Claudia Carroll 3 Book Bundle. Claudia Carroll

after a week of exams.’

      ‘Fun? Did you just use the word fun in connection with the directors’ weekend? Because let me tell you, this is all about stress and tears and sweat and hair loss. Fun doesn’t even begin to come into it.’

      ‘All I’m saying is, will you just for once chill out a bit?’

      ‘I am. I mean I’m trying to. I mean, yes, I will.’

      ‘And another thing.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Given that it’s supposed to be a casual country house get-together …’

      ‘Casual? There are internent camps out there more casual than one of these bloody weekends, let me tell you.’

      ‘I wasn’t finished,’ he says, calmly overriding me, the way he always seems to be able to. ‘As a matter of fact, it’s about you.’

      ‘What about me?’

      ‘Remember when I was going for my job interview and you took me out shopping? Made me buy clothes I’d never buy in a million years? And I hated wearing them, but then they got me the job and now I’m so used to going around in non-sports-related gear …’

      ‘… And not wearing trainers all day every day, thank God.’

      ‘By now it’s almost become second nature to me to dress all, you know, middle-class. Whereas you, on the other hand …’

      ‘You have a problem with how I dress?’ I splutter, as the sudden bile of indignation surges through me. ‘Excuse me, my suits are all either from Reiss or else Karen Millen and I do actually own a pair of Louboutins, I’ll have you know.’

      ‘Ehh, let me hazard a wild guess. All in black?’

      ‘Well, yeah.’ I mean the soles of my fancy shoes may be scarlet red, but sure enough, okay, everything else is black.

      ‘Thought so,’ he teases. ‘Sounds like you alright.’

      ‘What’s wrong with black? It’s for the office and it’s practical. Editorial.’

      ‘Nothing wrong with it. I’m just sick looking at you dressed like you’re going to the funeral of an elderly relative that you didn’t particularly like and who left you next to nothing in their will. For god’s sake, this is supposed to be a relaxed weekend in the country, that’s all I’m saying,’ Jake goes on, reasonably. ‘So would it kill you just this once to wear a pair of jeans and a few casual tops instead? In actual colours too? You’d look good in colours.’

      Jeans, I think, miles away. Haven’t shoehorned myself into a pair of jeans since I was in college.

      ‘Look,’ he goes on, undeterred by my silence. ‘You took me shopping with you once, and now it’s my turn to repay the favour. You free now?’

      ‘Jake, you’re meant to be studying! I was only calling you to see how the exams are going so far.’

      ‘I’ve been at the books cramming since dawn and my brain is just about melted. I could really do with getting out of here for an hour and taking a break. Tell you what, I could you meet at the top of Grafton St. in twenty minutes? Come on, it’s a Thursday evening, everything’s open till late, you could easily manage it.’

      Suddenly the sound of loud shrieking comes from the kitchen as Lily and Helen, who are baking cupcakes, start having what sounds like a particularly messy flour fight. I cover the phone with my hand and stick my head round the door, nearly guffawing with laughter at the sight of their twin ghostly white faces, four big surprised eyes looking back at me.

      ‘NO, Mama, NO,’ Lily squeals excitedly, eyes full of mischief and energy, shoving me away and getting little floury paw-shaped handprints all over my neat black skirt. ‘You’re not ’llowed be in here! Me and Auntie Helen are making a supriwse for you!’

      ‘Give us an hour and come back then?’ Helen asks me hopefully. ‘Lily really wants to bake cupcakes for you.’

      ‘What’s all that racket in the background?’ says Jake. ‘You still in the office?’

      ‘Nothing. Nothing at all,’ I say, instinctively keeping my hand well clamped over the phone. ‘Ehh, look, I have to go now. But yeah sure, why not? I’ll meet you in ten minutes.’

      I hang up, dust the flour off myself, then tell Helen that I’ll be home in an hour or so and head outside to the car. And okay, so my head may be whirring like a Vegas slot machine with everything I have to stress about. But seeing Jake even just for an hour or so will calm me down a bit, I think.

      Somehow it always does.

      Besides, what’s wrong with enjoying these last few days of normality with him while I still can?

       Chapter Eleven

      The weekend is taking place not at the usual, intimidatingly posh five-star Adare Manor, but in slightly less salubrious surroundings, in deference to the fact that we’re in economic meltdown and the Post just isn’t pulling in the numbers in the way it used to. So for this year’s annual tension-fest, we’re in Davenport Hall, a stately pile now renovated to budget-friendly three-star standards, but crucially, with a massive golf course attached, so the T. Rexes can do what they all pretty much came here to do. That is, arse around the fairways talking shop and deciding who’s next for the chop. And although the thought of two full days away from Lily is killing me, all I can think is maybe, just maybe, if the Gods smile down on me, by the time it’s all over, I might be bringing her home a dad that’s chomping at the bit to meet her. Her dream come true, in other words.

      Anyway, the hotel is only about an hour’s drive from Dublin and I have to say, I’m sincerely and genuinely glad of Jake’s company on the way. Whatever tomorrow brings, I think, I’m just going to enjoy today.

      Can’t describe how lovely it is to arrive here with someone. Even if they’re most emphatically not your partner, it’s still completely wonderful and a huge novelty for such a perennial loner like me. Lovely to have a guy who insists on carrying my bags, lovely not to have to trip up the huge hulking stone steps to the hotel reception all alone and loveliest of all to face into the awful melee of the Saturday afternoon ‘meet and greet’ with an actual pal beside me. And okay, so I may not have actually chosen to invite him here, but now that he is, I have to admit I’m bloody glad of it.

      What can I say? After all my years of facing into crowded gatherings all alone with no one beside me, it’s beyond comforting to have a friend with me, supporting me. Someone who I’ve painstakingly prepped with all the ins and outs involved in the social and political minefield we’re about to step into and who’s somehow, miraculously, still okay with it all. Still hovering by my side, checking that I’m alright, making sure I’ve got a drink, every now and then glancing over in my direction, even when we’re separated, throwing me a surreptitious wink as much as to say, ‘you’re doing fine.’

      Must be really magical to be in a proper relationship with someone genuinely caring and supportive, is all I can think.

      Not that I’d know, but I mean, I’m guessing.

      And I have to hand it to Jake, he’s playing a blinder. Didn’t turn a hair when we were only allocated one room between us, and when I asked for a second one, was told the hotel was totally overbooked, so it was a case of share and get on with it. Turns out it’s a double room, so after a flushed and mortified silence from me, Jake just laughed his easy, relaxed laugh and gallantly offered to sleep on the sofa.

      It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what his bendy, Bikram-loving, Malboro-voiced ‘friend’ from Catalonia might have to say about this whole arrangement, but decided for once in my life to keep my trap shut. He hasn’t mentioned her once, so why would I? Even if I’ve a mental picture of bendy, supple Monique or whatever her name is, with both legs wrapped round her neck, going ‘Tell