, love.'

Lucinda took a seat under the window with a view of the bar. She wore her tinted sunglasses and pretended to read the newspaper opened on the table. The old aching pain of regret returned and she wished Rose could be with her. Fiona would blow her cover by talking or overplaying the role of the detective, while Alice would be sure to attract attention by wearing some outlandish outfit.

When Lucinda saw her mother walk through the bar and address her daughter behind the counter she felt strangely calm and unmoved. The last vivid memory of her mother prior to her departure was the night she tucked her into bed. She acted strangely, lingering and planning a future that did not include her. Lucinda couldn't remember if it was the night her mother left, or a week before she left, only that her mother sat on the side of her bed and informed Lucinda that she might need to go away for a while.

'Where will we go?' Lucinda innocently asked, expecting to be included in her mother's planned departure.

'I will come back for you,' her mother reassured her, also letting her know she was going alone. 'We haven't packed your clothes,' she said looking around the small bedroom. 'We don't have anything prepared. I'll go, and come back for you in a few days when . . . when . . . you're prepared,' she said as if deciding then.

'I'll pack now,' Lucinda pleaded.

'No, not tonight,' her mother was firm, 'you make a list and keep it for me. Make a list of everything you want, then we'll be prepared.'

Her mother tucked her hair behind her ear nervously; Lucinda remembered how she paced her old bedroom, intermittently peering out through the curtains. Her mother talked while she waited, made plans to come back and bring Lucinda away when they were prepared.

'I'll make a list now,' Lucinda suggested beginning to cry. 'We can prepare now.'

'No Lucinda, not tonight. Make a list,' her mother made it sound exciting, like an adventure, a secret adventure between them. 'Make a list, so we'll be prepared and put everything you want onto that list.'

'Will I give my list to Daddy?'

'No. Keep it for me,' she said with a secret urgency. 'Keep it for me until I come back.'

'Will I write my list in joined-writing?' Lucinda asked what she thought were the vital components for her secret list.

'Yes, in joined-writing.'

'With my name at the top?'

'Yes,' her mother said pacifying her, 'with your own name at the very top.'

'Lucinda's List?'

'Yes, Lucinda's List.'

'So you'll know it's me.'

'So I'll know it's you, Lucinda.'

As Lucinda eyed her mother behind her tinted sunglasses she tried to establish her age. Maybe she was mid 50s but looked older. Her face was not gentle, her features were etched with deep lines like an elderly woman with a lifetime of too many late nights. She was thin, too thin and her hair was cut short and bleached blonde but her eyes were the same. Puffy and with dark circles, but the same deep-set eyes, only they told a sad story. It was her mother's English accent that made Lucinda leave. There was no semblance of Ireland in her mother. It was clear there was no room for her Irish past in her pub in Camden Town. There was nothing left of the woman who went for Sunday walks to the river for a picnic and to sunbathe while her father listened to the GAA on the radio. Equally Lucinda realised there was no room for her mother in Lucinda's life. She walked a short distance and bought a ticket for a tour bus. She watched London from the window deciding she'd come back and visit the sights at a later date.

Frustrated, Lucinda kicked off the bedclothes and realised she was only back in Dublin six hours. She had resolved the issue that had caused her greatest anguish but her own mistakes were taunting her already. During the dark hours of the night in Asia, Lucinda thought of the girls at home and wished she had been a different person. There were times when Lucinda wished to be anybody else except the person she had always been. During one of her prolonged days of self-pity, she noticed the poorest people etching out a meagre living in Bangkok seemed to have a richer quality of life unattainable to her. Lucinda knew her only hope of getting to sleep would be if she told herself she would call one of the girls when she woke, it seemed a foolish method of inducing sleep but it worked. She convinced herself that when she woke she would call Fiona, each night she chose one of the girls. Then she imagined that they would meet in Rose's cottage the following day. They would dress in their warm pyjamas heated from the hot press and talk into the early hours and eat countless biscuits. Rose would swear to start a new revolutionary diet first thing the following morning. There would be more late night party stories from Alice involving The Sickly Prince, while Fiona would regale them with stories from home. Lucinda would tell them about Asia and the characters she met on her trip. She would feel secure in their company and warm without any fire.

Sean kindly shepherded Fiona out of the bar. 'Go on and enjoy your afternoon,' he said. 'I can wait here till John gets here,' he said stepping behind the bar until their afternoon staff arrived.

'You're going to kiss your boyfriend,' Emmet teased. He was sitting on the bar stool waiting for his grandfather to take him farming for the afternoon.

Fiona ignored his cheeky grin but took advantage of her father's generosity and left the bar for a few hours.

Kiss your boyfriend, Fiona repeated his words to herself. If he was older, and not her son but a confidant, she would have answered him, 'Yes, we are going to kiss, but that's as far as we've gone.'

If he was her confidant, she could ask him for a male perspective. How long more could it last at the kissing stage before progressing to the next stage? Although Fiona had been married and was a mother, the dating game was alien to her. It was slightly nerve-wracking but wonderfully absorbing. She relied on the advice from the girls in Dublin who were more excited about her dating Tony than she was herself.

On her first date, Alice and Rose had specifically driven from Dublin to calm her nerves and give her a crash course on first-date-etiquette. When they felt she was trying to back out of the date, both girls warned her that an opportunity like this may not present itself again.

Propelled by the idea of romance, Alice gushed, 'It is imperative you grasp any chance of love, there are virtually no single eligible men of our age in Tipperary.'

Eventually when they deemed Fiona presentable, they stood back to admire her and Alice insisted on driving her to the meeting point with Rose in the back of the car offering words of encouragement.

'How did I agree to this?' Fiona whined.

'You have nothing to worry about, have two drinks, then if you really don't want a third drink text us and we'll collect you,' Rose suggested, 'but try and enjoy it.'

'I don't know if I'm able.'

'Just go with the flow,' Alice offered.

'But what if I don't know how to begin the flow?'

While they arrived at the venue, Fiona's protests were ignored. With Alice and Rose's hands on her back, they forced her out of the car, inch by inch until she was eventually sitting on the edge of the car seat trying to raise what she thought were reasonable objections.

'What will I do if I lose my voice?'

'Use sign language,' Alice retorted while Rose had squeezed her body from the back seat into the front seat and was pushing her the final inch.

'Maybe this is too soon,' Fiona said as she tried to squeeze onto Rose's lap, 'maybe I'm not ready to date.'

Rose forced her off and closed the car door, and then tactfully she lowered the window one inch.

Fiona pressed her mouth to the one inch gap with one final question, 'What will I say if he asks me something I can't answer?'

Alice lowered the car window another one inch, 'Do you think he's going through the box of Trivial Pursuit picking the most difficult questions and saying to himself, "A-ha, I'll catch her out with this one"?'

'You'll see,' Rose shouted out the window as Alice sped off, 'it'll be fun.'

Fiona was quick to realise it was pointless comparing Tony to Simon, the men were as diverse as their dates. Meeting Tony was like dating for the first time whereas her relationship with Simon was based around pubs. On her first date with Tony, they had coffee and one swift kiss. For their second date, they travelled out of town to watch the drama society's musical of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Three evenings later they met for lunch and a simple chat. Fiona was surprised how quickly and effortlessly they could talk and each time she left his company she anticipated their next encounter, although, there were moments when a distant but audible voice in her mind cautioned her not to develop any expectations, or be lulled into a false sense of security.

Since taking over the bar Fiona worked to a rota and took Saturday afternoons off, her last four Saturday afternoons had been spent with Tony. Like her, Tony was normally busy with his band on weekend nights, their only time off during the weekend was Saturday afternoons. By the time she arrived in Hayes' Hotel he would have a latte waiting for her. His crooked smile and the cheeky dimple on his left cheek had her anticipating another pleasant afternoon. It was an added bonus that her father did not object to the relationship. But then Fiona suspected he probably thought it only a friendship arrangement, not in the slightest guessing that his daughter's mind was awash with visions of every conceivable position with Tony.

From behind her desk in the chiropodist's office, Doreen Morrison noticed Fiona passing the window. She guessed Fiona was about to join Tony whom she had seen a few minutes earlier.

'Young love,' she sighed finally accepting that Rose would never marry in time for children. If she was honest with herself, she would probably never marry at all, but then there were so many women like her in today's world. Doreen believed society would no longer prejudice them for being the women who had no place in society. Referring to them as spinsters or old maids was a thing of the past. Rose would probably live a fuller life with its own strange advantages. Having changed her pleas to God for a husband, she now just prayed for her happiness along with her daughter's freakishly independent generation. None of her daughter's friends were married, with the exception of Fiona; even she was no longer married. 'Doreen Morrison, Chiropodist.'

Reluctant to have a big fuss made of the engagement, Rose finally decided to phone her mother instead of driving to Tipperary. It seemed wiser than going to Tipperary to watch her mother going hysterical with joy and dragging Rose to all and sundry to see the ring with their own eyes. Just in case Rose Morrison might be making up the whole thing they'd want to see the evidence, after all she didn't appear to have a boyfriend the day before, and then suddenly she's engaged. Rose could imagine how her mother would want everyone to drool over the ring and better still, have Aengus there to confirm his proposal. At least the following weekend when they'd go to Tipp, she and Aengus would be old news, or at least a little less fresh in the gossiper's minds. Rose would oblige her mother by going to all the relatives' houses with the ring and Aengus for confirmation.

'I have some news,' Rose said.

'Well thank goodness you caught me, I was just about to lock up and leave for the weekend. What's the news?' Doreen asked, pleased not to have missed the call.

'News of an engagement,' Rose said sounding like her mother.

'Well, I was just thinking of engagements myself,' Doreen said, 'Fiona O'Donnell just passed the window on her way to meet Tony.'

Surprise, surprise, Rose wanted to say. Despite your protests, I see your engagement obsession is still lurking like a starving jungle beast.

Doreen proceeded to tell her what she had been thinking, 'None of your friends are married, well, with the exception of Fiona but that didn't last long, so now that I think about it, none of you are married and only one of you have a prospect.'

Rose hoped Doreen would not share those tactless thoughts with anyone else.

'Not that Fiona's husband behaved as if he was married, the blackguard,' Doreen said with disdain. 'He was out drinking and womanising at every opportunity. Poor Fiona had a lot to put up with.'

Rose thought her mother would never shut up, she was bursting to tell her the news.

'Mother, I got engaged,' she blurted out.

There was a moment's silence before Doreen realised her suspicions were confirmed. 'You and Aengus.'

'Yes,' Rose answered feeling as if she had done something wrong. 'It all happened very quickly in the end,' she said compensating for keeping the relationship such a secret. 'We were just getting used to the idea ourselves, you know . . .' she faltered, 'we wanted to be sure.'

When her mother didn't speak, Rose thought it could be her mothers lingering suspicions of Aengus's sexuality, 'He's not a homosexual at all, I had to say something to stop you making suggestions,' she decided to tell the truth. 'I needed time to get to know him.'

Her mother remained quiet, Rose added, 'I'm so happy; we are so happy,' she repeated, worried that her mother was not bombarding her with words as she always did. 'It's great.'

Doreen finally spoke, 'At last, I'm so happy.'

Finding Doreen's lack of enthusiasm disconcerting, Rose hoped it was the shock that silenced her mother.

'Your father and I will call you and Aengus tonight,' Doreen said before hanging up.

'Subdued?' Aengus repeated. He was standing by the oven with a tea towel over his shoulder. They were in Rose's cottage and he was cooking a casserole, the only dish he knew how to cook.

'Doreen Morrison does not do "subdued".' Aengus said thinking of his vocal mother-in-law-to-be. 'Surely she must have gotten a little excited?'

Rose paused trying to articulate how her mother had reacted to the news, 'No, from the moment she heard the news, she became quieter. It's so strange. In fact, her voice did not raise one tiny bit.'

'That's very peculiar,' Aengus agreed knowing how loudly Doreen could bellow at something as trivial as an article on knitting. 'She's probably in shock,' he said taking the casserole out of the oven. 'Did she not say how happy she was that such a fine specimen of a man like me was joining the family? You know how I'm such a master in the kitchen, not to mention the sex slave I have become, or how I wait on you hand and foot.'

'No,' Rose said dryly, 'she only said that she was happy.'

Aengus placed two plates on the counter, 'Doreen might have a little competition in the culinary department now that I'm joining the family,' he sarcastically said as he dished up their dinner.

Rose laughed, 'What else can you cook apart from this casserole?'

Aengus thought for a moment. 'Casserole with turkey, casserole with fish, casserole with ham, casserole with chocolate and jelly beans, casserole with . . .'

'OK, I get the idea,' Rose interrupted him.

'Who's next on our list to hear our good news? Aengus asked.

'Only Fiona on my list,' Rose said.

'And Lucinda?' Aengus prompted knowing how much it would mean to Rose to hear from Lucinda.

'More than anybody, Lucinda,' Rose confessed. 'If only she would call me, she may not be in the country, or worse still she could be dead for all I know.'

Fiona began to skip. She could not remember the last time she skipped with joy. Never, she imagined. On her way back to work she met Doreen Morrison who told her quite calmly the good news about Rose.

'Married?' Fiona had said, 'But she can't be.' Fiona wondered if Doreen had lost her marbles and might be making it up out of desperation. Similar to women having phantom pregnancies, Doreen was having a phantom engagement.

'To Aengus,' Doreen informed her on her way into the church.

Of course, it made sense. Fiona began walking quickly then started skipping, she thought she would never get home to phone her. There were three missed calls on her phone from Rose.

'Is it true?' Fiona demanded the moment Rose answered.

'Oh Fiona, yes, it's so true,' Rose began to cry, surprising herself by finding it suddenly emotional.

'You're a dark horse,' Fiona joked. She was in their living quarters overlooking the town square. Equally, she too was surprised to feel the tears in her eyes, 'I'm so happy for you.'

'Thanks Fiona,' Rose said relieved she wasn't upset over being kept in the dark about the whole thing. 'I'm really happy.'

'We're all growing up,' Fiona said philosophically looking at the local shops winding down their business for the weekend.

She wiped her eyes, 'We're like two depressed clowns; this is supposed to be a happy occasion.'

They both began to laugh.

'Will you have a party? For once you can give us all a legitimate excuse to get good and hammered again.'

'I don't know,' Rose knew she was beginning to wilt.

Everyone seemed to want a party, even Aengus had mentioned it. He suggested it would be good practice for their wedding day. 'I might have something small here in Dublin, just a quiet meal and I might call in a favour?' Rose tested Fiona.

'You name it?'

'If I could contact Lucinda would you have any objection to meeting her?' Rose asked.

Fiona hesitated, 'I think Lucinda is abroad,' she fumbled forgetting that Rose had given her that information.

'It's a long shot,' Rose said, 'but I'd give anything to have Lucinda back safely with us.'

Judging from Fiona's hesitation Rose guessed she still blamed Lucinda for everything that happened six months ago.

'Of course I wouldn't object,' Fiona lied.

'It may never come to pass, but at least if it does it'd be great that we could all still be the best of friends.'

Doreen kneeled opposite the statue of Our Lady as she did several times each week for most of her adult life. The candles and statue were ideally located in a cosy alcove at the side of the alter making her visits all the more intimate. She lit a candle of thanks. Today she had reached one of those milestones that materialise every few decades in a person's life. After years of love, years of some work, some play, some encouragement and some sadness, at last, her daughter found a man to share her life with. Her sense of euphoria that day would be the closest sight of God she would witness on this side of life. For the last few months she had stopped praying for a man for her daughter, just enough strength for Rose to live her life alone.

After ending her call with Rose, Doreen phoned the auctioneer.

'Are you serious this time Mrs Morrison?'

'I'm perfectly serious,' she said, suddenly anticipating retiring so much she could have started packing there and then.

Finally she would sell her premises and this time she knew she would retire. Her role as a parent would never be finished, but at least she could stop worrying as much about Rose. From now on she could idle her days away content in the knowledge that Rose had been blessed with one of the greatest of God's gifts of finding true love. The only asking Doreen did in the church that evening was to ask Our Lady that Rose would agree to her mother hosting a big party to celebrate the engagement. For this once they would open their home to as many guests as it would accommodate. Doreen would prepare the most elaborate food; several mouth watering dishes popped into her head, no expense would be spared. It would be the party to mark one of the happier moments in her family's life. Not just the engagement but each of her children's achievements and her final official retirement.

# CHAPTER 27

Fiona had not given Lucinda much thought for the past few weeks. With the distraction of the pub, and meeting Tony and the time lapse, Lucinda didn't bother her as much. Now that she thought Lucinda would be back on the scene, it irked her all over again. She realised she had been foolish to think that she need never again meet Lucinda, events similar to Rose's engagement party would present themselves again. Fiona and her father were having a night cap alone in the bar after closing time.

'Will she have a big wedding?' Sean asked delighted to hear news of Rose's engagement.

'I never asked,' Fiona said. News of Lucinda's return had almost taken the good out of Rose's engagement plans. 'I'll hear it all when she comes home next weekend.' Fiona was sitting at the bar counting the nights takings drinking a glass of beer with ice.

Sean noticed his daughter appeared disgruntled. 'What else?' he asked. He was sitting opposite her with a whiskey.

'Lucinda Tidy might be at the engagement party,' Fiona sighed impatiently.

'So?' he asked waiting for her to elaborate.

'After all she's done?' Fiona asked finding her father's attitude equally as irritating as Rose and Alice. Although it had been six months since the incident, neither of them had discussed it in great detail.

Fiona slapped a bag of coins onto the counter. 'She made you have a heart attack, she nearly wrecked Vincent's marriage, she brought Simon back around the place, she wrecked the opening night forever, she ...' Fiona tried to think of something else she may have done. 'When I think about her I could scream,' Fiona stopped knowing if she continued she would start bawling with frustration.

Sean waited until he was sure she had finished. 'First of all, I gave myself a heart attack. Simon ruined the opening night, not Lucinda, and Simon didn't come back because Lucinda brought him back. He knew he made a mistake when he left in the first place.' Sean paused waiting for Fiona to hear him.

'How could you know that?' Fiona suspiciously asked.

'Because I spoke to him in the hospital,' Sean explained, 'and he said a lot more to me than he intended to.'

Fiona raised her eyebrows, 'Really?'

Sean ignored her quizzical look. 'As for Vincent, do you really think Lucinda almost ruined his marriage?'

Sean didn't wait for her to answer, 'Vincent was the married one, not Lucinda, it's up to him to behave like a married man. Do you think that Lucinda was the only women Vincent saw?'

Again Fiona didn't answer, until then she had not given any of her father's questions consideration.

Sean continued, 'I've no doubt there were other women in addition to Lucinda, but poor Lucinda was the one who got hurt.'

Sean didn't repeat what Simon had told him, how Lucinda phoned Vincent from the psychiatric ward for help and he rebuffed her, or that Vincent and Lucinda regularly met over a ten year period. Several times he asked himself how his own son could have been so callous.

'Lucinda was shattered enough to believe the lies Vincent spun her, she was a very young unfortunate girl when they started their carry-on.' Sean passed the empty glass over the counter.

'Another whiskey?' Fiona asked.

'No thanks,' Sean got to his feet. 'Goodnight Fiona.'

'Night, Dad.'

Rose only agreed to have the party because her mother had behaved so eerily silent on hearing the news. It was as if Rose had wanted to cheer her up but now she sincerely regretted having played the selfless daughter.

'This one too,' Alice passed a third dress into the dressing room to Rose.

'I am not wearing that,' she whispered emphatically, passing the dress back.

Alice refused to take it and began forcing it back behind the curtain.

'No Alice, it'll look awful on me.'

'You won't know till you try it on.'

'It's too skimpy,' Rose said with her bare arm outside the curtain, willing Alice to take it back.

'You keep forgetting you're skinny now, it will definitely suit you.'

'I'll look like a heifer,'

'You are like an impossible child when it comes to shopping, just try on the fucking dress,' Alice said finally tossing it over the top of the dressing room curtain.

'Why did I agree to this bloody party?' Rose asked dreading its impending arrival, 'I hate this kind of thing. My mother sounds like she's invited every distant relative in Ireland and has narrowed it down to every possible acquaintance in Tipperary.'

Alice could hear the ruffling of material as Rose changed clothes.

'It seems my mother has hired caterers because she can't accommodate for the swelling numbers; that speaks volumes.'

'It's only the thoughts of the party you don't like, on the night you'll love it,' Alice lied, Rose would hate the fuss for the first hour, then she might finally enjoy it.

'Oh, I think you were right, this dress is very nice.'

Alice pulled back the curtain and gasped, 'Very very nice.'

It was a green silk dress with spaghetti straps and just below the knee.

'That is exactly what you need,' Alice smiled, 'say "Thank you my dear friend Alice for what you put me through".'

'Are we finished?' Rose asked with a hopeful glint.

'Shoes, make-up and that's it.'

'Thanks be to God.'

'You sound like someone on the dentist's chair squirming under the drill,' Alice sighed finding it slightly funny. Later she'd tell Fiona about their afternoons shopping and giggle over Rose's aversion.

'I feel like someone having my teeth pulled for a party I don't want to attend, not to mention the small fact that it's my party.'

'What are you going to be like on the morning of your wedding?'

'With all of this party pressure, I expect to have developed a heroin addiction so I won't really care as long as I have my fix.'

The girls stepped onto Grafton Street with Alice taking the lead and laughing at the unlikelihood of Rose's wedding morning. 'That makes two of us if I have to shop for the wedding dress with you.'

Lucinda Tidy stepped out of the hairdressers onto Grafton Street and nearly collided with two girls baring an uncanny resemblance to Rose and Alice. Except one was a thinner version of Rose and the other a fatter version of Alice. The sight of the two look-alikes wearing their sunglasses reignited her sense of loss again. Her heart sank; there was no getting away from missing them. Since returning from Asia, Lucinda spent the first week pining for her friends, shocked their absence could have affected her as much. Every thought was dominated by the girls, whether she was reading an article that would interest Rose, or the sequel to a book Fiona would love, or wondering if Alice would like to see Michael Bublé in concert, or if all four of them could avail of the weekend deal in her favourite retreat. Despite the fact that she did her best to ignore all reminders of the girls she seemed to think of them incessantly throughout the day.

Andrew suggested something that prompted her to make some changes. 'Why don't you write one of your lists?' he began.

They were having lunch and he placed the unused serviette before her. Jokingly he ironed out the serviette with his hands, 'Start your list as usual with Lucinda's List at the top, then write each of the girls names, Rose, Fiona, Alice, and pick one of the names and ring them. Just ring one of them,' he implored.

Lucinda didn't look convinced, 'I don't need to write lists anymore.'

'Did you have a lobotomy when you were away?' He shook his head in pretend disbelief, 'You really have changed.'

Lucinda was brief and moved off the subject of her list, 'No, I don't need to remind myself with lists anymore,' she said quietly, 'as for ringing the girls,' she paused trying to find the right words, 'I simply cannot do that,' she answered flatly.

'Why not? They're not going to beat you up,' he said, 'at least you'll know where you stand if you make contact.'

The thought unnerved Lucinda, 'No not this weekend, I need to relax. I think I could still have jet lag.'

'You miss them.'

'No I don't,' she shook her head in protest, 'I've far too much going on to be thinking about that crowd.'

'You can't go on like this, they're your friends.'

Much to Lucinda's annoyance Andrew continued making her feel like Billy-No-Mates abandoned yet again. She was miffed she had not succeeded in playing the role of the socialite, too cool to rub shoulders with her old hillbilly friends. 'Of course I'm going to think about them, they were a big part in my life.'

Andrew ignored her excuses again, 'Pick the one who will give you the warmest reception and ring her.'

'I don't need to, I've told you, I am too busy.'

Andrew shook his head, dismayed, 'You're hilarious. You can't admit that you might miss someone.'

Lucinda didn't deny it.

She watched the two look-alikes continue walking down Grafton Street engrossed in each other's company. She put on her sunglasses and tried not to put her fingers through her new short hair. Not that she had any pressing engagement to attend later and needed to keep her hair in place, quite the opposite; she had nothing whatsoever planned for the weekend. She would ring Rose, exactly as Andrew suggested. She would ring the one who would give her the warmest reception. Rose would be the most gentle, she would also be the most concerned and of course she would suggest they meet. Their friendship would continue from where they left off with sleepovers and comfy girly nights in. She quickly dispelled the idea; the prospect of meeting Rose face to face created a painful ache deep down. It can only get easier, she thought, watching the two look-alikes walk out of sight.

Grateful the sun was shining Barbara picked her way through the Friday evening shoppers on Grafton Street. Running late she quickened her pace through the crowds fighting the urge to pop into some of the shops for a quick look. En route to meet a few friends for drinks, Barbara always loved town on Friday evenings, there was an upbeat atmosphere. Momentarily she looked vaguely at the lady standing before her knowing they had met somewhere but unsure where. Although she was wearing sunglasses and her short curly hair and tanned pretty face was very familiar, Barbara could not recall where they had met, only knew she should have known her. The other woman had certainly looked startled at the sight of Barbara. Both women nodded their acknowledgements and continued. If she wasn't as late to meet her crew she would probably have stopped and asked her where they had met. Probably some girl from Rathgar or a friend of her sisters, it would come to her later.

Barbara almost didn't answer her mobile, it was Vincent. She paused and looked at his name on the small screen unable to believe how her routine no longer revolved around him. Vincent should have known better than to bother her on Friday evenings, he knew it was her time with her friends. It was another clause she insisted upon if Vincent was to remain living in the family home.

'Yes?' she answered sharply.

'Hi honey,' Vincent began, 'how are you?'

Barbara didn't answer. He knew how she was, after all, they'd been together less than an hour ago.

'How are the girls?'

She had no notion of telling him how the girls were, or that she was running late, it was no longer any of his business now that they lived separate lives. Expressing her impatience had been easy, all she had to do was to think of the day six months ago when he would have allowed his children to be raised in a high-risk drug infested complex rather than pay for them.

'Vincent, what did you ring me for?' she was abrupt.

'Oh right, yea, it's just that I can't find Raymond's gluten-free biscuits.'

'The press over the microwave.'

'Great, I see them now.'

Barbara could hear him laboriously stretch and take down the biscuits. She noticed how Vincent repeatedly needed to demonstrate how much he was doing around the house.

'Great,' he said again. 'There was something else I was going to ask you . . . I can't think of it now . . . I remember saying to myself I must ask Babs.'

Barbara was beginning to tire with these trivial calls, during the past two weeks he had started calling her while she was out. Tomorrow she would reiterate the ground rules again.

'I'll call you when I think of it,' he said.

Barbara put a stop to it, 'No Vincent, only call me if it's an emergency.'

It was so liberating to stand up to him. She spoke firmly marvelling at how her new financial independence had given her strength and reversed the roles within her marriage. Not in the distant past she would have done anything to please Vincent, her objective had been to keep him happy believing that was the vital key to a happy home life. Sadly, if Vincent was happy, their home was happy. If Vincent was not happy, nobody could be happy.

'Oh right, of course.'

Barbara ended the call.

Six months ago, little did either of them know how the subsequent events would reverse their roles. Sean had beaten Vincent by being the first to break the good news to Barbara. After Vincent left Tipperary the night he realised how his inheritance would be deployed, Sean had phoned Barbara.

He had been gentle and make light of his gesture. 'With my heart attack and failing health I've left something for you and the children to help you over the next few years.'

'That's very kind of you Sean,' she said not realising how much money was involved. 'But I hope you're not bothering your head worrying about us. You have enough to think of with your own health.'

'You might as well have it now, I read every day about the expense of living in Dublin and the cost of raising children. My solicitor will be in contact with the details and a monthly sum of money will be deposited into your account.'

'That's very kind of you Sean.' Taken unawares Barbara didn't know what to say, unsure whether to ask how much money or assume to leave it in Vincent's hands, she also wondered if it was some farming tradition Vincent hadn't mentioned.

'Vincent will know what to do.'

'Barbara, this has nothing to do with Vincent.'

It was Sean's definite tone that alerted Barbara. 'I don't understand.'

'Vincent can look after himself,' Sean then mentioned an approximate sum of money that made Barbara's head spin. 'It will help run your house and help educate your children. I don't need any more money and I have several incomes, I'd like to make life a little easier for the likes of you.'

Sean didn't need to elaborate, he was not the type of man who wished to reveal too much and his daughter-in-law was clever enough to draw her own conclusions.

Barbara whispered her thanks utterly grateful she did not have to leave her home.

'I can wait Babs, I can wait,' Vincent spoke to no one. He was standing at the sink gazing into their back garden. His son Raymond started to laugh. Vincent handed him his gluten-free biscuit. 'Yes Raymond, Daddy's like the rest of the world, he's gone mad talking to himself.'

'Dada,' Raymond repeated accepting his biscuit.

Vincent wondered how long Barbara could keep it up. She was really milking the situation again but he would wait. Although he hadn't envisaged her tantrum dragging out this long, so many times he cursed his words the day he gave her the ultimatum. He spent the first month sleeping on the couch in the office, and then was forced to install a bed because his back was in bits. Then wardrobes for his clothes because Barbara complained, or rather demanded he remove his clothes.

She had screamed, 'This is your eighth time in this bedroom in the last hour, get some wardrobes for your office but don't disturb me again tonight.'

The old office was a mess. Vincent began to wonder again if Barbara was seeing another man. He visualised his wife sitting in the bar sipping her white wine with her new boyfriend's hand on her thigh. The idea was enough to make him want to punch the guys face in. The way she was dressed heading into town, supposedly to meet her friends. Barbara looked amazing, the suntan with her white summer dress caught his eye. Before she left she was standing at the sink, he had been so tempted to kiss her long elegant neck.

'I can wait,' Vincent sighed again.

Simon Keogh no longer swore to change his ways nor did he vouch to never again take a drink or have a bet, there were no more bad debts or hangovers. His current situation would be as good as it could get.

'How are you today?' the nurse called doubting words ever again registered in this patient's brain.

Simon returned his normal vacant expression. He had long lost the power of speech.

The nurses moved him to the chair by his bed. 'Any movement today,' she loudly called again taking his limp hand in hers. She interwove his fingers with hers and flexed his wrist forwards and backwards.

Simon moved his head in a circular motion. The doctors said it was not any form of expression, simply a spasm from his head injuries. The nurse wiped the dribbling saliva from his chin and thanked her lucky stars she'd be finished working on this ward for the foreseeable future. She found it soul destroying to work with patients who would never get better and death could be decades away. The man before her has a strong heart, they reckoned he could live another ten years. Ten long years of dribbling saliva and adult nappies she thought dismally placing pillows at either side to prop him up. His chart said his name was unknown.

'We'll be back shortly to feed you,' the nurse said. She moved his chair to face the small window with a view of the sky.

For most of Simon's days he watched the changing shapes of the clouds in the sky out his bedroom window. With his head injuries he couldn't name what he looked at, only notice their changing shapes. Now he concentrated on each cloud and saw it having so many shapes, and shapes within the shapes, and so many faces within the shapes. Each shape and face had different shades of white and grey, those colours and shapes were enough to occupy his day with his medication. On the very rare occasions when the sky was clear, Simon looked up at the empty view having forgotten there were clouds. Simon forgot how his brain had stopped working, he forgot how he miscalculated and picked the wrong opponent for his final fight. He would spend the rest of his days gazing at the sky and would never again know elation or sadness or joy. Once or twice over the past few months he had a sense of loss, not that he could name loss or what he had lost. He sensed he had not lain on a bed with his body wasting for the past 31 years. Simon believed he had lived somewhere else. He only knew dark and bright, and that one followed the other.

Andrew sat with his wife eating their Indian take-away. Finding it difficult to give her his full attention, he decided to make one final call to end his gnawing preoccupation. Andrew excused himself and went to their bedroom for privacy. Earlier in the day he had spoken to Fiona for the first time; after all he had heard about her from Lucinda, he felt he knew her.

'Well hello Fiona O'Donnell, it's nice to finally talk to you,' Andrew had said after her introduction.

On hearing his warm greeting it reaffirmed Fiona's decision to have called him. She spent the afternoon debating how to approach him, as she listened to the classical music on the holding system of the Bank she knew it was now or never.

'Andrew, it's nice to talk to you too,' Fiona used her business-like manner when dealing with Andrew, only because he had such a refined Dublin accent.

'What can I do for you?

'This may seem a little strange, but I need you to help me contact Lucinda.'

Fiona decided Andrew would appreciate her directness. 'I expect she told you what happened?'

'Yes she did.'

He didn't elaborate which would have at least given Fiona some insight into his opinion.

Fiona continued, 'Lucinda can be quite stubborn, I'm sure you know her well enough. She will never make contact with us, so I was hoping you would have an address.'

'Yes?'

Fiona realised that was her queue to continue, 'The thing is . . . I'm sure you know our friend Rose?'

'Yes, I've met her a few times, a nice girl.'

'Rose just got engaged to Aengus and we're having a party.'

'Rose and Aengus are getting married?' he interrupted her. 'That's great news; I assumed they were only friends.'

'We all did.'

'Make sure and extend my congratulations.'

'Sure,' Fiona faltered not expecting such an enthusiastic reaction.

Pity he wouldn't stick with the earlier script she had rehearsed as she read the pointers on her hand.

'In fact, I've met Aengus a few times, gosh, I'm really happy for them,' he repeated.

'Right,' she looked at her hand and saw "apologize". 'I'm awfully sorry to put you in such a dreadful position knowing how you and Lucinda are such good friends, but an opportunity like this may not arise again.'

'I see what you mean.'

'Lucinda has far too much pride to make contact with us, despite how much she'd like to.'

Andrew agreed, Lucinda needed someone to make her take the first step.

'The party is on Saturday night and Rose would dearly love to have Lucinda there.' Fiona's next pointer on her hand was the word "welcome" underlined and in capitals. 'She would be so welcomed by all of Rose's family . . .'

'But would you welcome her?' Andrew asked.

Taken aback by his question, Fiona wondered if she heard him correctly,

'Sorry?'

He repeated his question.

Fiona thought for a moment, her lingering silence was noticeable.

She closed her hand ignoring the rest of her pointers. 'Initially no, after the incident I never again wanted to see Lucinda. Actually I blamed her for the lot,' she was surprised with her honesty. 'For months I couldn't bear to hear her name mentioned. But not anymore.'

Her feigned elegant accent was fading, 'You know, I would love to have her back. I miss her. We all miss her, even my little boy.' Fiona was resigned to the truth.

After Sean pointed out what Fiona had denied to herself, it was easier to blame Lucinda. Far easier to judge Lucinda and point her accusing finger. She realised just how much she missed Lucinda.

'I see,' Andrew began, 'I'm really sorry about this but I'm going to need some time to think about it.'

'I understand, take my mobile and call me anytime.'

Andrew didn't discuss the matter with his wife. She would not understand and would have suggested useless solutions not familiar with a complex creature like Lucinda. Andrew knew he would suffer the wrath of Lucinda's tongue when she realised what he had done. Deciding not to ring Fiona, Andrew texted the address to Fiona, including the gate code. He hoped that this would be a new beginning for Lucinda.

# CHAPTER 28

Cursing Dublin city driving, Fiona cautiously meandered the car twice around the roundabout trying to establish the correct exit, and then stopped again at more traffic lights. She was trying to follow Tony's detailed map and clung to the sheet of paper for dear life. It was strange how she had given no thought whatsoever to the driving aspect of her trip, as she was one of those people who did not do city driving. As Tony went through the route with her, Fiona's thoughts were elsewhere. After receiving Andrew's text with Lucinda's address, Fiona made immediate plans to leave early the next morning. The sound of another honking horn made her twitch nervously. Since arriving on the outskirts of Dublin she was a wreck after crossing lanes and swerving dangerously closely to the other motorists. When Fiona completed the second roundabout she looked in awe at one driver sipping her coffee, smoking her cigarette and tapping her spare hand on the steering wheel to the music. Fiona was terrified to turn on the radio afraid it would quell the sound of warning car horns.

With the exception of Tony, nobody else knew she was coming to see Lucinda. Tony had kindly offered to accompany her but Fiona felt she must do it alone. Maybe she shouldn't have been so self-righteous she thought, as she swung out of the bus lane into more blowing car horns.

'Shit, sorry,' she waved at the female driver who shook her head in annoyance. 'How am I going to get back out of here?' Fiona began talking to herself.

When giving Tony a little background to the Lucinda saga she didn't tell him how much she had grown to hate Lucinda, or how jealous she had been over the years. Fiona had her own little confession to make to Lucinda, if she ever got there alive she thought, braking suddenly on seeing a vacant car space. On his map, Tony had marked in bold letters "Park Anywhere Here" with arrows pointing in both directions. Across from the gates to Lucinda's apartment block, she could see Lucinda's red MG sports car.

Waking early on a Saturday morning irked Lucinda, she had wanted to sleep as long as possible and be as rested for her next week at work. Apart from intending to read the newspapers and a few magazines she had absolutely nothing to do. By 11am she had read the newspaper and two magazines. She switched off the TV, there were only so many times one can listen to the morning news and one MTV video began to look like the rest. At least she could take advantage of her early start and do her week's shopping. It was too late to regret not accepting an invitation to play squash with one of her new work colleagues. It sounded like a genuine invitation and her colleague seemed nice but for some reason Lucinda felt compelled to pretend she had such a full diary.

'Not this weekend,' Lucinda said, 'I've so many people to see after being away for six months. It's totally crazy at the moment, I seem to be eating out or having drinks every night. I'm going to need a rehabilitation centre if this continues.'

Instead of playing squash she would do her week's grocery shopping which would take less than an hour. Suddenly the weekend loomed like a bleak reminder of her past sins. Just as she was about to relive one of her regretful moments, there was a knock on the door. She guessed it was a neighbour or someone to do with maintenance, as apart from Andrew, not a soul knew where she was. Nonetheless, any kind of a caller would have been a welcomed distraction.

The morning of Rose's engagement Alice woke again with The Sickly Prince. It was strange how she was still seeing him, despite several times intending to finish it. He had so many hidden secrets that he kept her coming back for more. It was more than just sex. His everyday generosity was sweet, along with his concern and gentlemanly qualities. If anyone was the immature one, Alice realised it was her. She regretted showing the girls the video clip of his movie, it had been cruel. Neither was she under any illusion that she was in love. She was unable to take their relationship too seriously, but somehow she'd forgotten that her boyfriend was not as dim as she thought.

'Babe, I know you think I'm a kid but I've got lots of feelings for you. You know what I'm saying?'

The Sickly Prince was young and impressionable and she thought he wanted to be too much of an adult, and sometimes wanted to take their fling way too seriously for her liking.

'Yes?' Alice was cautious.

'When am I gonna meet your crew?'

She loved his lingo.

'I don't know,' Alice answered with the same caution.

'It's just that there is more to me than socialising, making love movies and sex. You've got to move forward a step.'

'Right . . .'

Why not? Alice thought, never one to be too concerned what other people thought. Besides, the thought of the girls listening to his youthful lingo and alternative attitude tickled her.

'Do you want to come to the party tonight?' she asked.

'Rock on.' he smiled.

Lucinda blinked several times taking in the sight before her. Fiona was at her door, although she couldn't fathom how Fiona's solemn face could be staring back at her. Lucinda stood without speaking.

'I hope you've got a drink in there,' Fiona brought Lucinda back to reality. 'I need it after the car journey.'

Without thinking Lucinda stepped aside and jokingly pointed at her watch.

'To hell with the time, I need a drink,' Fiona complained barging into Lucinda's living room. 'It's beyond me how you drive up here. The taxi drivers would need to be on Valium.'

Outwardly Lucinda remained calm, but inwardly she hoped her body was not obviously trembling. Lucinda took a bottle of beer from the fridge and handed it to Fiona.

'Sit down Fiona,' Lucinda said with a quiver in her voice, then coughed to disguise it.

Fiona sat in the armchair facing the veranda. 'Aren't you having one?'

'Would you believe it, I normally don't like to start the day with a drink.'

Both girls laughed; the awkward silence that followed was a reminder of past events.

'You look well,' Fiona said quietly. 'The short hair really suits you.'

'So do you,' Lucinda stood at the foot of the couch.

'I might as well join you,' she said, getting a bottle of beer and two glasses with ice, knowing how Fiona liked her drink.

The sight of Lucinda made any feelings of ill-will vanish. Fiona was more than relieved their initial reunion took such little effort.

'You must hate me for what I did.' Lucinda blurted.

If Fiona didn't know Lucinda, she'd say she was challenging her. But she did know her, and equally knew how upset she would have been at her own behaviour. Yet Fiona's response would determine whether they could remain friends. It was so vital that Lucinda felt she was liked. Lucinda would rather disappear than only be tolerated. That was why she only allowed the best side of her to be seen. Foolishly she thought she had kept secret the nights when she would drink herself into oblivion and naively answer a ringing phone. They were the greater secrets Lucinda tried to keep, the ones that made her seem vulnerable or as if being Lucinda Tidy might sometimes be tough. She tried too hard to disguise the loss of her innocence. Circumstances left Lucinda searching into adulthood to replace the loss.

'It's just that . . . I'm . . . I can't excuse what I did and . . . I'm so sorry.' Lucinda finally said, 'I'm sorrier than you will ever know.'

Fiona cut her off, 'I thought you had finally given me a reason to hate you, but I couldn't hate you. I know you couldn't have discussed the affair, it was all so difficult for you.'

Lucinda nodded her head accepting Fiona's reasoning. 'I know it's entirely my fault but I wished things had been different.'

'I know,' Fiona said. 'We all have some regrets. I have always been jealous of your life,' Fiona confessed.

'My life, dear God, are you serious?'

'Yes, you have a freedom that I lost years ago. You can do what you want, whenever you want. Nobody needs you.' Fiona decided not to go any further.

Her affair with Vincent finally seemed to provide a legitimate reason to finally want to kill her. Up until that point, Fiona was occasionally fraught with envy. Lucinda had everything Fiona hadn't. None of the expected trappings of singleton life like her job in Dublin or her confidence or the stylish wardrobe appealed to Fiona. It was what appeared to be Lucinda's greatest source of anguish that Fiona had always envied. The simple fact that nobody needed Lucinda, she had no ties and was free from all personal obligations. Her father couldn't care less if he never again saw her; her mother was nonexistent and there was no child to need her. On days when Fiona felt burdened she wished she had made the choices Lucinda had made. She wished she could be free enough to screw whatever man she pleased without the guilt and discuss everything from the size of his penis to boldly marking him out of ten. Some days, she wished she had no one to mind or worry about, she wished for a non-supportive father and harsh beginnings, just like Lucinda, but she was different. Lucinda was quick to remind her she could never lead her life.

'Even if we swapped lives right now, you'd find someone to help or to need you. If you had a career choice it would have been nursing or childcare; something giving,' Lucinda said. 'You wouldn't be able to live my life for ten days, the same as me hopping into your shoes.'

Alice arrived at Rose's with The Sickly Prince on her arm. For the last mile of the road leading to Rose's home, there were cars parked at both sides of the road.

'These dudes must be minted to cater for this size of bash,' The Sickly Prince observed.

When they arrived at her house, it took Alice ages to find Rose with the crowd.

For a change Alice was wearing almost conservative clothes. She had a plain lemon dress, two new blue strips in her hair and big blue Doc Marten boots.

'Babe,' Alice began adapting her boyfriend's term, 'this is one of my best friends, Rose, and her fiancé, Aengus.'

Rose's jaw dropped in surprise; he was the last person she ever expected to meet. Everything Alice had said about him was true: he was truly exotic with the bluest eyes and high cheekbones and paler than pale skin. His tall frame had Rose looking up at him.

'It's lovely to meet you too,' Rose said, 'and put a face to the . . . stories.'

'Savage to meet you,' he shook Rose's hand and kissed her on the cheek, then took Aengus's hand. 'Congratulations to both of you.'

'This is Rose's mother, Mrs Morrison.'

'Savage to meet you too,' he said as he handed her a bottle of wine.

'You're a lovely boy,' Doreen said fascinated by his appearance.

'Cheers,' he nodded, and then raised his glass, 'let's party.'

'Let's party is right,' Doreen added enthralled with him.

Rose wore her new green silk dress and took delight in the compliments. 'It's hard to believe what a nice dress and bit of fake tan can do,' she said to Alice.

Alice thought it sweet how Rose continued to be so unassuming and still couldn't regard herself as being beautiful especially after losing her weight and transforming her hair.

'How is my glorious fiancée doing?' Aengus rejoined them after Doreen took him round to meet every possible relative, friend and acquaintance whom Doreen dragged from the woodwork for the party. 'I've been pinched so many times I've lost feeling,' Aengus said. 'Seemingly, they only want to see if I'm real.'

'Yes, someone asked me if I've hired you as a prop.'

Aengus slipped his hand around her waist, 'Did you tell them the truth, that I'm such rarity money couldn't buy me. I can remind you later when the congregation of Munster go home,' he joked pointing at the full marquee erected in the back lawn.

'The engagement only allows us the provisional licence,' Rose pointed out their sleeping arrangements while at her parents, 'I'm afraid it will be separate bedrooms until the wedding ring is securely upon my finger.'

'Aengus, where is Aengus?' They could hear Doreen heading in her direction.

'Oh no,' he groaned, 'I didn't believe it was possible to be introduced to so many people in one night.'

'Sorry Aengus, Mother is so overjoyed, she can die happily.'

'She actually said those very words to someone,' Aengus had gaped in astonishment that someone could be so honest.

'Yes Doreen?' Aengus bravely stepped forward.

'I want you to meet some of my bridge friends, they've just arrived and are dying for a look at you,' Doreen shamelessly shouted.

Rose watched with a swell of pride as Doreen introduced Aengus to members of the Pleated Skirt and Frilly Blouse Crew. As only Aengus could be, he shook their hands warmly and chatted, interested in what each one had to say. There were few people in life as open or unaffected or brilliant or beautiful, Rose was still bowled over by the extent of her love for him. Neither of them were overly expressive about their relationship but both had never felt so strongly about anyone else. Rose recalled the night she finally stopped fighting the feelings. Until that point Rose had convinced herself she only slept with Aengus because she needed an occasional night of passion. She had argued long and hard with the girls that sex was a necessity along with food and oxygen.

The night Aengus proposed to her, he was admirably honest. The night was uneventful without any occurrence but one she'd never forget.

Aengus had tenderly placed his hand on hers; the intent of his movement had surprised Rose.

'I love you,' he spoke so gently Rose was struck by the strength of his gesture.

'I can come to your cottage for the rest of my life, and both of us can play this fanciful charade, but the bottom line is, I love you and will spend the rest of my life pretending if that's what it takes to see you, but I need to tell you.'

That night they went to the bedroom hand in hand and made love. It was the first time there was a welcomed level of acceptance and Rose was learning to make love less hastily. She wondered what Lucinda would make of it all; she wished again that Lucinda could have been around for the past few months, if only to have relationship chats. Lucinda would not know what to think if Rose instigated those chats; the eternal matter-of-fact Rose thought she was immune to the silliness of romance.

Alice must have read her mind, 'Lucinda would love to be here.'

'I was just thinking the same thing,' Rose confessed sadly.

It took a lot of convincing to get Lucinda to the last leg of journey and attend Rose's party.

'Fiona, I'm not entirely sure I want to go, but for Rose of course I'd love to be there.'

Under normal circumstances Lucinda would have been bursting to attend. She would have spent the week writing her lists and planning what to wear and what way to do the hair, and applying her fake tan every night to give her the perfect glow by Saturday night but so much had changed since her last night home.

'As well you know my last visit raised a few eyebrows.'

'So will this visit,' Fiona could not pretend that it would be the same, 'but your next visit will not be as bad, and the visit after that people will have forgotten.'

Lucinda was quiet for a moment, 'They think I'm some kind of trollop.'

'But those of us who matter know the truth.'

'I could just phone Rose and send her a card or something. There are a lot of people who would disapprove of me, Doreen Morrison is a protective mother, I'm sure she wouldn't like any . . .' Lucinda searched for the right words, 'any controversy at her daughter's party.'

'Lucinda, we are not going to the political gathering of the year with the paparazzi waiting to capture the moment. We are going to a country engagement party where the majority will be delighted to see you, including Doreen and Matthew Morrison.'

'Not everyone,' Lucinda corrected her, 'there will be people there who must hate me,' Lucinda was thinking of Sean.

'Of course there will be some who disapprove of your behaviour but nobody can afford to point the finger, least of all my father. In fact, Dad was furious and told Vincent so.'

Lucinda was agog when she heard that. It was the first time Fiona had mentioned Vincent's name. Lucinda felt strangely detached from Vincent and the mere mention of his name would no longer motivate hours of daydreaming and fantasising.

'Alice will be delighted to see you,' Fiona added.

'You've an answer for everything,' Lucinda mocked her.

'You have to admit they're good answers?'

'Yes, they are,' Lucinda got to her feet. 'Give me ten minutes to pack a bag.'

'One more thing,' Fiona said.

'Yes?'

'You will have to drive my car out of this city, the thoughts of facing the Dublin traffic again makes me want to sit in this armchair for the rest of my life.'

Aengus and Rose walked outside hand in hand, 'At last, quietness,' he whispered, taking two chairs discretely to the darkened side of the house.

Rose responded with a kiss. Aengus wrapped his arms around her, 'What will the wedding be like if this engagement party is anything to go by?'

'Jesus Christ, I think I'd rather go to the most barbaric corner of Africa for our wedding if the engagement party is supposed to be a warm up.'

'I'd second that, we could outdo all those who go to silly old Sri Lanka or L.A. or the Fiji Islands, we'll shock everyone and go to the poverty stricken streets of Calcutta to get married.'

They both laughed and kissed again. Aengus moved his lips to her neck, then shoulders. Rose tilted her head back, savouring each wet kiss alive with desire for more. Unable to take it to the next level, in unison they suspended their urgency.

'Separate bedrooms,' Aengus wagged his finger, 'you'll simply have to do without me for one night.'

'Unfortunately so.' Rose lay into his chest.

'I'm looking for Aengus.' They could hear Alice approach, Alice was imitating Doreen. 'Another bus load of the Blue Haired Rinse Ladies has just arrived and are dying to gawk and quiz Aengus. This lot are from Offaly,' Alice teased. 'Quickly now, before the Donegal bus arrives.'

'Yes Doreen,' Aengus replied, 'Rose and I will see the auctioneer about selling our house to pay for the truck loads of elders you intend to invite to the wedding.'

Alice continued speaking in a high pitched voice mimicking Doreen, 'You've nothing to fear Aengus, except the fact that Rose will eventually become a Blue Hair Rinse Lady.'

Lucinda and Fiona had two glasses of wine from the mini bar of Lucinda's hotel bedroom before going to Rose's. After much deliberation Lucinda decided to wear a conservative black dress.

'We should have had another drink, maybe we'll be too early,' Lucinda said adjusting her hair and smoothing her dress. 'God only knows who'll be at this.'

They were in a taxi en route to Rose's, 'We'll have a few drinks while we're there,' Fiona tried to soothe Lucinda's jitters. 'We might not know a soul, it could be all family and if it is, we'll leave after one drink.'

'Yes, that's a very good idea, we'll make an appearance and leave,' Lucinda began to say, when noticing the line of cars. 'There must be a big GAA match in town.'

'Hardly at this hour of the night', Fiona said.

It dawned on both girls at once, 'Doreen,' they said in unison and giggled in disbelief.

They travelled the remainder of the journey in silence. Fiona noticed a subtle difference in Lucinda. The slightly aggressive stance had faded along with her urgency to be noticed. Quietly Fiona wondered if a few mistakes and a few months give someone like Lucinda space to grow up.

Aengus was refilling their wine glasses when the taxi arrived. Nobody bothered investigating who the new arrivals were. Fiona and Lucinda were heading towards the front door when they heard Alice's laugh.

'Alice?' Fiona called into the darkness, 'Is that you?'

'I am Alice Ruane's ghost, booooooo,' Alice said.

Rose and Aengus joined in, 'Booooooo ...'

The Sickly Prince noticed, 'and I am supposed to be the juvenile of the group?'

When they turned the corner and saw the lighting candles on the sun table, Lucinda could see them straining to see who she was in the dark.

'I thought you were alone, who did you bring with you?' Rose asked peering through the darkness.

'Someone you might remember,' Fiona stepped aside.

'Hi girls,' Lucinda said softly. It was now or never and it was too late to run.

'It's me, Lucinda, I just came to wish you luck.'

Before she had her sentence finished Rose was the first to jump to her feet,

'Lucinda,' she shouted.

'I can't believe how amazing you look,' Lucinda said finding it so bizarre to see her so thin and dressed in such stylishly way.

Rose hugged her with a swell of relief. Overcome with joy to see her familiar face she clung to her. 'You've no idea how great it is to see you tonight.'

'How could so much have changed in such a short length of time?' Lucinda broke free from her grasp and gaped at the sight of Rose.

'Jesus, have you all changed personalities?' Lucinda said at the sight of a healthier Alice.

'Fab to see you,' Alice hugged her.

'You too.'

The Sickly Prince approached Lucinda, 'Now that you've had your Ricky Lake reunion, I'd better play along.'

Lucinda and Fiona shook his hand, both murmured, 'Lovely to put a face to the . . . stories.'

'To the happy couple,' Fiona said raising her glass.

'Does this mean I can join your ghost group?' Lucinda asked, accepting a glass of wine from Aengus.

Everybody at the table was shouting 'booooooo' when Doreen appeared before them.

'What in the name of God is going on here?'

They began to laugh so much nobody could explain.

Doreen snatched the two bottles of wine from the table, 'The lot of you have had enough,' she said stomping away, not noticing Lucinda or Fiona.

Lucinda listened with interest to Rose's version of falling in love. Being the most non-dramatic one in the group Lucinda knew Rose's account would be played down rather than the exaggerated versions the others would have revelled in.

'By then I was getting dressed up for his visits and he was coming to my place smelling gorgeous wearing his good shirts. Then we had a sober kiss and from there it progressed.'

Lucinda noticed Rose didn't go into the nitty-gritty of the relationship or grade his performance in bed. Rose had finally surrendered to a love that was so evident to everyone else apart from herself.

Lucinda tried on the engagement ring and noticed the small diamond and ordinary ring. Typical Rose she thought, no need to buy a gigantic outlandish ring to express their love when neither of them doubted it.

Twirling the ring three times Lucinda made a wish for Rose and Aengus.

'Where will you get married?'

'Nothing concrete yet, we might get away from here in case Mother turns the event into a circus.'

Lucinda understandingly nodded at the loud music and throbbed marquee bouncing with people. 'I'm so happy for you and. . . your mother,' she joked 'both of you must feel so complete.'

'She's delirious with joy, can't you see the horde of people she's invited?'

'It's amazing but not at all surprising. If I saw someone from the local radio station it wouldn't surprise me either.'

From the side of the house they could see the marquee overflowing with party-goers.

'I thought mother had been joking when she suggested the marquee but now I see we could have done with a second one.'

'I am really happy for you and Aengus. I hope someday I find the real thing too.' Lucinda added seriously. 'While we're all here together, I can't tell you how sorry I am,' she scratched her head unaccustomed to apologising.

'It's OK,' Rose began.

'No, it's not OK,' Lucinda stopped Rose, 'I behaved dreadfully. I don't deserve any of you. I lived a lie for ten years, the amount of times I lied to each of you, I was impossible to be around when the relationship was going bad and you guys put up with it.' Lucinda stopped afraid she would cry. 'I don't know why I did it. Initially it was a bit of excitement and later I thought I had found the real thing. I'm truly sorry.'

'Ah now ladies,' Fiona interrupted.

Alice joined in, 'Tut, tut, this is very serious conversation for a party.'

'How dare I get serious,' Lucinda laughed, then began to wriggle her fingers, 'Booooooo.'

Aengus returned to the table after retrieving three more bottles of wine, 'Booooooo.'

The End.

#  Other Titles by Olive Collins Include:

 Crocheting with Kurt Cobain

