has a Dublin accent, but it’s not strong enough to make me think that he’s going to try and steal my purse.
If it wasn’t for the excessive tanning on his rippling biceps, he might be my type. Ciaran tells me that he and his mates all work together at Go Gym, and that one of them has recently appeared on the car-crash TV show Tallaght-fornia. It’s all so working class. I’m really slumming it now!
‘Really, Ciaran? Tell me more over another drink. I’ll have a Cosmo.’
I notice that Pam’s skirt hemline has definitely gone up a couple of inches. She’s so shameless! She drains the last of her Screaming Orgasm, and insists that her new admirer order another one for her personally. We all titter around the table.
‘So. And are you with anyone?’ Ciaran’s blue eyes penetrate mine.
I stop. Am I with anyone? Good bloody question! We’ve got the joint mortgage but no wedding ring. We also have our beloved fur baby cat. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? I mumble about needing the loo, and shuffle off to the ladies. In the mirror, I see a hot fluster has spread across my face. It’s a boost to my recently battered ego.
It’s one o’clock in the morning, and Pam has just spotted one of her ex-flings sitting across from us. The mood has gone decidedly downhill. She gives him the evils across the bar, and Emer and I stop her from lunging over there to tell him what’s what. We make a sharp exit onto the street, leaving the lads behind.
‘They were cute,’ says a sozzled Pam.
‘I suppose,’ I admit.
We stagger on, making plans for the rest of the night. Pam is demanding garlic fries and is slumped against a wall. She gurgles something about Leeson Street and the late wine licence. She tries in vain to tie her shoelace but slips and falls on the pavement. I laugh so hard that a bit of wee comes out. Then I laugh at that.
Emer has hailed a taxi. Says she’s had enough and wants to go home to David. Pam and I choose Leggs nightclub as the next venue. I hope we don’t get dancefloor-related whiplash again. With so much booze on board, we can get a little carried away.
‘Seriously though, Rebecca.’ Emer’s recently knocked back gin and tonic has taken full effect. ‘Are you alright, pet?’
‘Never better.’ The churn in my stomach tells me that that’s a lie.
Barry stalks down the driveway and revs his Jaguar into full throttle.
Who the hell does Rebecca think she is? Pampered princess!
As soon as he turns the key in the ignition, he fires off a quick text message so that she knows he’s on his way.
She’ll understand. She’ll listen. She always has time for me.
The car crunches down the driveway. Barry steps on the accelerator, unable to get away fast enough. Soon, the house is a mere speck in his rear-view mirror. He tunes his powerful stereo to 80s FM full blast and veers his sports saloon onto the Stillorgan dual carriageway. There’s very little traffic since it’s a Friday morning. He reaches the solicitor’s firm on Clyde Road in minutes.
‘Hey, Bar,’ Shelley looks up from her desk.
‘Hey, Shell.’
‘Got your text. What happened this time?’
Barry notices two brown paper bags from Maxi’s Deli – his favourite.
‘Thought you might be hungry,’ Shelley scoops her long brown hair behind her ears and pushes her glasses up to the top of her nose. She tears open the wrappers to reveal two breakfast bagels. One has extra mayo and a layer of crispy bacon, just how he likes it. They tuck in with gusto.
‘Suppose we’d better prepare for this conference, then,’ Barry sighs.
‘Forget that for a minute. What was the fight about this time?’
Barry rubs his temples.
‘OK. So, remember I said I was taking her out for a slap-up dinner last night for her birthday? Fecking Jacques of all places. Got her this bracelet she wanted. Cost a packet, too. I’m thinking… nice one, Barry. Some major brownie points coming my way. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘Nope. We drive home without a word. She’s got some bloody huff on about something. I thought she’d be happy. This morning she’s back to hinting about getting married. She’s like a broken record.’
‘Barry, honestly. She doesn’t deserve you. She’s totally obsessed with getting married.’
Irritation surfaces. He has felt this before with Shelley. It’s OK for him to let off a little steam, but he doesn’t want to hear anyone else saying a bad word against Rebecca. The gentleman in him wants to jump to Rebecca’s defence.
‘We’re just not on the same page right now, that’s all.’
‘She’s like Bridezilla. Dragging you to wedding fairs and band rehearsals. Ordering bridal magazines like they’re going out of print. Talking about cake tasting. Unbelievable!’
Barry feels guilt prick his conscience. He shouldn’t have told Shelley so much over the last few months. But he needed someone to vent to.
‘No. No, I mean… I love her to bits. Maybe I should just propose.’
Shelley closes her eyes. Is that a flicker of jealousy he sees? He puts the thought straight out of his mind. Surely Shelley doesn’t think of him that way. They are just friends. Aren’t they?
‘No. Bad idea. Listen, Barry. Some women want to marry just for the sake of it. Some girls I know? It’s all about the big day. You need a break away from each other. Don’t even call her. Don’t go home tonight.’
‘Really? You think?’
‘Definitely.’
Shelley stands to throw the wrappers in the bin and Barry notices how her tight jeans cling to her pert bum. He shoos the thought away.
At six o’clock, Barry switches off his PC, and Shelley comes to his office.
‘Tough day?’
‘Yeah. I’m swamped.’
Barry places a buff folder containing the documents for the conference next week under his arm.
‘I can read all this on the flight on Saturday. Gonna call it a day. Have a good weekend, Shell.’
Shelley closes the office door and stands close to Barry. She leans in closer. Before he can move away, her lips are wet and her tongue is in his mouth.
