never to call him again, and she left a message for Patrick Quinn.
Kitty went back to the seventh name on her list.
‘Hello?’ The phone was answered in a whisper.
‘Is that Mary-Rose Godfrey?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’m at work. I’m not supposed to be on the phone.’ The girl sounded about sixteen.
‘Okay,’ Kitty whispered, and then realised she didn’t need to and cleared her throat. ‘My name is Kitty Logan. I’m a journalist for Etcetera. Perhaps my editor Constance Dubois was in touch with you?’
‘No, sorry,’ the girl whispered.
Kitty sighed and cut straight to the chase. ‘Can we meet?’
‘Yeah, sure. When?’
Kitty straightened up, surprised. ‘Tonight?’
‘Yeah, cool. I’ll be in Café en Seine at eight. Good for you?’
‘Great!’ Kitty couldn’t believe her luck.
Mary-Rose hung up before they could arrange anything further like what Mary-Rose looked like or what Kitty looked like. When the bus arrived, Kitty jumped on with a spring in her step. Sitting down next to a man picking his nose and rolling the snot on the ball of his fingers couldn’t even dampen her mood. She examined her phone and contemplated sending Richie a message. She thought of the fun they’d had the night before and she smiled, then used her hand to block her face so that she wouldn’t look like a lunatic. But then she remembered how she’d felt that morning, awkward and cringing at the sight of his naked body. She decided against texting him. She took her notebooks out again; there was much work to be done. Though she had done it before, she Googled Archie Hamilton again, knowing a bit more about him now and what to focus on.
By the time she reached Café en Seine, she knew exactly why he didn’t want to speak to her, and exactly why she wanted to speak to him more than ever.
Kitty kissed the list before she entered the pub and thanked Constance again. She was beginning to enjoy this.
Café en Seine on Dawson Street was a series of bars spanning three floors, a three-storey atrium with glass-panelled ceilings with forty-foot trees reaching to the glass. The style was Parisian art nouveau and it was situated on a bustling street in central Dublin that consisted of restaurants, bars, cafés, the Lord Mayor’s residence and St Anne’s Church. Just a stone’s throw from Stephen’s Green, it was a popular choice for all ages, particularly then, on a Saturday night. Kitty had no idea where she was to meet Mary-Rose, nor how on earth she was to find her in such a gigantic place with numerous bars and darkened hidden corners and alcoves. You could spend a night there not realising that somebody you knew had also been there the entire time. Taking a seat at the main bar on a stool closest to the entrance – which also made her feel like she was in prime position to want to be chatted up – she sat with a glass of wine watching the door.
Her mind drifted again to the previous night’s exploits. She couldn’t help feeling disappointed that Richie still hadn’t contacted her, not even a text. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to, but she was sure that he should. She had definitely given him her number. She remembered little about the night but she did remember that. They had been perfectly sober when that had happened, and his number sat in her phone as proof that he’d existed at all. She thought about calling him, about how perhaps he was waiting for her and thinking exactly the same thing, when she heard her name being mentioned down the other end of the bar.
‘Are you Kitty Logan?’ she heard a man ask.
‘Are you Kitty Logan?’ she then heard a woman ask.
She leaned back in her stool to get a look at the people behind the voices but couldn’t see anyone through the crowd. She examined the mirror behind the bar to find their reflection, trying to get a glimpse of them before they found her.
‘Are you Kitty Logan?’ she heard more loudly this time, and she leaned back in her chair to see a young man in his twenties asking a smooth suit-wearing stockbroker-type man. Stockbroker boy wasn’t overly impressed with the question. ‘Are you sure?’ The young man looked him dead in the eye, all serious.
The group with stockbroker boy laughed and he seemed to relax then.
‘No little operations the boys don’t know about?’
‘No.’ His smile faded.
‘Okay, Sam, let’s move on,’ the female voice said and a delicate hand appeared on his forearm as she moved him on.
‘Are you Kitty Logan?’ she asked the middle-aged woman sitting with a group of women.
‘I might be,’ the lady responded.
‘I think you’re lying,’ Sam said. ‘She wasn’t Kitty Logan last night, were you, baby?’
The group of girls howled with laughter and Kitty felt they would stay with them for ever if she didn’t interrupt.
‘Excuse me?’ she leaned forward on her stool. The group next to her along with Mary-Rose, Sam and the group of women all turned to look at her. She raised her hand. ‘I’m Kitty Logan.’
‘No, I’m Kitty Logan,’ a deep voice came from the tables across the bar, followed by laughter.
‘You have a contender!’ Sam exclaimed, and as if they were part of a pantomime, people oohed.
Kitty laughed and stood to meet her contender, who stepped out from his table. He was four stone overweight, had a beard and he stood with his shoulders back, his fingers twitching as if he was a cowboy in a face-off. Kitty couldn’t keep a straight face.
‘I am victorious!’ the man declared, arms punching the air, and the small audience applauded. The cool stockbrokers looked at them as if they were all a bad smell and they turned their backs. ‘I am Kitty Logan,’ the man declared and he celebrated one final time and returned to his seat. While Sam went to his table to shake his hand and continue the good fun, Mary-Rose approached Kitty.
‘Hello,’ she said. A smile transformed her face and her eyes lit up. She was an extremely pretty young woman, and though she was dressed in skinny jeans, the highest shoes Kitty had ever seen and a simple tank top, she looked a million dollars.
‘I’m Mary-Rose,’ she said.
‘Nice to meet you. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find you in here but I see that my concerns were in vain.’
‘Oh, trust Sam.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He makes a scene everywhere we go.’
‘He’s your boyfriend?’
‘Hell, no.’ She scrunched up her face. ‘We’re just friends. Have been since we were kids. Our moms were best friends, are best friends, blah blah blah,’ she finished quickly.
‘Kitty Logan,’ Sam joined them. ‘We’re
