Great! Would like to meet up sooner rather than later. I’ll be in Dublin in the next couple of weeks. Not sure of the exact date yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I have it and we can arrange where and when to meet. Aren’t you going to tell me your real name? And how will I recognise you? Or are you really a cartoon?
Claire smiled. Her avatar was a sexy cartoon woman. She replied:
I’ll tell you my real name when we meet. And I know what you look like – I’ll find you.
When they had emailed their goodbyes back and forth, Claire flopped back on the sofa, unable to settle to anything. She was so keyed up, longing to tell someone and go out to celebrate. But there was no one she could tell – at least, not yet. Catherine, the only person who knew about her blog, was on holiday. She would just have to keep it to herself for the moment. She went into the kitchen, found a bottle of cava in the fridge and opened it. When she had poured herself a glass, she finished making her dinner and sat down at the table. She would usually have turned on the television or read a book if she was eating alone, but tonight she did neither, enjoying the peace and quiet so she could absorb her news.
It was only later, after she had drunk half the bottle of cava, that worry set in. She was going to have to come outfrom behind her avatar and meet Mark face-to-face. She was nothing like the sassy sex bomb he would be expecting, and he’d probably be seriously disillusioned when he discovered she was just an ordinary girl with zero seduction skills. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to publish the book when he met her.
She needed a makeover, and fast. She didn’t have anything in her wardrobe remotely suitable for impersonating her alter ego. And she was meeting Mark in the next couple of weeks. She hadn’t much time.
3
As she got ready to go out on Friday, Claire found herself wishing she could stay at home, open a bottle of wine, get a takeaway and spend the evening curled up on the sofa. The weather wasn’t helping her resolve. It had started raining heavily on her way home from work, and since then it had turned into a newsworthy downpour that was already causing traffic chaos, making the sofa more appealing than ever.
But it was kind of Yvonne to ask her, and she felt she should make the effort – not just for Yvonne’s sake but for her own too. She needed to push herself out of her comfort zone. And you couldn’t let a bit of rain stop you going out – not when you lived in Ireland.
Her mother had been moved to the nursing home that morning, so she should take the opportunity to go out and spend a night with people her own age – or at least in the same ballpark.
As a concession to her comfort, she decided to take the car. That way she could escape whenever she wanted to, and wouldn’t have to depend on public transport or waitfor a lift from someone else. So, before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled on her wellingtons, put her shoes into a bag and splashed outside.
The Zone Bar was heaving when she arrived, and her heart sank. How could she have forgotten how much she hated this sort of thing? She searched the crowd for Yvonne and saw her surrounded by a group of solid, ruddy-faced young guys and tanned, waif-like girls in spindly heels and tiny dresses.
Even though she had made an effort, she felt dowdy and out of place among this glitzy throng with their sheen of wealth and privilege. They had the glow that money bestowed, from their subtly highlighted hair to their expertly manicured fingers. She felt as if she had wandered onto the set ofMade in Chelseaby mistake. Her eyes darted to the door. Was it too late to make her escape? She could tell Yvonne that something had come up at the last minute – some crisis with her mother or a problem with the car. But even as she thought it, Yvonne spotted her, waving at her from across the bar. She sighed, pulling off her coat. She would just have to grin and bear it, she thought, forcing a smile onto her face. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
‘Hi!’ Yvonne beamed, enveloping her in a hug. She was towering over Claire in a pair of vertiginous heels, and wearing a spangly micro mini that seemed to make her legs go on for ever. ‘I’m so glad you could make it! Lots of people have got stuck because of the rain.’
Damn! Why hadn’t she thought of that?
‘This is Ivan,’ Yvonne said, putting her arm around the guy beside her – a thin, cool-looking boy with streaky blond hair. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, and a little silver cross dangled from one ear. ‘It’s his bar.’
‘Oh, congratulations!’ Claire smiled at him. ‘Great place!’
‘Thanks,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Thanks for coming. Have a cocktail.’ He waved over a waiter with a tray of turquoise drinks. ‘It’s the house specialty.’
‘They’re totally yum,’ Yvonne enthused, swapping her empty glass for another.
‘Oh, I can’t, thanks,’ Claire said. ‘I’m driving.’
‘Oh. Well, have a mineral water, then.’ He beckoned another waiter with a tray of glasses and Claire grabbed one.
‘Thanks. Well, here’s to your new venture!’ she said, saluting him, then gulping some water. Ugh! She could have done with a cocktail. It was nice to have the freedom of her car, but the downside was that she couldn’t have a drink to take the edge off her nerves.
Yvonne introduced her to the rest of the group – Fionn, Leah, Philip and Chloë.
‘What do you do?’ Philip, the guy beside her, asked.
‘I work in the same bookshop as Yvonne,’ Claire said. ‘That’s how I know her.’
‘Ah, right. Are you studying?’
‘No.’
Philip looked at her expectantly.
‘I work full-time in the bookshop,’ she explained.
‘Oh, okay.’ Philip nodded. ‘You own it?’
