Читать книгу Just Between Us - Cathy Kelly - Страница 11

Twenty-four hours after National Hospital won the Best Soap award, Tara still sounded as if she was on a high. She’d loved the congratulatory bouquet of flowers Holly had sent that morning, had spent the whole day pretending to work but being too excited to, and now she and Finn were going out for a celebratory dinner in their favourite restaurant.

‘You mean you aren’t going to stay in and watch yourself on the ceremony on TV?’ teased Holly.

From the phone came the sound of her sister groaning. ‘No way! I’m going to tape it instead and maybe one day, I’ll be able to bear to look at it.’

‘I’m going out too but I’m taping the show,’ Holly said, ‘so I can make everyone watch it in future and point out my fabulous sister, who was really responsible for National Hospital winning.’

Tara was still laughing when she hung up.

Holly, who was running late, rushed back into her bedroom to paint her nails, then sat on the edge of her bed waggling her fingers so the sparkly lilac nail polish would dry more quickly. She still had to wriggle into the instep-destroying boots she’d bought to go with her new black trousers, though she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to bend over to zip them up. The Dolce & Gabbana corset, lent at huge risk by Gabriella from the International Design department, was what could euphemistically be called a ‘snug’ fit. Breathing was difficult, bending over would be impossible.

‘It came back because it was too big for one of our best customers and it’s going in the sale in January, but whatever you do, Holly, don’t sweat on it!’ Gabriella had warned the day before. ‘And don’t smoke!’

‘She won’t,’ promised Bunny, Holly’s friend and colleague from the children’s department, who’d been the one to wangle the loan of the corset from the fabulously gorgeous Gabriella. Gamine and funky, with cropped blonde hair and a way with clothes that meant her uniform of white shirt and black trousers looked catwalk cool, Bunny was Holly’s idol. There was no way Gabriella would have loaned it to her, Holly thought, if Bunny hadn’t asked first.

Both Bunny and Holly crossed their fingers regarding the safety of the outfit: strange things regularly happened to Holly, weird and unexplainable things that ruined her clothes. Coffee miraculously leapt out of cups and flung itself at her; drunks on the street crossed perilous traffic to lurch happily against her; perfectly ordinary bits of the footpath reared up to trip her. Therefore, it was entirely possible that some unusual accident would mean the borrowed outfit would get shrunk/covered in bleach/otherwise hideously disfigured in the Bermuda Triangle effect which surrounded Holly. But Gabriella didn’t need to know that.

‘I know it’s a twelve and you need a fourteen, but they look better when they’re tight. And it’s perfect on you,’ sighed Bunny, earlier that day, when Holly had struggled into the corset in a changing room in Lee’s Department Store, where they all worked.

The two girls looked in the mirror. In a miracle of wonderful tailoring, the corset had jacked Holly’s waist into tiny proportions, giving her a siren-like hourglass figure which she didn’t have in real, non-D&G life. Bunny quickly pulled Holly’s scrunchie off so that her poker-straight chestnut hair shimmered over her shoulders.

‘Now,’ said Bunny, delighted with her efforts. ‘You look amazing. Those boots make your legs look so long. When you’ve got my necklace on you’ll look perfect.’

‘You don’t think I look fat, do you?’ Holly said anxiously. She wouldn’t have said it if Gabriella was around. Gabriella resembled a very beautiful twig on even more twiglety legs, and fat cells would have blanched at the thought of daring to even touch her.

‘Fat? Don’t be silly.’ Bunny shook her head vigorously. ‘You look wonderful, Holly. You’re going to wow them all tonight.’

School reunions should be banned, Holly muttered, testing a nail to see if it was dry. Ever since Donna had phoned with the exciting news about the ten-year reunion of their class from Kinvarra’s Cardinal School, Holly had fretted. For a woman with self-esteem so low it could limbo dance under a two-inch fence, the prospect of meeting the girls she’d been in school with was one filled with terror.

Old schoolmates would want to know what exciting things Holly was doing with her life and what sort of fabulous men she was going out with. ‘Er nothing’ and ‘nobody’ would not be adequate answers. On the plus side, at least she’d lost weight since school, but she was never going to be what anyone would call thin. And what was the point of being thinner when she had nothing to show for it?

Donna, her best friend from school, was thrilled at the very notion of a reunion, and had talked excitedly about how lovely it would be to catch up with everyone.

‘Just think, our class together again after all these years. I can’t imagine some of them as twenty-eight-year-olds: they’re stuck in my mind at seventeen. Obviously, I don’t mean Lilli and Caroline,’ she said. ‘I meet them every day at the school gates when I’m dropping Emily off and they’re just the same, really. But there are so many girls and I don’t really know what they’ve been up to. So many of them are living in the city or abroad…It’ll be wonderful to see everyone again, won’t it?’

‘Yes,’ bleated Holly.

‘I heard that Michelle Martin’s coming too, which is a coup for the organising group. Who’d have ever thought that one of our girls would be a big TV star.’

‘Donna, she’s a news reporter, not Britney Spears,’ Holly pointed out, overcoming her anxiety in order to set the record straight. Michelle had been a total nightmare at school: loud, overopinionated and determined to get the shy girls (like Holly and Donna) involved. Anyone who didn’t go along with her (Holly and Donna, again) received contemptuous glances which implied that amoebas were more fun. ‘We used to hide from her, if you remember.’

‘No we didn’t.’ Donna sounded cheerful. ‘Oh it’s going to be such fun. You are coming, aren’t you, Holly? I know you’re madly busy and probably have zillions of glamorous Christmas parties to go to, but this will be fantastic. I know December’s two months away but I’ve already told Mark he’ll have to baby-sit because I’m going to stay overnight in Dublin. That’s the whole point of having it in a hotel, so there’s no awfulness about getting taxis and lifts home.’

Donna still lived in Kinvarra, but many of the school’s old girls had moved to the city, which was why a hotel in Dublin had been chosen for the party. Donna was doubly pleased at this. For a start, there’d be no chance of wild misbehaving at a reunion in her home town where gossip spread like wildfire. Secondly, she loved visiting Dublin and this trip would mean a bit of blissful shopping the next day without having to manoeuvre a buggy round too.

‘The only problem is what to wear?’ mused Donna, before going on to list possible outfits and why they weren’t suitable because they were old/unfashionable/too tight on the hips. ‘Of course, you won’t have that problem, Holly. When you’re going out every night like you, you know exactly what to wear. Mark and I never get further than Maria’s Diner these days and you can turn up in a sweatshirt covered with baby sick and nobody bats an eyelid.’

After a few more minutes of this, Donna’s toddler, Jack, began crying loudly and she had to go.

Holly hung up slowly and smiled ruefully at the very notion of her having a wild life with zillions of glamorous parties to go to and the perfect wardrobe for every occasion. Dear Donna, she hadn’t a clue. She thought anyone who’d escaped the clutches of rural Kinvarra automatically entered some sort of Hollywood-style twilight zone where life was wildly exciting, invitations crammed the mantelpiece and gorgeous men were forever on the phone, demanding to know why you wouldn’t go to Rio with them.

Holly had given up trying to explain that being a sales assistant in the children’s department in Lee’s was short on glamour and actually involved a lot of time in the stock room patiently folding T-shirts for four-year-olds. The only way a man would ever throw himself at her was if one fell down the stairs on the 15A bus when she was on her way up. This had actually happened, although the man in question had been a deeply embarrassed teenager and had practically run off in mortification afterwards. Holly had been bruised for weeks.

And as for going out, Holly was far too quiet to merit inclusion in the Lee’s party-animal gang. Parties in general filled her with horror. She became obsessed with what to wear, inevitably ending up in black for its slimming properties, and even more inevitably ending up in the kitchen because of the crippling shyness that overwhelmed her on social occasions. Holly’s ideal outing was the pub with Kenny and Joan, who lived in the flat opposite.

She had once explained this to Donna, but Donna would have none of it.

‘You’re only trying to cheer me up,’ she’d insisted. ‘There’s no point denying it. Exciting things happen in cities, not like in this dump. For God’s sake, they nearly declare a state of emergency in Kinvarra when Melanie’s Coffee Shop runs out of fudge cake.’

‘Kinvarra is a lovely place,’ protested Holly.

‘If it’s that lovely, why did you leave?’ demanded Donna, refusing to admit that there was any comparison between the fleshpots of the city and a small, pretty town sixty miles away.

‘Ah, you know, I just wanted to travel a bit,’ Holly said.

Holly wrote down the date of the reunion in her diary and began a plan of worry. This was similar to a plan of action but involved no actual action and, instead, lots of soul-searching ‘how-can-I-get-out-of-it?’ moments in the dead of the night. She also wondered how Donna had grown so confident that she was looking forward to this reunion. Marriage and motherhood must be a fiercely powerful combination, Holly decided. Why had nobody put that in a pill? Those pharmaceutical firms were slacking.

At school, she and Donna been drawn to each other by virtue of their quietness. They’d never been part of the reckless but popular gang of girls who cheeked the teachers, knew how to roll joints and went to wild parties with wild boys. Holly would have been struck dumb if faced with either a wild boy or a joint. She and Donna spent their school years in the anonymity of being good girls and Holly would have bet a week’s wages that half the girls in the school wouldn’t remember either of them now. Except as the skinny girl with the big glasses (Donna) and the plump, shy youngest sister of the Miller trio. The people she’d really like to see were the other anonymous girls, but they were the very people who probably wouldn’t turn up. Holly tried to remember them: Brona, who spent all her time in the library and Roberta, a terminally shy girl who was forever drawing pictures in a sketch book and who could never look anyone in the eye.

As the reunion approached, Holly considered coming up with a previous engagement and avoiding it altogether, but then her mother had heard about it (Kinvarra was clearly still a hotbed of gossip where no snippet of information went unrecorded) and had phoned up to make sure she was going.

‘Darling, it’ll be wonderful,’ Rose had said. ‘I can still remember Stella’s ten-year reunion.’ Her mother’s voice was wistful. ‘She loved it; and to think it’s coming up to her twentieth. Time certainly flies. Are you going with Donna?’

‘Of course,’ Holly said automatically. There was little point in explaining the difference between going to a reunion when you’d been as adored at school as Stella, and going when you were one of those people that nobody would remember. Or even want to.

‘What are you going to wear?’ Her mother’s voice was suddenly a mite anxious, as if she suspected Holly of going to the party clad in some wild creation.

‘Joan’s making me a Lycra and leather mini dress,’ Holly said, unable to resist the joke. Joan was a fashion student who lived in the flat opposite Holly, and her idea of chic was ripped, heavily graffiti-ed clothes with the words spelt incorrectly. Her mother liked Joan but wasn’t so keen on her eyebrow stud. ‘Only kidding,’ Holly added quickly. ‘Something from Lee’s, I think.’ She crossed her fingers. She was terminally broke, as usual.

‘Oh good,’ Rose said, relieved. Lee’s had a reputation for beautiful, expensive, clothes.

‘You’re such a label snob, Mum,’ teased Holly.

‘I am not,’ insisted her mother firmly. ‘I simply want you to look your best.’

On the other end of the phone, Holly grinned wryly. That made two of them.

By the time the reunion was upon her, Tara, Stella, Bunny, Joan and Kenny were also involved in her nervous state.

‘You’ll enjoy it, I know you will,’ Stella had said sincerely. ‘I loved mine, although I know you feel a bit weird at first because everyone looks so different and you’ve lost that intimacy you used to have.’

Dear Stella, Holly thought fondly. For Stella, school hadn’t been a place she’d been eager to escape from.

‘And I do understand that school was a difficult time when you were hung up about your figure, Holls, but you’re so gorgeous now, that’s all in the past.’

That was Stella’s encouraging way of telling Holly that she’d moved on from being a shy, overweight girl who wouldn’t say boo to a goose in case the goose told her to go on a diet.

‘I’m, going to wear one of those sumo fancy dress costumes,’ Holly said, ‘then whip it off and give them a shock when they see I’m not twenty stone.’

Stella had laughed at that.

Tara was equally supportive when she rang, but more direct: ‘Think of what a kick you’ll get from turning up looking a million dollars. You and I have certainly improved since school. At my reunion, everyone was stunned when I turned up looking good. Go for hot, Holly. Impress the knickers off them. Make them jealous. I’m sure you’ve lots of great clubbing gear at home, and you get a staff discount in the store, don’t you?’

This was true but Holly didn’t use her staff ten per cent to purchase going-out clothes. What was the point if you only went to the pub? Tara believed her younger sister shared the same sort of lively social life she did. Tara was always at parties and glitzy media events. It was part of her job. But although Holly could wisecrack with the same insouciance as her older sister, she could only do it with close friends and family. In company, her wit deserted her and she clammed up.

Naturally, the generous Joan did offer to design an outfit for Holly.

‘I can see you in a space-age, semi-Edwardian bondage look; a comment about school in general,’ Joan said, sketching on a bit of an old envelope. Somebody had given her a video of the director’s cut of Blade Runner and she had got a bit carried away with visions of the future.

‘Space-age, semi-Edwardian bondage!’ groaned Kenny, who lived with Joan, though not as a couple, as they both constantly informed everyone. Kenny was gay, worked in a designer men’s boutique, devoured Vogue as his bedtime reading and wished Joan would give up being avant garde so she could worship at the altar of designer Tom Ford, Kenny’s greatest idol. They made ideal flatmates because they could argue endlessly about fashion and, together, they could afford the pretty flat with the balcony that neither would be able to afford on their own. ‘Holly wants to make all her classmates pea green with envy,’ Kenny insisted. ‘Not make them laugh at her. Six-stone fourteen-year-old models from Eastern Europe with cheekbones like razors can wear that type of thing but on anybody else, it looks ridiculous. What Holly wants is something…,’ Kenny paused dramatically, ‘fabulous. And credit-card droppingly expensive.’

Bunny, practical as ever, had come up with a suitably fabulous outfit which hadn’t involved any credit-card action. Holly would never be able to thank her enough. Encased in her borrowed finery – Holly had promised Bunny she wouldn’t spoil the effect by telling anyone it wasn’t actually hers – even someone as self-critical as Holly had to admit that she looked OK. Well, reasonable. Passable. All she needed to do was not spill anything on herself.

Satisfied that her nails were dry, Holly stood up and took a deep breath before attempting to bend down and put on her boots. After what felt like ages, she zipped them both up and stood up, gulping in air like a deep-sea pearl diver.

She stood in front of the mirror, gave her hair one last brushing, and then picked up her handbag. She’d have killed for a cigarette but Gabriella would go ballistic if the corset came back smelling of Marlboro Lights, so she’d had her last one before she got dressed. How she’d stay off the fags tonight, she didn’t know, but she had to. It was a small price to pay. Holly practised her tough-but-sexy look in the mirror again. She even tried her Lauren Bacall, lowered eyes, look (Holly adored Lauren), but gloomily decided that the effect was more Bogie than Bacall. It was time to go. Holly had arranged to meet her friend at the train, take her for a drink, and then travel to the hotel in time for Donna to check in and change. What she hadn’t mentioned to Donna was that this plan would make them fashionably late for the reunion. That had been Bunny’s suggestion.

‘Make an entrance,’ Bunny had advised. ‘You don’t want to be hanging around aimlessly waiting for the party to get going. Arrive twenty minutes late and you’ll look as if you’re far too busy to get to things on time.’

Caroline and Lilli had made a cosy corner of the hotel bar their own, with handbags and jackets marking the spot and a double vodka barely diluted with Diet Coke in front of each of them for Dutch courage. The reunion was taking place in an annexed corner of the hotel restaurant, but the committee hadn’t been able to arrange a private area of the bar, so Caroline and Lilli had come down early to pick a suitable spot for their gang. Even ten years after they’d left Cardinal School, they still thought of their schoolmates as ‘their gang’. Of course, their lives had moved on a lot since then. Caroline had three small children and was a leading light in the Kinvarra Drama Society. Lilli had two little girls and worked part time. Sasha, another gangette, was assistant manager in the local video shop. The other girls, including TV star Michelle, had moved from Kinvarra, and were home rarely, which was why tonight was going to be so exciting: to see how well everyone had done. Lilli and Caroline knew that reunions weren’t really about meeting up with old friends – they were about chalking up the successes and failures of their peers.

Lilli consulted her list. ‘Twenty-five yeses, three nos and two who didn’t reply,’ she said. ‘That’s not a bad tally.’

‘I wonder if Michelle’s had any work done,’ Caroline said, getting stuck into her drink.

‘Definitely not,’ said Lilli knowledgeably. ‘Michelle was always naturally pretty. Her eyebrows are done properly now, that’s it. I don’t believe in plastic surgery myself.’

‘Me neither, of course,’ agreed Caroline, who cherished a long-range plan of having her eyes lifted before they got baggy like her elder sister’s.

‘You shouldn’t tamper with nature,’ Lilli continued, holding her glass with fingers tipped with rock-hard acrylic nails. ‘These don’t count,’ she added hastily, noticing Caroline’s eyes on the acrylic tips. ‘You can’t have decent nails when you’ve got small children.’

A lone woman entered the bar, looking round nervously and clutching a small handbag. Short and thin, she was not dressed in the frontline of fashion and her dark, un-styled hair hung limply to her shoulders. Caroline and Lilli surveyed her.

‘Brona Reilly,’ Lilli whispered to Caroline. ‘She hasn’t changed a bit.’

‘You’d think she’d have made more of an effort for tonight,’ Caroline whispered back. She and Lilli had pulled out all the stops and had made a trip to the city to check out wildly expensive, fashionable looks they could copy. They’d both had their hair and make-up done professionally for the night and Caroline, though she hadn’t told Lilli, had even had a seaweed wrap in Kinvarra’s poshest beauty salon in order to lose a few inches. Her corset-style dress was very unforgiving round the middle.

They pretended they hadn’t seen Brona and watched her go hesitantly up to the bar and order a drink. The reunion might have been about meeting people, but it was important that they were the right people.

Brona had been one of the people that the girls in Michelle’s gang had ignored. Mind you, so had Donna, who was now a friend of theirs. But that was different.

Any mild guilt over how they’d once treated Donna had vanished, because Donna herself didn’t seem to remember it. When Caroline, Lilli and Donna had accidentally met up three years ago at the school gates on the children’s first day, there hadn’t been any bad feeling at all.

‘Imagine, three little girls the same age,’ Donna had sighed. ‘They can go to school and be friends like us.’

Caroline, who was more thoughtful than Lilli, blushed at this, remembering how the more popular girls like herself used to ignore the school mice like Donna except when they wanted to copy their homework. Now that she was a mother herself, Caroline would have personally ripped apart any child who dared to ignore her own beloved Kylie. But Donna clearly had no bad memories of either school or Caroline and Lilli. All was happily forgotten.

‘Would you like to have coffee in my house when we drop the girls off?’ Caroline had said quickly that day, wanting to make amends.

‘That would be lovely,’ Donna smiled.

And that had been the start of their friendship. But despite three years of trying to get them together, Donna had never managed to reintroduce them to Holly.

Both Lilli and Caroline were eager to see what Holly looked like now. Her sister was famous and they were keen to see if any of the gloss of Tara Miller had rubbed off on her. Tara was in the papers occasionally, and had been photographed at several high-profile premieres. Consequently, Holly was more interesting than she had been when she was just one of the quiet, mousy girls in school. Fame by association was better than no fame at all.

Donna revealed that Holly lived in a fabulous apartment in Dublin, had a wonderful job in Lee’s and partied like mad. She also said that Holly looked like a million dollars. Caroline and Lilli, remembering the plump shy girl with the round, earnest face, wanted to see this for themselves.

Donna was frantic by the time she and Holly pulled up outside the hotel at five past eight. ‘We’re so late,’ she shrieked, leaping out of the cab and thrusting a tenner into Holly’s hand. ‘Here’s my share. I have to check in. We were supposed to be here at half seven, the meal will have started five minutes ago and I’ve still got to get changed…’ She fled up the hotel steps into the lobby.

‘What’s the rush?’ said the taxi driver chattily as Holly paid him. ‘When God made time, he made plenty of it. And it’s Christmas: no party starts on time at Christmas. I’d say you’d be lucky if you get your dinner by ten tonight, never mind by eight.’

Holly smiled at him. ‘My sentiments exactly.’ Bunny’s plan for being late had been a good one. When Holly had picked Donna up from the train station and taken her for a pre-reunion drink, she’d assured her that they’d get a taxi to the party and be there in five minutes. Pre-Christmas traffic, driving rain and the mayhem of late-night shopping combined to make it more like forty minutes.

‘Thanks a million,’ Holly said, climbing out of the cab and slamming the door. She moved away and realised that her scarf had got stuck. The driver began to drive off.

‘Stop!’ roared Holly in panic. He slammed on the brakes.

Naturally, her scarf had somehow infiltrated the door locking mechanism and it took five minutes of fervent dragging to disentangle it.

‘Thanks again,’ she said weakly, holding the frayed ends of the scarf and hoping that she could cut off the destroyed bits. At least it hadn’t been the corset.

In the hotel, Donna had checked in and was about to race up to her room to leap into her party dress when Holly appeared. ‘Come on!’ she yelled at Holly.

While Donna’s hysteria mounted as she snagged tights and spilt glitter powder on her dress instead of on her shoulders, Holly sat in a chair by the window and looked out onto the wet streets wondering why she’d come in the first place.

‘Let’s go.’ Donna was ready, still panting from her last-minute rush.

Holly got to her feet, both the corset and her new boots creaking ominously.

She shook back her hair and breathed as deeply as was possible with several hundred pounds’ worth of designer corset glued to her.

‘I’m ready,’ she said.

‘That’s a fabulous outfit,’ grumbled Donna as they went downstairs. ‘I hate this old dress. You look great and I look like I’ve been out milking the cows all day and only stopped ten minutes ago to get dressed.’

‘You don’t have cows,’ pointed out Holly, smiling at Donna’s mad logic. ‘And you look great.’

‘You know what I mean. You have that city gloss about you and I look like a bumpkin.’

‘No you don’t. And I borrowed this,’ Holly confided, breaking her promise to Bunny. ‘I was so scared that I’d look awful and the rest of them would think I’d never changed from being boring, fat old Holly Miller.’

‘But you look beautiful,’ said Donna in astonishment. ‘You’ve looked great for years. Haven’t you got a fabulous life and everything? What have you to feel scared about?’

‘Are you on drugs?’ demanded Holly, mystified as to how her friend had this inaccurate view of her life. ‘I don’t have a fabulous life, I work in a shop, I live in a flat I can’t afford, if I didn’t do overtime, I’d never be able to pay the electricity bill and my last date was a disaster.’

‘How am I supposed to know these things if you don’t tell me?’ said Donna crossly.

‘I’m sick telling you but you’re convinced I’m lying. You seem to think that living away from Kinvarra is like magic dust that transforms your life. It doesn’t.’

Donna stopped walking. ‘Right, so. We won’t mention this, though. I told the girls that you were getting on brilliantly and had men coming out your ears.’

Holly goggled at this. ‘You did what?’

‘I thought you were having a great time. Ah forget it, we’ll say nothing. Caroline and Lilli are great fun, you know,’ she added.

‘I don’t know.’ Holly was ready to confide all her fears now that she’d started. ‘I never talked to them at school, they looked down on us for being quiet.’

‘We were our own worst enemies at school, Holly,’ said Donna firmly. ‘We should have joined in more. That’s why I’m pals with Caroline and Lilli now. I don’t want Emily to grow up being all quiet and mousy like us. She plays with Caroline and Lilli’s girls and when they’re older, they’ll look after her. Nobody will call my daughter Speccy.’

So Donna had remembered. Holly stared at her friend. ‘And all this time I thought you were suffering from selective memory syndrome.’

Donna grinned. ‘No, I’ve just reinvented myself. Like Madonna. I’m making up for lost time. Come on.’

Caroline and Lilli were on their third double each. The bar was humming and they’d been mingling like mad, but there was still no sign of Michelle.

‘Stupid bitch,’ said Lilli crossly. ‘I always said she was unreliable. And where’s that Donna?’

‘She’s here,’ crowed Caroline. ‘And omigod who’s that with her?’

They watched in astonishment as Donna arrived, breathless as usual, accompanied by this tall, voluptuously stunning woman, wearing what looked suspiciously like the original version of Caroline’s corset. The woman’s dark hair fell gloriously around her shoulders, as glossy as if several catwalk hairdressers had been slaving over it for hours.

She hadn’t needed a seaweed wrap to squeeze her body into the corset; like a modern-day Sophia Loren, her figure was a natural hourglass, with a waspy waist that was surely narrower than one of Caroline’s thighs. Caroline, who’d put on a stone since her school days, wished she’d stopped her mid-morning Mars bar now.

The dark-haired woman was carrying an exquisite beaded handbag and her necklace was definitely the same one that Posh Spice had been wearing in Hello! Confidence oozed out of her like expensive moisturiser out of Estée Lauder radiance pearls.

‘It’s Holly Miller,’ said Lilli, awestruck.

Donna rushed up to her two new best friends, who clambered out of their corner to greet her and Holly. This was true reunion gold. Looking round the room, most people looked almost the same as at school, just with better highlights, real jewellery and more expensive clothes. Pat Wilson had had her long dark hair cut into a bob, Andrea Maguire’s red hair was now dyed a startling blonde, and even Babs Grafton had finally had her teeth fixed and sported contacts instead of heavy glasses. But Holly was totally different, like someone who’d just stepped out of one of those six-month make-over things on the telly.

‘Holly, I wouldn’t have recognised you!’ said Lilli, determined to get the upper hand now that she was faced with this much improved Holly.

‘Isn’t she fabulous looking,’ said Donna.

‘You look wonderful,’ agreed Caroline. ‘That’s a real designer corset, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Holly, overcome with the urge to tell them it was borrowed, ‘although it isn’t…’

Donna interrupted before Holly could say ‘mine’. ‘Wouldn’t we all like a staff discount at Lee’s.’ She gave Holly a prod in the arm and Holly took the hint.

‘…full price,’ Holly amended. ‘It wasn’t full price. We do get a discount.’ She hoped that Lilli and Caroline couldn’t tell there was a lie in the midst of all of this. Holly told lies with all the skill of a devout nun.

‘Tell us all about yourself,’ said Caroline eagerly. ‘I’d love to work in Lee’s; it must be amazing, all those famous people dropping in and out, trying on Versace evening dresses.’

‘I work in the children’s department,’ Holly said apologetically. ‘We stock Baby Dior but we’re drawing the line at sticking toddlers into sequinned evening dresses. It’s hard to get baby sick out of sequins.’

Everyone roared with laughter and Holly felt herself relax marginally. Normally, she was too nervous to joke round other people.

‘Still,’ Donna pointed out, ‘you get a discount. I must come up and look for an outfit for Emily’s First Communion. They have lovely dresses nowadays, not like the terrible frilly things we had to wear. Do you remember mine, Holly? It was awful and my mother put curlers in my hair the night before and it went frizzy and stuck out at angles like I’d been plugged into the mains!’

‘I bet mine was worse,’ said Lilli, shuddering. ‘My grandmother had my mother’s old dress put away and she made me wear it. It was all yellowing and too tight. I was a sight!’

And they were off, comparing stories about how awful they’d looked. Holly realised that it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. Lilli and Caroline seemed genuinely interested in her, and they weren’t the same arrogant schoolgirls she remembered. Lilli was still capable of being a bit sharp but Holly could cope with that now. And they seemed to think she was funny. Holly knew she’d been funny when she was at school too, it was just that nobody but Donna noticed.

As Michelle hadn’t turned up, Holly was certainly the most fashionable and interesting ex-Cardinal girl there that night and Caroline and Lilli attempted to stick with her. Holly would have preferred to talk to the other non-gang girls from school but she didn’t see any of them there. She’d met Andrea who used to sit beside her in art class, and Geena Monroe had thrown her arms round Holly and hugged her happily. Caroline’s once-great friend, Selina, who’d never even spoken to Holly in school, had been fulsome in her praise of Holly’s outfit, necklace and general improvement. But she hadn’t seen lovely quiet Brona Reilly who’d sat on her other side in art class, or Munira Shirsat and her best friend, Jan Campbell.

‘I think I saw Brona earlier, but a few of the girls didn’t reply to the letter,’ Caroline said when Holly asked her about Brona, Jan and Munira. ‘You’d think they’d want to meet up with everyone again. After all we shared together.’

Holly wondered if the other girls had been so nervous of a reunion that they had deliberately not replied.

‘You’ve heard all about us,’ Lilli said, when they were waiting for dessert, ‘and we haven’t heard a thing about the man in your life.’

‘Or should that be men?’ giggled Caroline, who’d decided that Holly was simply being enigmatic by not talking about herself. That this glamorous woman could be shy never occurred to her, and anyone who looked so amazing must have some gorgeous bloke in the wings. ‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘Tell us.’

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ said Holly.

Donna kicked her under the table. ‘What about that guy you were telling me about earlier?’

All Holly could remember was Donna talking about reinventing herself.

‘I bet he’s a hunk,’ said Lilli enviously.

‘Look!’ sighed Andrea, as waiters converged to place plates of butterscotch mousse, double chocolate cake and Hawaiian Surprise in front of them.

Donna took advantage of the lapse in everyone’s concentration to whisper into Holly’s ear.

‘Make someone up!’

‘Why?’ Holly hissed back.

‘Because I’ve told them you’ve got this fabulous life and I don’t want you to let me down. We were boring at school, we’ve got to make up for it now!’

Three spoonfuls into their dessert, attention turned back to Holly. She wished more than anything she could have a cigarette, otherwise she was going to eat all her mousse, and lick the plate, and she couldn’t afford to burst out of her outfit.

Caroline, Lilli, Selina and Andrea were waiting eagerly. Donna was smiling, encouragingly. Holly thought of how bad she was at lying, and then thought of how flattering it was that Caroline and Lilli really imagined that she could have a sexy boyfriend.

‘Is it someone famous?’ demanded Lilli, suddenly suspicious.

‘No,’ stammered Holly.

Donna gave her another kick under the table and Holly winced. She’d be black and blue tomorrow.

‘Well…’ They all looked at her eagerly. In fact, their entire end of the table was looking at her eagerly. All conversation seemed to have ceased as everyone waited for news of the new, improved Holly Miller’s man.

‘Go on,’ urged Donna.

Holly gulped. For some deranged reason, the only man who came to mind was the current object of Kenny’s longing: a male model named Xavier. Hard-bodied, blond-haired and with the face of a pouting archangel, Xavier reeked of sex, although Holly had it on good authority (from a drooling Kenny) that the only sex Xavier was interested in was not the female of the species. Trust her to come up with a fantasy boyfriend who was gay. Kenny would wet himself laughing when he heard.

‘Tell us,’ demanded Caroline.

Holly proceeded to describe Xavier in each perfect detail, leaving out the vital facts that he was gay and not going out with her. Lying by omission, she knew. What had Kenny said? ‘His lower lip is like a big biteable, coral silk throw pillow. Yummy.’ Kenny’s imagination knew no bounds when he was in lust.

‘A throw pillow, imagine. He sounds amazing.’ Even Lilli was impressed.

Holly smiled hollowly and took a huge gulp of wine. She’d kill Donna later.

But as Caroline and Lilli began describing their other halves in glowing terms in order to prove that Holly wasn’t the only one who could nab a handsome man, Holly began to realise why she’d gone along with Donna and lied. Feminism was a wildly outdated concept to Caroline and Lilli. Having a man was a status symbol to beat all others. Without one, Holly was low caste.

‘Hi, Holly,’ said a voice.

It was Brona, one of the few girls in school who’d been shyer than she was. Whereas Caroline and Lilli had disdainfully seen Brona as dull and unstylish, Holly’s kind eyes saw an old friend whose eyes glittered with a spark of fun.

Holly leapt to her feet and hugged Brona warmly. ‘How are you!’ she said delightedly, ‘it’s so lovely to see you. You haven’t been here all night, have you? Where were you?’

‘At the back of the room, I didn’t like to interrupt,’ Brona said, sliding mischievous blue eyes in the direction of Caroline and Lilli.

Holly grinned and bore her off to a quiet corner to talk.

‘You look completely amazing, Holly,’ said Brona in genuine admiration. ‘Poor Lilli’s eyes are out on stalks with jealousy. How are you?’

After a thoroughly enjoyable half hour, Holly had learned that Brona was working as a locum in Donegal having qualified as a doctor three years before. In her spare time, she painted, went scuba diving and she had just bought a recently-restored fisherman’s cottage on the coast. She was utterly happy.

‘Dr Reilly,’ said Holly, impressed. ‘Let’s go back and tell the gangettes and they’ll be wildly impressed.’

Brona grinned. ‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘I’ve learned not to want to impress people for the wrong reasons. Whenever I find myself rushing to try and let people see how clever I am, I ask myself: Why would I want to impress them?’

Holly flushed. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ she said, shame washing over her because that’s just what she’d wanted to do: to impress her old classmates. Why had she bothered lying? She was what she was. What was the point of pretending?

‘I used to be miserably intimidated by the Carolines and the Lillis when we were in school,’ Brona revealed. ‘But I’m not quiet any more. Med school knocks that out of you, and I don’t feel the need to bother talking to people who once looked down at me.’

‘No, you’re right, I agree totally,’ Holly said.

‘I was a bit nervous of coming here tonight, you see,’ Brona said, ‘and now I have, I’m pleased because it’s shown me how much I’ve changed and become a new, stronger person.’

When Brona left, Holly sat down beside Donna again, feeling like a fraud.

The conversation hadn’t moved on from the subject of men.

‘You’re so lucky, Holly,’ Caroline said dreamily. ‘I do love being married, but there are times when I wish I was young, free and single like you. I’ve never had the chance to go out with lots of men and have wild flings…’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Donna, who was quite drunk now. ‘It’d be incredible to not be Mummy for a while, and party with gorgeous guys. You can look when you’re married but that’s it.’

‘You can look, all right,’ giggled Caroline, pointing at the waiter, who was very young and good-looking. ‘Holly’s the only one of us who can chat him up.’

‘Do you know something,’ Lilli said thoughtfully, ‘he’s the image of that guy you used to go out with, Holly. That guy you took to our debs dance. What was his name?’

‘Richie!’ said Donna, delighted to have remembered the name through the fog of alcohol. ‘Whatever happened to him?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Holly, shuddering. ‘It was so long ago I can barely remember what he looked like.’ She could, actually, but she didn’t want to even think about Richie. He’d been her first boyfriend and the first one to dump her unceremoniously. His image was embedded in her brain as the prototype guy-not-to-trust. Since Richie, Holly’s luck with men hadn’t improved. She didn’t really trust any of them.

‘He was cute, that Richie,’ Lilli said.

‘But not as cute as your new guy sounds,’ gushed Caroline.

‘We’ve got to meet this new boyfriend of yours,’ Lilli added. ‘You’ll have to bring him to Kinvarra.’

Holly glued a smile to her face. ‘Yeah, sure,’ she said.

The children’s wear department in Lee’s was heaving with pre-Christmas shoppers the following morning, which did nothing for Holly’s mild hangover. She hadn’t got drunk: you couldn’t and keep track of all the lies about a fabulous boyfriend with lips that resembled soft furnishings. But as she hadn’t been able to smoke, she’d certainly drunk more than usual – two Bloody Marys followed by a couple of glasses of wine at dinner.

Getting up that morning had been hard and she’d had to hit the snooze button three times before she could haul herself out of bed. She’d only just remembered to grab the bag with the precious corset which she’d sworn she’d return to Gabriella that day.

On her way back down to the basement from her third trip to the loos, she stopped on the staff stairs and had a little rest to revitalise herself. It was ages to her coffee break and she could kill for a sit down and the sugar hit of a chocolate biscuit.

‘Miss Miller, good morning,’ said a voice behind her.

‘Oh, er, good morning Mr Lambert,’ Holly said, fumbling frantically in her sleeve for a tissue. She blew her nose loudly so it would look as if she was preparing herself for going onto the shop floor. Trust her to get caught dossing by the store manager. Mr Lambert held the door open and Holly, still bleary-eyed and tired, had to follow him into the children’s department. Trying to inject a spring into her step, she walked over to the squashy child-sized purple and orange chairs by the changing rooms where Bunny was trying to convince a ten-year-old boy that he wouldn’t face immediate ridicule from his soccer-mad pals if he wore something as boring as a non-football-logo-ed shirt for his baby sister’s christening.

From the grateful look on the boy’s exhausted father’s face, it appeared that Bunny was winning the war.

‘You can swap the shirt for anything you like once we’re at the restaurant,’ the father said eagerly once the despised shirt was wrapped and bagged in the Lee’s Department Store’s trademark red and gold carrier bag. Thank you,’ he added gratefully to Bunny.

‘Forget it,’ grinned Bunny. ‘It’s my job.’

Bunny’s speciality was small boys, especially when they came attached to good-looking fathers.

‘What’s your name, so I can ask for you again?’ the customer said.

‘Bunny.’

The man smiled as if this was a perfectly normal name for a grown-up. Bunny was the only person Holly knew who could carry off a child’s pet’s name and get away with it.

‘My father thought it was cute,’ was Bunny’s answer that first day, before Holly could even ask why she had such a weird name. ‘I’m actually Colleen but nobody ever called me that. Why Holly?’ she asked conversationally. ‘Are you a Christmas birthday person?’

‘July, actually,’ Holly replied. ‘My mother likes unusual names. My father wanted us all to have traditional names but my mother won. My eldest sister is Stella Verena, I’m Holly Genevieve and my middle sister is Tara Lucretia.’

‘After the Borgias, I hope? How cool,’ said Bunny. ‘Is Tara Lucretia a poisoner type of girl?’

Holly laughed. ‘The only person she’s ever likely to poison is our Aunt Adele. Tara writes scripts for National Hospital.’

‘Wow,’ said Bunny, impressed. ‘You see, that proves my dad’s point which is that people with unusual names end up doing out-of-the-ordinary things. Although I think he was hoping for more from me than the kids’ department of Lee’s.’

Holly soon discovered that, in typical Bunny fashion, this wasn’t strictly true.

Bunny had just finished an English degree and was taking a job to finance her year off round the world, when she planned to veg out in India before a stint working as an English language teacher in Japan.

Bunny was one of those people Holly felt utterly comfortable with, and they’d instantly become good friends.

Now Bunny waved off the grateful customer and turned to where Holly was studiously folding sweatshirts on a display. All it took was one person rifling through the clothes for an entire display to look hideously untidy. Miss Jackson, the department head, took a dim view of untidiness even in the war zone that was the pre-Christmas rush.

‘Do you mind if I take first coffee break?’ Bunny asked. One of the pitfalls of working in the same department was that Bunny and Holly couldn’t take their breaks together. There were four of them in children’s clothes and there had to be three members of staff on duty at all times.

‘Fine,’ said Holly, wishing she’d asked first.

‘I could kill for a fag.’ Bunny started rooting about in the under-till cupboard for her cigarettes and her cardigan. Lee’s was strictly non-smoking, so smokers congregated on the rooftop level of the store car park. ‘See you in fifteen minutes.’

Fifteen minutes more and Holly could pour herself a huge coffee. She closed her eyes and wished she could learn how to press the stop button when it came to red wine.

‘Are you feeling all right, Holly?’ inquired Miss Jackson, appearing from the baby wear department.

‘Fine, great,’ said Holly brightly. She smiled so broadly that her face felt as if it would crack.

Miss Jackson approved of Holly Miller. Diligent and polite to the customers, she was always scrupulously turned out, and never gave a moment’s bother, even if she was a little on the quiet side. But then Miss Jackson had seen Holly chatting away nineteen to the dozen with Bunny, so perhaps she was only quiet with management.

‘If you have a moment, perhaps we can sort out the fancy dress rails…’ Miss Jackson began.

‘Have you got this in age ten to eleven?’ inquired a woman, holding up a pair of boy’s trousers.

Saved by a customer. ‘Let me check,’ smiled Holly, turning her attention to the woman gratefully. Sorting out the fancy dress stuff was a nightmare job at the best of times as customers thought nothing of rampaging through the fairy and wizard costumes like tornadoes when they were looking for a particular size. The last time she’d done it, Holly had absent-mindedly stuck a pair of kitten’s ears on her head, forgotten to take them off, and had spent the morning serving customers with fluffy pink and black ears bobbing eccentrically until Miss Jackson had noticed.

As soon as Bunny came back from her break, Holly raced off for hers. Desperate for coffee, she bypassed her usual cigarette-stop in the car park, and made straight for the canteen. This proved to be her undoing.

There was a small clique of the store’s party girls in there gossiping about a Christmas drinks they’d all been to. Holly steeled herself for the inevitable queries about her social life. The clique never talked about anything else but parties and men, and they didn’t understand why anyone (Holly) didn’t share their fascination. Consequently, they thought Holly was a bit stand-offish, not realising that she was simply shy.

She quietly made her way to the coffee machines and poured herself a cup, then, because it would seem rude to go and sit by herself, tentatively sat at the edge of the circle and listened. Pia (ground floor, Clinique counter) was keeping the group enthralled with tales of what happened next, after Tomás, he of the melting foreign accent, had told her she was beautiful enough to be a model.

‘It’s not as if I haven’t heard that before,’ Pia said without arrogance. She was stunningly beautiful after all. Skin like caramel silk, doe eyes and the grace of a ballerina. Men must surely always be telling her how beautiful she was, Holly thought wistfully.

‘But he really is a photographer,’ Pia went on.

The group were impressed. Men pretending to be photographers in order to chat up Pia was nothing new. One actually turning out to be a photographer was a surprise.

‘Which one was he?’ inquired Rebecca (ladies’ hosiery). ‘Not the tall, older guy? I noticed him talking to you but then I went to the mezzanine for a smoke with Leo and we ended up there for ages.’

‘The tall one, yes. He’s Hungarian,’ Pia said dreamily. ‘I thought you’d given up smoking, anyway?’ she added.

Rebecca grinned. ‘You know me: two drinks and I’m scabbing cigarettes from everyone.’

‘Oh yes, and what went on in the mezzanine with Leo?’ demanded Fiona (millinery). ‘It can’t be the same I-never-want-to-see-you-again Leo, can it?’

Rebecca’s grin widened. ‘Same story as with the cigarettes,’ she said wickedly. ‘Two drinks and I forget all my good intentions.’

They all laughed.

‘I was talking to your Tomás earlier, Pia,’ Fiona pointed out. ‘He never said he was a photographer.’

‘He was probably lying,’ Pia said easily.

Fiona, Rebecca and Pia all smiled. Men. What were they like?

‘What about you, Holly?’ asked Rebecca kindly, dragging Holly into the conversation because it wasn’t nice to let her hang on the edge. ‘Do anything interesting last night?’

‘I was at a school reunion,’ Holly said shyly.

The other girls smiled but the languid Pia looked unimpressed. School reunions were very far down her list of exciting events. Real parties involved rock stars, possibly a footballer or two, and at least one gossip column photographer recording the event for posterity.

‘I’d never bother going to a school reunion,’ said Pia. She eyed Holly speculatively, her cool gaze reminding Holly of Lilli the night before. Pia and Lilli were like sisters under the skin, Holly thought. Both keen to gauge a person’s success by the wrong standards.

Holly wished she could say something witty in return but, as usual when faced with people like Pia, words failed her. She smiled weakly, knowing she looked like an idiot.

Fiona began talking about some fabulous new high-heeled boots she’d bought that looked madly expensive even though they weren’t. Everyone nodded respectfully at this. Cheap, fashionable stuff that looked expensive was a favourite topic of conversation because none of them were on very good salaries despite their glitzy lifestyles.

‘Oh, you won’t believe the new shoes I got on Monday.’ Rebecca held the floor.

Holly drank her coffee and flicked through the old magazine that somebody had left on her chair. She couldn’t concentrate on it because she was wondering why she was such a wimp.

She drained her coffee and got to her feet, her movements graceful. Say something, she told herself, say something. ‘Better go back. See you.’ Oh well, it was better than nothing.

She’d just left the canteen when she realised she’d left her cigarettes on the table and doubled back to pick them up. Which was when she overheard them talking about her.

‘Do you believe that about a school reunion?’ asked Pia in a poor-dear voice. ‘I certainly don’t. In fact, I don’t think she has a social life at all. She’s a total oddball, really. She never has a word to say for herself.’

Hovering outside the canteen door, Holly was shocked into immobility.

‘She’s shy,’ protested Rebecca.

‘Well, I think she’s just rude,’ Pia continued dismissively. ‘Or stupid. Somebody should tell her. I’d kill myself if I was as dumb as she is.’

‘Don’t be such a bitch, Pia,’ said Rebecca. ‘Not everyone’s as confident as you.’

‘I don’t understand shyness,’ Pia said haughtily. ‘If you stammer, you can get that sorted out. If she’s shy, why doesn’t she go to classes or something? There’s no excuse for that type of thing.’

‘Poor thing. And I don’t think she ever has a boyfriend. I know, why don’t we introduce her to someone?’ suggested Rebecca. ‘That might give her a bit of a social life.’

‘Waste of time.’ Pia was scathing.

Outside, Holly’s face burned with embarrassment and pain. Blindly, she hurried to the staff stairs, and raced down to the basement and the comfort of the children’s wear department. Taking deep breaths to try and stop herself shaking, Holly leaned against the wall hoping that her legs wouldn’t let her down. How could they let Pia say such awful things? Grimly, Holly thought of all the things she’d like to say to Pia if only she had the courage. She’d show her. She’d get a bloody fantastic life together and make Pia jealous of her, she would.

Like all the best tear-stained plans of revenge, by evening, Holly’s thirst for retribution had vanished and she simply felt miserable and lonely. It was Friday night and as she walked slowly through the streets to catch her bus, she felt convinced that everyone else on the whole planet had exciting pre-Christmas party plans while she was going home alone for a date with Ben and Jerry.

Her mobile buzzed and, for once, she managed to find it in her bulging shoulder bag before the caller had given up.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Holly,’ said Joan. ‘Spill the beans. How did last night go?’

‘’kay,’ said Holly despondently.

‘What’s wrong?’ demanded Joan. ‘You sound like Cinderella when the pumpkin coach hits the dust.’

‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Holly couldn’t bear to have this conversation in the middle of the street. She might burst into tears, which would undoubtedly give Pia more ammunition for the ‘Holly Miller is an anti-social nutcase’ theory. Her phone began to crackle. ‘The signal’s bad here,’ she yelled at the phone but it was too late. She’d been cut off. Feeling more wretched than ever, she switched the power off.

Joan and Kenny were both going out that evening, so she wouldn’t see them until the morning. She’d tell them about the awful incident in the canteen then. But not now.

Her flat was in a crumbling Victorian monstrosity that had been built onto so many times, the original architect would never have recognised it. It was situated on Windmill Terrace, a long, winding road made up of a strange mix of vandalised old tenements and sprawling Victorian houses which canny property developers were doing up in advance of the area being gentrified. When that happened, Holly’s landlord would undoubtedly eject all his tenants out onto the street and sell up. Holly was crossing her fingers that this wouldn’t happen until she had saved money for a deposit on a flat of her own, although that prospect was still a long way off. Her current apartment was one of two on the second floor. Across the hall was Joan and Kenny’s flat, a much bigger, two-bedroomed establishment with its own miniature balcony, a bathroom with a cracked roll-top bath instead of the shower Holly had, and a kitchen that was never used for anything except making coffee and toast. Kenny and Joan had moved in two years ago, at the same time as Holly, and once they’d discovered that she loved to cook, they turned up at hers at least twice a week looking hungry. Consequently, they pooled the food money and treated their floor like one big flat, with Holly in charge of cooking. Joan, who as a student had the best working hours, did most of the grocery shopping, while Kenny took care of the laundry and ironed. Holly was dangerous with an iron because of her ability to singe holes in all her most precious garments. Anyway, she knew she’d never be able to get knife-edge creases into trousers the way Kenny did.

The walk from the bus stop was cold and she was chilled to the bone by the time she wearily opened her door. She switched on lights and the kettle, hung her heavy winter coat on the door and sighed with relief to be home. It was a tiny flat, but one of Holly’s great skills was making a house into a home. With her own special brand of shabby and very cheap chic, she’d transformed the place. All the walls were painted a calming apple white with big colourful prints in distressed white frames grouped on them, and in pride of place stood a big dresser with glass doors which Holly had bought for €20 from a market and had distressed herself. The dresser contained all sorts of treasures: china, books, antique brocade bits and bobs could be seen through the glass, while an embroidered Japanese kimono in saffron silk hung from one knob. Beaded tea lights, an enamelled French lamp and a pretty, carefully-mended chandelier provided the lighting. Two small couches, at least fifth-hand but expertly disguised by two amber velvet throws and a variety of mismatched cushions made of chintzy scraps of fabric, made up the seating arrangements. The single divan bed in her box-like bedroom had a draped canopy that wouldn’t have shamed the Empress Josephine and even her clothes hangers were padded floral ones, in colours that went with the rag rugs on her wooden floors.

Her home, unique and utterly individual, expressed her personality in the way she so often was too shy to do herself.

That night, Holly did what she always did when she was upset: she cooked. She slotted Destiny’s Child into the CD player, pushed the volume up, poured herself a glass of red wine, lit a cigarette and started cutting up fat juicy tomatoes for her pomodoro sauce. When the sauce was bubbling, she opened her small but perfectly organized freezer and took out a portion of frozen fresh pasta. Purists might have shuddered at the thought of freezing pasta, but it was home-made, then frozen into portions for the occasions when she didn’t have time to make it fresh. Her pasta machine had been a huge investment but was one of her most prized possessions: there was something infinitely calming about kneading the pasta dough gently and slowly feeding the sheets in and out of the gleaming stainless steel machine. It made her feel grounded, at home, as if endless Italian mamas or her own, Irish one, were looking kindly over her shoulder, helping her and comforting her.

The doorbell rang at half seven and Holly knew who it would be: either Joan or Kenny. She bit her lip, knowing that whichever one of them it was, they would instantly drag the humiliating story out of her.

‘Omigod what a day,’ groaned Joan, erupting into the room. She was thinner than a pipe cleaner but somehow seemed to take up a lot of space. She was in a purple phase this week, and dressed as befitted a fashion design student: Morticia Addams blue-black hair, an eyebrow stud, dyed purple army fatigues and a hand-painted lilac T-shirt decorated with her version of Japanese calligraphy. Kenny, who, when he wasn’t fantasising about Xavier, was cherishing a long-range crush on a handsome Japanese student who lived in a house down the street, was always begging Joan not to wear the T-shirt because he was convinced it said something rude in Japanese. Joan ignored him on the grounds that the Japanese student wasn’t gay and wouldn’t look twice at Kenny no matter what Joan’s T-shirts said. Now she tweaked Holly’s cheek, stuck a finger into the tomato sauce to taste it, turned the volume of the CD player up to trouble-with-the-landlord level and threw herself onto Holly’s smaller couch, all in a matter of seconds.

‘I didn’t make enough dinner. I thought you were going out tonight,’ said Holly.

‘I might be,’ hedged Joan, who was sure something was wrong with Holly and was determined to get it out of her. ‘What’s up?’ she inquired. ‘You look like you’ve had a shit day, too.’

‘No, why do you think that?’ asked Holly.

‘Your mouth is all droopy and you look like you might cry any minute,’ Joan pointed out. ‘So either you’re depressed or you’ve aged very badly in the twenty-four hours since I last saw you, in which case I recommend Botox. What happened, and tell me all about last night’s reunion? Did you look a million dollars and did you thump any of the horrible old bitches who used to ignore you?’

‘Are you hungry?’ asked Holly, only asking the question to avoid having to answer others. Joan was always hungry. Kenny said she had a tapeworm inside her.

‘Yes, and what’s wrong?’

Holly moved away from the counter which separated the tiny kitchenette from the sitting room. With her back to Joan, she lit up another cigarette. Joan was always nagging her to stop but Holly needed the crutch of smoking, and anyway, if she stopped, she’d just balloon up into a fat girl again. And then she’d be anti-social and fat…

She stifled a sniff but Joan heard.

‘Holly, what’s wrong?’ said Joan again in a gentle voice.

Faced with her friend’s kindness, the whole story came tumbling out: how Holly had felt good because everything had gone well at the reunion, but then how stupid she’d felt for lying about a boyfriend. And then, how utterly hurt she’d been by what Pia had said.

‘Stupid bitch!’ raged Joan, threatening death, destruction and the reorganisation of Pia’s facial features. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t go back and hit her. Did you mention this to Bunny?’ Joan and Bunny were on the same wavelength. Both were tough, unafraid of anyone and fiercely protective of Holly.

‘No,’ said Holly miserably. ‘I couldn’t tell her. I am a mess, Joan. Pia was right.’

Like many sensitive people, all it took was one push and she was down.

‘You’re not a mess,’ screeched Joan furiously.

‘When I lied to the people at the reunion, the boyfriend I invented was gay! I can’t even lie like normal people.’

‘Kenny is cute,’ Joan pointed out.

‘It wasn’t Kenny, I’m dating Xavier.’

Joan grinned. ‘Mr Throw-Pillow-Bottom Lip. Holly, love, you have to lie at school reunions.’ She decided that Holly needed cheering up before her morale could be boosted. ‘What else are you supposed to say? Everyone has a fantastic life according to what they say when they meet old enemies. Did you ever hear of anyone at a reunion who said: “I got thrown out of college, was busted for drugs and avoided a jail sentence by doing eight zillion hours of community service, plus I live in a squat, have never had sex and my job involves spending all day saying ‘would you like fries with that?’”

Holly burst out laughing. ‘Compared with that, I have a fantastic life and I don’t know why I bothered lying.’

‘I do,’ Joan said, ‘you lied, and it was only a teeny, weensy lie, by the way, for the same reason everyone lies – because we’re all basically insecure and we want people to think we’re wildly successful. Am I right or am I right?’

‘Right,’ Holly replied hesitantly. ‘But that makes me a very shallow person if I give in to that sort of thinking.’

‘Everyone does it.’ Joan was matter of fact. ‘My sister tells people her husband is in the merchandise relocation business when he drives a truck, and my mother tells my grandmother that I dress like this because we have to wear strange clothes in college. It’s easier than telling my grandmother to eff off because she’s an interfering old cow.’

‘That’s different,’ Holly said. ‘I lied because it was easier than admitting that I’m hopeless with men and just can’t talk to them. I lied so that all the girls I was in school with wouldn’t look at me the way Pia looks at me. She said there was no point in them fixing me up with a man because it would be a waste of time.’ Holly looked so downcast that Joan’s blood began to come to the boil again. Pia was so dead. ‘We’ll just have to find a fabulously hunky boyfriend for you then, someone who can race into the children’s department just before closing and ravage you on top of the Rudolf the red-nosed reindeer pyjamas, and that would show dopey Slut Face Pia.’

‘I can’t speak from experience but I daresay that type of behaviour would get me fired,’ Holly pointed out.

‘But at least the girls would know you had a hunky boyfriend.’

‘I’d also be jobless.’

‘Just an idea.’ Joan twiddled a bit of spiky hair thoughtfully.

Holly stabbed out her cigarette and went back to stirring her sauce miserably.

‘Enough already,’ said Joan, changing the conversation. ‘Was everyone at the reunion impressed with your outfit?’

Holly grinned for the first time all day. ‘We’re talking eyes popping out of heads. They couldn’t believe it was chubby little Holly Miller.’

‘That’s what I call a result. I can’t imagine you as a chubby kid,’ Joan added. ‘You are so not fat.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Holly mumbled. ‘But I was and I still don’t feel different, Joan. I still feel like the old me.’

Joan regarded her grimly. ‘The problem isn’t other people, Holly,’ she pronounced, ‘it’s you. It’s in your head.’

The doorbell rang again, a long insistent ring made by somebody keeping an impatient finger on the bell. Only Kenny rang like that. The word ‘impatient’ failed hopelessly to convey the notion of how much in a hurry Kenny always was.

‘Don’t mention this to Kenny,’ begged Holly as she went to open the door. She couldn’t cope with the two of them giving out to her all evening for being a neurotic wimp.

‘Hello sweeties. Is there enough din dins for me?’ inquired Kenny, once he’d hugged Holly and examined the contents of the saucepan bubbling on the stove.

In contrast to Joan’s fashion college rig-out, Kenny was beautifully dressed in a charcoal shirt that clung snugly to his slim torso and a pair of elegant grey trousers that looked as though they had been made for him. Gucci and Hugo Boss respectively. Kenny loved labels and could identify any item of clothing at fifty paces. A senior salesman at an exclusive menswear boutique, Kenny was branching out into working as a stylist. His dream was to stop working in the shop altogether and freelance.

Holly thought he could work either side of the camera. He had cropped dark hair with a Richard Gere-esque sprinkling of early grey, and a handsome face with dark stubble. Kenny couldn’t cross the road without women looking admiringly at him. Joan’s favourite method of teasing him was to sigh and say, ‘Isn’t it a waste you’re gay. Why don’t we give it a go? I’m sure all you need is the love of a good woman.’

Kenny’s answer to this was to roll his eyes theatrically and shudder: ‘Don’t go there.’

Holly hunted in the freezer for more pasta. ‘There’s enough dinner for everyone,’ she said.

‘Goody.’ Kenny bounced onto the couch beside Joan and the two of them looked happily up at Holly, with eager hungry expressions on their faces. They reminded Holly of two kids expectantly watching Mummy cooking. The three of them were certainly a little family unit, she thought ruefully. Although they took turns being Mummy, because there was always one of them in some trauma. Kenny was plunged into gloom roughly every month because his love life never ran smoothly and there was always some gorgeous hunk of a man who wasn’t returning his phone calls. Joan’s traumatic incidents involved her finances – she spent all her grant on clothes, regularly ran out of rent money and scattered IOUs around like confetti. Holly’s problem was herself, which was handy in that it didn’t involve outside influences.

‘I thought you guys were going out?’ Holly said.

‘Change of plans,’ Kenny said.

‘Is there anything good on the telly tonight?’ Joan asked, searching in vain for the TV guide.

‘Nothing good on a Friday, except Sex and the City on satellite,’ Kenny said instantly. Kenny loved TV and read the listings in the paper first, followed by his horoscope, and then the headlines.

From the kitchenette, Holly grinned. She might not know what a wild existence with lots of men was like personally, but she could watch it on TV thanks to the Sex and the City girls. She began to grate some Parmesan reggiano, letting the day’s events seep out of her system, while Kenny and Joan argued over the television. What would she do without them?

Ten minutes later, dinner was on the table, served on Holly’s auction-house Italian china with the pastel fruit designs. None of it matched, but it was exquisite.

Joan began mopping up sauce messily with a heavily-buttered roll while Kenny fastidiously dipped slivers of unbuttered bread into his.

‘Wonderful,’ he said. ‘Holly, you are talented.’

Holly beamed.

‘You’ve got to forget what happened today,’ he continued, having heard a whispered version of the story from Joan while Holly was busy in the kitchen.

Holly stopped beaming. ‘You promised not to mention it,’ she said to Joan.

‘I agree with Joan,’ Kenny said, ‘Pia is a blot on the landscape but let’s not rush into making her suffer. She gets her hair cut by my friend Marco, just you wait till next time she wants her fringe trimmed. Linda Evangelista is the only person I’ve ever seen who can cope with a one-inch fringe. Huh.’

‘But making Pia suffer is not our primary mission,’ Kenny added. ‘Fun, yes.’ He grinned evilly. ‘Hilarious, absolutely. But not our primary mission. That,’ he paused, ‘is to get you a man, Holly dear. It would make all the difference to your life.’

Holly blinked anxiously at him. ‘I don’t need a man,’ she said.

Kenny’s smile widened to Cheshire Cat proportions. ‘Yes you do,’ he said. ‘You need to be loved, cherished and adored by some man who spends his whole life telling you how beautiful and wonderful you are. And we’re going to help you find him.’

‘Is that my Christmas present?’ inquired Holly, seeing the funny side.

‘Don’t talk to me about Christmas,’ groaned Joan. ‘I haven’t bought anything and I’m broke.’

‘I’m broke because I have bought everything,’ Holly added. ‘But I’m not really looking forward to Christmas this year because Tara isn’t going to be at home in Kinvarra with the rest of the family. She’s going to spend it with Finn’s parents.’

‘The dreaded mother-in-law?’ Joan said.

‘The very same. For Tara’s birthday in September, she bought her a steam iron.’

‘Lovely present,’ cooed Kenny. ‘I hope Tara’s buying her something suitably awful for Christmas.’

Holly giggled. ‘Tara did mention being tempted to buy a year’s supply of constipation pills but she chickened out and bought perfume instead.’

‘Well, I’ve bought nearly everyone’s gift, except my mother’s,’ Kenny added. ‘I have my eye on this fabulous Tanner Krolle handbag that she’d just love.’

‘Oh, you mean you’re not getting a boyfriend for everyone,’ joked Holly.

Kenny blew her a kiss. ‘Only you, Holly, only you.’