and the last word of his diatribe was plainly “SLUT!”
Lynn turned and walked back to the Centre building, shoulders shaking. Fiona found her heart pounding with an almost audible thump. She gasped for breath; her head swam. To her shock, she felt an almost irresistible desire to seize the man by the lapels, bend him backwards over his car, knee him in the balls again and again, until they were pulp; to run after Lynn, put her arms around her, comfort her, and - well, comfort her.
She stood, trembling, until the man had driven away and her own irrational adrenalin rush had subsided.
He must be married. The tabloids would call him a love-rat. Poor Lynn. And what a stupid, fucking cliché. And that’s all there was to it, really; the light-footed goddess had been dragged down to earth, by a cliché.
CHAPTER 3
Her third visit to Woodside. The second had been Christmas Day; Anna had elected to stay in London at Janet’s, and it had been lovely of Rosemary and Donal to invite her so that she wouldn’t be on her own. Slightly awkward, with Donal’s sister there too; Siobhan was beautiful in a Celtic sort of way, with distinctive blue eyes and arching dark eyebrows, but she was quiet and withdrawn, which made Fiona’s attempts at conversation doubly difficult.
“She’s had a bit of a personal crisis,” said Rosemary when they spoke later on the phone, “but she wanted me to apologise for her and hoped you didn’t think she was being rude.”
As if.
“No, of course not. I just thought she was shy, like me. Fancy her feeling she needed to apologise, though. She seemed so nice, I’m sorry she’s had an awful time.”
And now Siobhan was there again, though looking a little more cheerful than at Christmas. Bad of Fiona, to feel disappointed at not having Rosemary to herself, but she should make an effort to be friendly.
“How are you, Siobhan?” she asked.
“Doing great, thanks.” She had more of an accent than her brother. “The family’s been just wonderful, and I’ve decided to move over here permanently. I’ve applied for a job at Harford General.”
“Oh, great. You’re a nurse, then.”
She hoped it hadn’t come up at Christmas, and that she had misheard or forgotten.
Siobhan’s smile lit up her eyes.
“Yeah, we’re all nurses in Ireland, when we’re not coping with ten children or writing immortal – or immoral - plays!”
Fiona felt her face heat up. She wondered what to say, but Siobhan reached over, and put a hand on hers, giving it a squeeze.
“Yes, I’m a nurse,” she said, “and I’m off to get my interview right now. So good to see you again, Fiona.”
She stood, and she and Rosemary hugged. When she had gone, Rosemary said, “She’s doing so much better, it’ll do her good to live away from the source of all the bad stuff.”
Fiona wondered if she could decently ask what bad stuff, but Rosemary added, “There was a fling and a flit with a doctor, which made the papers over there, even in Dublin.”
“I’m surprised it caused such a stir.”
“They were both married. Small town. Messy divorces.”
“Oh. Oh God. Yes, I see.”
“But you’re the one I want to hear about, Fee. How’s the exercise regime going? Sun still shining brightly out of Lynn’s arse, is it?”
Fiona giggled. When she had told Rosemary about Lynn’s love-rat, she hadn’t even toned down her own overreaction. You could be that frank, with a friend.
“Oh yes. Watching out for unworthy suitors so I can see them off.”
“Well, that’s one way in which you haven’t changed,” said Rosemary.
“Eh? What way?”
“You were always the hero of our imagination games. Do you remember one lunch-break, when we’d been doing Arthurian legends in English – must have been in second form?”
“I don’t think so...”
“You decided you’d be a knight to my lady, and rescued me off the roof of the bike sheds, where the evil baron had me
Anthony Shugaar, Diego De Silva