It was 8:00PM on a September Saturday night. Samantha watched me as I walked to the kitchen drawer and pulled it open on its smooth, silent castors. We exchanged nervous smiles as I reached my hand inside the drawer, a light fluttering of nerves dusting my stomach. I snapped one of the little blue pills out of its plastic protector, popped it into my mouth and swallowed it with a half glass of water from the tap.

The countdown began, only an hour to see if it worked. Samantha stood, walked over to me, and kissed me with a smile and a brief hug.

"I'm going to get ready," she whispered, her American accent almost indistinguishable.

"It's either going to be a total bust or a four-hour fuck fest," I laughed.

"I'm ready either way, but I'm praying harder for the fuck fest."

"Harder?"

"It's today's word of the day." She laughed and disappeared up the stairs.

"I admire your optimism, love.”

__________

It had been a hellish journey to this point. Since my cardiac issues, our sex life had slowly dwindled over the intervening nine years, grinding to a halt, save for some intermittent fingering, four years previously. I had already lost one long-term relationship because of it and, thanks to some rare Irish luck, a bottle of Crested Ten, a stormy night and an Irish accent, the leprechauns blessed me with a beautiful woman to share my life with.

I was forty-one years old at the time and, because of the history of cardiac disease in the family, I went and had a health check in the Mater Private Clinic on Dorset Street in Dublin. They found that I was in perfect health, save for the high cholesterol levels in my blood. I received a note from them and orders to go visit my GP for future treatment and advice. I had performed a few little favours for my GP but, as is the way with most of them, they suffer from severe memory loss when the favour is due to be returned. Mine was no different.

"Philo," he said in greeting, "what can I do you for?"

"Do I have to tell you, or do you need a list by email in advance, Tommy?"

"Ah, you're just slagging off our new office policy for appointments, aren't you?" he said.

"It's a bit fucking ridiculous, Tommy, where am I going to send an email from if I'm flattened by a car out on the road?"

"You're here about that cardiac guy's letter," he said.

"Yes, do I still only get ten minutes?"

"Yes, it's a strict rotation," he said, unfolding the note and peering at it.

I handed him his glasses and he took them from me absentmindedly.

"Your cholesterol levels are a little high, Phil, but everything else appears normal."

"Ok, that's to be expected, isn't it?"

"It could be due to the family history," he said. "How is your uncle, Geoff, by the way?"

"He's good," I said, "still kicking it."

"Any issues at all?"

"No, it's all good," I said.

"Ok, I'll put you on a low dose of Lipitor to see how you go," he said. "We'll review it in six months."

"What side effects are there with those?"

"There's quite a few. ED would probably be what would concern a young man like you more so than most of the others," he said.

"ED?"

"Erectile Dysfunction."

"Fuck that, Tommy. Is there no other way?"

"You could try it with a lifestyle change, that works sometimes."

"You want me to be a swinger?"

"Diet and exercise, Philo," he said, "you're a bit overweight by the looks of it."

"By the looks of it?" I said. "Did you ever see that Doctor House guy, Tommy? He doesn't sit on his arse behind a desk all day just throwing out pearls of wisdom and platitudes."

"What do you mean?"

"By the looks of things? For fuck's sake, get off your arse and do something with a stethoscope, something doctorly at least, for Christ's sake."

“Relax!” he said. “If you don’t want to take the statins, don’t take them. Stand on that scales for me.”

I walked to join him at the scales. I took off my shoes.

“For fuck’s sake, Philo, your shoes won’t make a difference. Maybe your wallet might.”

“It’s not like you to be funny, Tommy,” I said and was horrified as I stepped on the scales and the red needle took off like a rocket.

“Hmm. You’re about a stone overweight.”

“Thirteen pounds,” I said, “get it right.”

“I forgot you took your shoes off.”

I stepped off the scales and put my shoes back on.

“Ok,” he said, sitting back down. “We’ll try it your way for a month.”

“What way is that?”

“No fried or fast food, three meals a day, no alcohol, and get off the smokes,” he said, “and exercise. Join a gym, take long walks, go back to playing five-a-sides on a Wednesday night.”

“Why? Are you losing more since I stopped playing?”

“Yes. Your astute tactical acumen is sorely missed. Prick!”

"I know, tell that to Crippler though, that arsehole almost took my leg off in training for fuck's sake."

"Crippler, as you call him, is a renowned orthopaedic surgeon," he said, laughing. "He would have fixed it for you."

"I might have a word with Mick Lawlor," I said. "At least his team respects the ethos of the game."

"Don't threaten me with a good time," he said. "If you want to join your semi-pro mates, be my guest."

"I hope we get you in the cup final," I said. "Oh wait, you won't even get out of the first-round draw as usual."

"Ex-pros! You are all the fucking same, arrogant bastards to a man."

“I love you too.”

“Back here in a month,” he said. “Six pounds lighter, that’s your target; otherwise you're on the Lipitor.”

“Ok, thanks, Tommy.”

Deciding to take him seriously, I battened down the hatches and started a weekly regime of exercise and diet, focusing only on heart-healthy foods and staying out of the pub. I began to undertake some light training, just to acclimatise my body to it and ease gently into a more intense pace a little easier.

The increase in active exercise helped me sleep at night and I was so focused on the changes occurring in my body that I completely neglected Janice, my partner at the time. Although we wouldn't have made the Guinness Book of Records in the sexual activity section, we did have a regular enough meeting of minds in the bedroom, and it was satisfactory enough once I didn't seek to perform oral on her. She wasn't a fan of that, and felt it was a perversion of some kind. She did, however, enjoy the feeling of a cock inside her, and I was happy enough to facilitate her in that, but it became mundane and uneventful, to me at least.

After two weeks of my lifestyle changes, she began to notice the lack of interest I was displaying towards her in bed, allied to the fact that I was out running or walking, cooking different meals for myself and eating at different times.

"Phil, what's going on?" she asked in the car one evening on the way home from the hospital that she nursed in.

"Do you mean in the world generally or more locally?" I replied.

"With you," she said. "All these exercise and dietary changes."

"I have high cholesterol," I said. "It came up in the health check."

"Just get Tommy to give you a script for Lipitor or something," she said in that dismissive way that nurses can speak sometimes.

"I went around to him, and he said that I could get EP as a side effect from those," I said.

"EP? Do you mean ED?"

"Probably, I wasn't really listening to him."

"Erectile ..."

"Stop, Janice," I said, "do not go there. I fucking know what it stands for."

"It's not a big deal, Phil," she laughed.

"Fuck off."

"But ..."

"FUCK. OFF. I'm not taking them," I said. "Tommy said I could do it with lifestyle changes, and that's what I'm trying to do."

"You can't do that without someone monitoring you," she said.

"I've to lose no less than six pounds in a month," I said. "After that, I may have no option but to go on the Lipitor."

"I don't see what difference it makes, Phil," she said. "We haven't been overly active in the bedroom these days in any case.”

"When I get a bit fitter, I won't be as tired in the evening."

"Is that your excuse? You're too tired?"

"Yeah, and a bit bored too, if we're going to talk about it," I said.

"Bored? I bore you?"

"Janice, fuck off! You get what you want out of it," I said. "I don't."

"Are we back to this obsession you have with cunnilingus?"

"It's always going to come back to that again, I suppose."

"I have a right to say no, don't I?"

"I never said you didn't, Janice," I said, "but you forget that I also have the right to say stuff too."

She sat with her hands holding her bag in her lap and stared at nothing out the window.

"Look," I said, and she cut me off with her hand.

"I get it, Philip," she said. "I'm not going to discuss your petty perversions with you."

"What's fucking new?" I said to myself.

I dropped her home and heated up some food I had made earlier that evening for her. She sat down to eat alone as I got ready for a run.

"Where are you going now?"

"Fairview Park."

"At this hour?"

"What difference does it make what hour I go?"

"You're leaving me here to eat on my own?"

"I eat alone every lunchtime," I said. "What's the big deal?"

"It'd be nice to be able to talk about my day with you," she said.

"Yeah, I'm fine for that, thanks. I already know how it goes,” I said. “Sister Anne is a thick, Mary Murphy is a cunt, and Mother Superior jumped the gun. I hear it every day. I'll see you later."

"How long will you be?" she screamed as I was halfway out the door.

I ignored her and jumped into the car and, just for a change of scenery, I drove out to the Phoenix Park. When we were kids, my father used take us to the Polo Grounds there to kick a ball around. I parked outside the pavilion with about fifty other cars and quickly changed into my football kit. I was sitting on the ground tying my boots when I heard a voice hailing me.

“Phil?” I looked up, a little startled.

“Over here,” I heard from behind my car.

I stood up to see who it was. Elise from next door.

“Well, fuck me,” I said with a grin. “What brings you out here?”

“Well, you, I suppose,” she said, her American accent diluted slightly but still prevalent.

“Me? How?”

“I remember you telling us about it at dinner,” she said, “how you came out here as a child with your Dad.”

I smiled at her. She was a beautiful girl.

“I’m working at the private clinic on the Navan Road now and I come here to exercise a few times a week.”

“It’s great, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yes, so peaceful and quiet and not many seem to know about it,” she enthused. “Why are you here?”

“Let’s not go there, Elise,” I said. “I’ll just say that it’s on doctor’s advice.”

“Doctor Tommy?”

“Yes. I know you don’t rate him, Elise,” I said, “but I’m stuck with him, and I can argue with him.”

“I’m going to change. Want to run with me?”

“Can I bring my ball?”

She laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ll teach you how to dribble,” I said with a grin.

“One of these days I’ll take you up on one of your flirty little remarks, Philip Moore,” she said as I held my football up for her to see.

“One of these days, Elise McKenna,” I said, smiling at the look of exasperation that crossed her expression.

“It’s Jain,” she said. “Doctor Elise Jain, my kids and my dickhead husband might be McKenna, but my name is Jain.”

“I prefer Jain myself,” I said. “Hurry up and get stripped then.”

“Stripped?” she said with a filthy grin. "Whatever do you mean?”

“Changed,” I said, “get changed.”

“Ok, well turn around and give a girl a little privacy,” she said with a grin and a hand signal.

“I’ll have you know that it is the birthright of an Irishman to have the freedom to disobey orders from a foreign power.”

“Is it?”

“No man has the right to place a boundary on the march of a nation, Elise,” I said. “Charles Stewart Parnell said that in the British parliament.”

“And that includes the provision of the right to engage in voyeurism?” she asked with a grin.

“It’s assumed.”

She laughed out loud.

“I love the way you always seem to have an answer, Phil,” she said. “One of these days, though, I’ll shut you up.”

“I'd be interested in seeing how you handle that, Elise,” I said. “Now hurry up and get changed, I’m going to warm up.”

I brought my ball with me and kicked it around for a few minutes to loosen up my ligaments, then I spent a few minutes doing some light stretching, concentrating on my left thigh and calf muscles, which were always my cross to bear while I was playing. I was about fifty yards away from my car and I saw Elise jogging towards me.

"Fuck," I thought. She was a vision.

She was born in Massachusetts of mixed Indian and Irish parentage, her father, Bobby, being born in Kerala and her mother, Kath, from Dublin. Bobby was a consultant neurosurgeon and they immigrated to the USA at the end of their first year of marriage. Always a daddy's girl, Elise followed him into medicine, married an Irishman and moved to Ireland.

Her dark brown eyes, strikingly shining black hair and inherited skin tone made her stand out in a crowd. Her gentle demeanour belied her determination and her rebellious streak that showed very rarely, but was always just there under the surface, simmering inside her, waiting to pounce at the first sign of any contentiousness or perceived insult.

She stood about five feet in height, of slim build with the cutest breasts and a delicious bum that would send a man to prison as it mocked him when she passed by. When she wore jeans, she was usually squeezed into them, making them appear to have been sprayed on. On this day, she wore a pair of blue running shorts that matched the sky and stopped just short of her Mons Veneris, and a white singlet that made it obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra as her nipples were visible from fifty yards away. I had to turn away and adjust the semi that was beginning to greet us.

"I didn't think you were serious about the ball, Philip," she said as she reached me.

"I just use it to help my ligaments, Elise," I said. "I'll get rid of it."

"Where?"

"I'll put it in front of my car until we get back; it’ll be fine."

"Ok, I'll do a bit of stretching while I wait for you," she said.

"What?"

"While you leave the ball over at your car," she said.

"I'll just kick it over," I said.

"Do you think you're that accurate?" she said.

I just looked at her and curled it over the space between us; it landed softly about eight yards short and rolled along the ground to hit the number plate at the front of my car.

"Shit, I was a half an inch out," I said. "I'm a little out of practice."

"Bastard. I forgot you were a pro," she said.

"Semi-pro. Typical of a rugby wife," I said, and we laughed.

"Here," she said, handing me a bottle of cold water, "hydration."

"Thanks, Doctor," I said, "let's go. What pace do you want?"

"What's your usual pace?"

"Georgie Best divided by ten," I said.

"I have no idea what that means," she said.

"Ok, Brian O'Driscoll multiplied by two."

"The BOD is quicker than he looks," she said, objecting to my dismissal of her hero.

"He couldn't be much slower, Elise."

"Ok, we'll take it easy for a lap," she said. "There’s no point in killing ourselves."

We started off at a light jog, chatting as we circled the playing pitch.

"How's Niall?" I asked.

"Don't go there.”

I'd heard they were having a few issues. We did two laps at a beginner's pace and then upped the speed by half or so. The chatting stopped as we focused on preserving whatever breath we had left and, two laps further on, she increased her pace further. I matched her for one lap and then dropped off slightly as I watched her disappear into the distance. When I completed the lap she was sitting in the grass drinking from her bottle of water.

"Finished?" I asked as she fought for breath.

"I think so," she said. "What are the dimensions of this place, Phil? Do you know?"

"The perimeter is little under a kilometre," I said. "I think I'll do a half and half to finish."

"What's that?"

"A full sprint of one side and one length and walk the rest. Are you up for it?"

"Yes, but drink some water first," she said, all doctorish.

"I fucking hate drinking water, Elise," I said. "Did you know that fish piss in it?"

"Yeah, well, drink that first," she said. "I don't want you to collapse on me."

"Ok, let's do this before we cool down too much," I said and took off down the side at full pace.

Although we started together, I left her in my wake and had to wait a minute for her to catch me at the end pointt of the sprint.

"Fuck, Philip," she said, nearly choking. "Where did that come from?"

"It's a hangover from doing pre-season bleep tests," I said. "We never give it everything when running laps, they're just a warmup."

"You're hardly breathing," she said. "That's amazing."

"I'll feel it in the morning."

I picked the discarded bottles up and held her hand to help her up from her seat in the grass, and we began the walk to the cars.

"How are things with Janice?" she said as we walked.

"Not good."

"I didn't like to ask, but I had noticed."

"What did you notice?"

"I won't give you details," she said. "Let's just say it's not as noisy, shall we say, as it was a year ago."

"Noisy?"

"Look, we hear everything in that fucking house," she said, "sounds of … passion for example?"

"I see," I said. "No, there's not a lot of that going on right enough."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Ah, look, Elise, it can't be helped," I said. "People have hang-ups and life gets in the way."

"Which one of you has the hang-ups?"

"Me, according to her."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What are we doing now?" I said. "Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it came out. It's a tad embarrassing and I'm slowly beginning to be persuaded that it might be me."

"By whom?"

"The queen of all things medical and psychological."

"Janice?"

"Who else?"

"Try me," she said, stopping me by grabbing my elbow.

I could barely look her in the eyes with embarrassment.

"Come on, Phil. Now is not the time to be stuck for words."

"I know, Elise, thanks," I said. "It's, eh, all about, for want of a better word, foreplay. Janice doesn't think certain forms of foreplay are 'acceptable'. She thinks it's perverse."

"She actually said that?"

"Yes, she actually said it again in the car on the way home from work today."

"Do you want to tell me which part of foreplay is perverse? I mean, does it involve chains or whips?"

"For fuck's sake, Elise," I said, "No, it's, eh, oral."

"Oral? Is she fucking serious? Which one?"

"Cunnilingus."

"So let me get this straight, she thinks that someone wanting to give her oral stimulation is perverse?"

"Yes."

"What about fellatio?"

"He was never a good signing for United, Elise, he should have stayed at Everton."

"Come on, Philip, stop messing around."

"None of that either or, in fact, ever, now that I come to think of it."

"Did she ever allow it?"

"Yes, for a short while in the beginning, that was probably the noises you heard."

"She needs help," she said, and began to walk again.

"So you don't think the same way, do you?"

"I certainly do not! Unfortunately, I'm in the direct reverse situation with Niall, so I sympathise with you."

"We should form a pervert's club."

"Do you like giving oral to a woman, Phil?"

"Yes, I always have, Elise," I said. "Do you? Like receiving it I mean."

She laughed.

"Fuck yes, giving it too."

"Would you look outside your relationship for it?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. Are you considering it?"

"Yes."

"Oh Phil, that's awful," she said. "I hate to think of you being unhappy."

"I have a nagging feeling that she's seeing someone in her job, but it's only a feeling."

"Shit," she said. "Do you want me to do a bit of investigating for you? I hear a lot of that kind of gossip randomly, I'm sure I could find out if I asked the right person."

"Don't go out of your way, but if you do hear something, let me know."

She hugged me at the car, and we went our separate ways. I got into my car and was driving through Finglas when my phone rang. Elise.

“Hi, stranger,” I said.

“Fuck off, Philip!”

“That’s lovely language from a member of the caring profession.”

“Will you stop? I meant to ask you if you’re very busy,” she said.

“I’m busier than a one-armed paper hanger, Elise,” I said, “but for you, I’ll make it work. What do you need?”

“Two things,” she said. “Firstly, a friend of mine is coming to Ireland in six months’ time. She needs an apartment in the general Dublin 15 area, and she needs the full PM glow-up package.”

“Ok, I need more information, Elise.”

“Such as?”

“Fuck, where to begin?” I said. "Budget first, space and living requirements, the extent of the glow-up, and an idea of her expectations. Will the package include furnishings and fabrics?”

“She wants to move in without hassle,” she said.

“They have kids?”

“She’s single, never married.”

“Oh, she’s intelligent then." I laughed.

“Funny. She’s on a five-year contract here, so she’s hoping she can buy a place, live in it for the duration of the contract, and sell it on at a profit when she’s done.”

“Ok, does she drive?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s the job?”

“It’s on the Navan Road.”

“I know the perfect place for her, Elise,” I said, “it’s in Stoneybatter, literally a twenty-minute walk or a short drive away. It’s Dublin 7, not 15, but the appreciation values are way higher.”

“Can you put a proposal together for her on that, Phil? I’ll set up a video link meeting with her where you can run through it with her.”

“I’ve already got most of that done because I was going to buy it myself and flip it,” I said. “Let her know and I’ll be ready with everything a week from today. I’ll put our Aoife on the graphic renderings tomorrow to kick it off. If she’s interested in it, I’ll put a booking deposit on the property.”

“Any idea of the cost?”

“She won’t have much change out of €750,000,” I said. “But she’s getting a diamond that, in top condition, currently sells for around a million.”

“Is the property on the internet?”

“No, he’s putting it up on Monday,” I said. “He has an offer on it at the moment but if we can match or beat it, it’ll be ours.”

“I’ll let her know and get back to you.”

“What’s the other thing?”

“What?”

“You said there were two things,” I said.

“Yes, ehm, just a favour really,” she said. “I, ehm, need a couple of things fixed in the house.”

“Can Niall not do them?”

“He can, but I’d like them done right.”

“Grand, I hear you,” I said. “I’ll text you when I’m ready with this proposal, let me know if I need to put a booking deposit in place.”

“How much is the deposit?”

“Fifteen grand should cover it.”

“Do you need that from her?” she said.

“Not yet,” I said, “I can cover that.”

“Excellent, what’s the name of the street?”

“It’s a two-storey, end-terrace townhouse on Sitric Street. Built in the 1920s.”

“That’s an odd name,” she said.

“You should study your Viking History.”

“Or not,” she said. "Thanks, Phil, I’ll get back to you on it."

As I was passing, I dropped in to see Aoife, our graphic designer. This would save me dropping into the office the next morning, meaning I could hit the road early and drive up to Belfast for a consult on another potential design job, this one a row of four houses that the client wanted to refurbish and take advantage of the regenerative gentrification that was happening in the city at the time. Rather than just drop in unannounced, I called Aoife and asked if it was okay if I could disrupt her evening with a work call.

"Hey, Aoife, Philip here."

"Hey Phil, what's the story?"

"I just had a chat with Elise McKenna Jain," I said. "Would it be alright if I swung by on my way home?"

"Yes, that's no problem at all," she said. "Are you far out?"

"I'm on the M50 now. Ten minutes or so?"

"Grand, see you then."

Aoife was great. She was a fantastic graphic designer with a few other IT skills too. She was highly educated and had collected college degrees for fun. She was a little under thirty years old and had been engaged to a bit of a moron for seven years. A typical nerdy type, she was frail looking with long blonde hair and translucent skin decorated with a set of cute pale freckles that were dotted loosely across her button nose and cheeks.

When I reached her house at Santry Avenue, the hall door was open a crack. I knocked gently and she shouted for me to come in. We had overhauled the house for her when she bought it. She had very specific tastes that were not quite the polar opposite of mine, but we coexisted satisfactorily and blended a design that was different, but effective and efficient. It was something we were both proud of and we often brought difficult clients over to show them it as a counterpoint to the more traditional options available to them.

It featured a semi-minimalist layout that featured mismatched furniture which inhabited the space easily. Eames chairs sat happily with deep buttoned white velour sofas, Eileen Gray tables and an antique rosewood rocking chair that occupied the corner of the room and turned out to be the focal point of it. Floor and wall finishes were on the Bohemian side of Classic and embraced some loud printed wall coverings that covered the feature walls in each reception room.

The kitchen was a masterpiece of design, utilising finishes such as engineered natural plywood and burnt Larch that were bang up to date. The walls and floor were unpainted, polished concrete, the harshness of which was softened by decorative prints that Aoife and I made from paint samples purchased at a local Woodies and B&Q. We had an absolute ball as we splashed streams of excess paint on to blank canvasses of varying sizes in an attempt to evoke Hockney, Bacon and Jackson Pollock. They turned out well enough that we sold several of them to people walking in to see what we were laughing at. We told everyone that, now that we had sold some on commission, we were considered artists.

"I'm in the kitchen, Phil," I heard her shout.

I closed the hall door behind me and strolled down the brightly lit hall with its polished porcelain floor and a combination of Strie and Colourwash techniques in blue and beige on the walls. This hall always made me smile as I remembered the arguments we had about colour and effect. I wanted the Strie effect while she wanted a muted Rag roll. We compromised by eliminating the Rag rolling effect from the equation and plumping for the Colour washing instead, as it complemented the Strie treatment more effectively. I pushed the kitchen door open and walked in.

"Admiring your Strie again?" she said with a smile.

"I'm recalling the conversations we used have about that fucking hall, Aoife."

"Conversations? Screaming matches more like," she laughed.

"You fucking loved that," I said, taking her hand, "and so did I. I wouldn't have it any other way. It worked out though, didn't it?"

"Yes, it did," she said. "I absolutely love it."

"Look at this kitchen and dining room," I said. "I think it's probably the best one we ever did."

"O'Devanny is making a fucking fortune out of that," she said. "He's had about forty referred orders for that style and design since we did this."

"We should have put a copyright on it," I laughed.

“So what does Ms. Jain need, Phil?” she said.

I laid it all out for her.

“Would an apartment needing an overhaul not be cheaper for her?”

“I think it’s a close call, Aoife,” I said. “You’re looking at anything from €650k to €850k just to buy an apartment close to her job and then the cost of the design and work.”

“What about the Sitric house? Would that not be the same?”

“The Sitric house can be got for around €400k, Aoife. I reckon the design and work to be around €350k plus there are grants of up to €90k available for the energy works alone,” I said. “Also, Sitric is ready to go, finding and buying an apartment is going to take forever. Also, it'll be worth more than any apartment in five years’ time."

“I get that,” she said. "My sister’s been trying to buy a place for over a year now.”

“Where?”

“Fucking anywhere.”

“Do you remember that little block of apartments I bought in the recession auction a few years ago?” I said.

“Dimly, I’ve never been out there, it’s near the airport isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What about them?”

“I took an option to buy a two-acre site adjacent to it at the time of the auction and it expires on New Year’s Day.”

“Are you thinking about taking the option up?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, “those apartments have turned into a little goldmine, they’re never unoccupied for long and the buses stop right outside. Ryanair want to buy them off me for staff accommodations.”

“Would you build apartments on the new site?”

“It’d be simple enough to get planning on it, given the existing precedent.”

“Would you sell them or rent them?” she asked.

“I’d sell the first block.”

“The first block?”

“Yes, that’d nearly pay for the second and third block, which I’d rent.”

“Would you consider putting Róisín’s name on one?” she asked.

“I’d prefer the more traditional numbering system, Aoife.”

“You know what I mean, Phil.”

“Yes, of course I would,” I said. “I always had a thing for Róisín, she’s beautiful.”

“She’s my twin! We’re fucking identical! Why have you not got a thing for me?”

“Who says I don’t?”

“What?”

“You heard me, Aoife,” I said. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You’re with moron, I’m with Janice, for now, and we work together.”

She took our empty cups and brought them over to the sink to wash them. She wouldn’t normally do that. I felt I’d upset her. I followed her and put my hand in her shoulder.

“You’re quiet, Aoife. I’m sorry, I should have been more careful with my mouth.”

“For now?” she said, turning to face me.

“What?”

“You said you are with Janice for now.”

“Oh. Yes I did.”

“Are you two not getting along?”

“You could put it that way, Aoife,” I said with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, Phil,” she said, and she hugged me.

I held her close, and we stood together for a while. It felt peaceful, she was small and soft in my arms. She kissed me just under my chin.

Startled, I looked at her and our eyes met. She opened her mouth slightly and suddenly kissed me fully on the lips. It was as if a dam had broken. The kiss became more. It was a pure expression of our feelings and went on and on until we had to come up for air.

“I’m with moron for now, Phil,” she breathed, “we’ve already discussed breaking up.”

I touched her face with my hand.

“Where is he now?”

“He moved out last weekend, a trial separation.”

“Are you ok?”

“It was my idea,” she said. “It’s run its course, and this has been the best week I’ve had in many a year.”

“Elise suspects that Janice might be seeing someone at work.”

“Would you like to see someone at work?”

“I’d like to tease it out,” I said.

“Me too. I’m sorry to say this, Phil, but I hope she is seeing someone at work.”

“Why?”

“Think about it.”

She kissed me again and she had to have felt the raging boner that was pressing against her stomach as we kissed. She smiled at me.

“I’ll be in Belfast in the morning, Aoife,” I said. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“I’ll get something started on Sitric.”

“The file is in my desk drawer.”

We kissed again.

“Would you like me to take care of that for you?” she asked.

“The file?”

“No.”

“We shouldn’t, Aoife, not yet.”

“I know.”

I left her house at 9:30 to head home. There was a time I’d get a call from Janice to see where I was and if I was still alive, but even that had all stopped. I had a craving for a Chinese, not having eaten since lunchtime, but I forewent it.

My stomach was growling as I pulled into the garden. I struggled out of the car, still in my running gear, and grabbed my clothes. The lights were on as I stuck the key in the lock and angled my wrist to see my watch. 9:50. The time had flown by. She’d hit the roof. Fuck her, I didn’t care anymore.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I hoped that she was screwing around with someone, it’d give me an excuse to fuck her out. It was the coward’s way out, I knew, and maybe I should just man up and sit her down. Do it openly and honestly. We had been together for five years and they weren’t all bad.

I realised that this wasn’t a sustainable situation. A situation that meant me staying out of the house until 10:00 in the evening just because she was acting the cunt. I turned the key and walked inside. She was sitting on the sofa with her head in that fucking phone again.

She either don’t notice me coming in or she was just ignoring me. I climbed the stairs and went into the bathroom to shower the dried sweat from my body. I dressed in a fresh tee shirt and football shorts that I’d received from the Scottish Football Association and, barefoot, began to descend the stairs.

I went into the kitchen and made a sandwich. The noise from the boiling kettle disturbed her and she shouted down for me to make her a cup of tea.

“Get off your fat arse and make it yourself,” I said. “I’m not your fucking slave.”

“What?” she said in astonishment as she got out of the chair.

“You fucking heard me.”

“I only asked for a cup of tea,” she said.

“You’ve been sitting here all fucking night while I’ve been out working, and you wait for me to walk in to make your tea?”

“Where’s this coming from, Phil?” she said.

I took my sandwich and left the tea unmade, taking it upstairs to bed. I was pissed off. I got under the covers and opened my phone to check for emails. I got three WhatsApp notifications from Elise with the word ‘Sorry’ in the message bar.

The first picture was of six people looking the worse for wear in a pub or club. Five of them were Janice’s workmates and they were grinning into the camera. Four of them were female, I recognised them as part of Janice’s friends from work, and the other was, Gerry, the maintenance man at the hospital.

The sixth person, standing beside Gerry with her arms around him and a look of either pure lust or adoration on her face, was Janice. She was wearing a low-cut top that almost displayed her tits to the world and she was quite obviously deep in the bag.

The second text had two pictures, Janice and Gerry wrapped around each other while dancing on the floor in one, and her sitting on his lap at a table full of drinks, her tongue visibly halfway into his mouth.

The third text held two more pictures of them getting into a car as Gerry helped her into it by putting his hand up her skirt as she laughed. The last picture was of them sitting in the car, Gerry at the wheel fist pumping towards the photographer as Janice gave him a blowjob.

“Thanks,” I replied, and got out of bed.

I changed my mind and got back under the covers. I saved all of the pictures individually to my camera and sent the first one to Janice by WhatsApp. I heard the alert as it arrived in her inbox.

I counted to twenty and sent the second one of them dancing. I heard that one arriving too. I then sent the one of her sitting on his lap with her tongue down his throat. The alert sounded in her phone almost instantly.

I heard her running up the stairs screaming my name.

“Phil? What the fuck are you sending me?” she screamed as she burst through the bedroom door.

“You tell me,” I said, looking at the pictures, “because the first two look like a horny woman who is gagging for a cock and looks like she’s going to get one in the not-too-distant future.”

“That’s just taken out of context,” she said.

“And the tongue down his throat?”

“It’s a trick of the light.”

“Were there no chairs there? Did you have to sit on his lap?”

“I was drunk and lost my balance.”

“So that would explain why his hand was so far up your fucking skirt as he helped you into his car,” I said as I sent that one too.

“It, ehh, wasn’t up my skirt, ehh, it looks like it hit off my arse just as the picture was taken.”

“Ah, that explains it,” I said, sending her the last one, “and I suppose he was giving you some kind of medication in this one.”

She went white in the face.

“They’re time-stamped at 11:45,” I said. “Where were these taken?”

“Harry Byrnes.”

“Did you suck him off in the car before he drove somewhere else?”

“Phil.”

“Tell me

“Did he come in your mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you swallow it?”

“Most of it.”

“If I remember correctly; you didn’t get in that night until after 4:00. Did you drive to the beach for a fuck or several?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Yes.”

“Did he go down on you?”

“Yes, Phil, I …”

“How many times did he fuck you?”

“Phil …”

“How many, Janice?”

“Twice, the second time was forgettable.”

“But the first one was good?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since July.”

“Ok, pack a bag and fuck off out of here. You can collect the rest on Saturday when I’m here.”

“But it’s nearly 11:00, Phil. Where will I go?”

“Gerry might be happy to see you,” I said.

“He’s married,” she said.

“Then go and stay with your mother.”

“It’s all the way across town, Phil, be reasonable. We can work around this.”

“It’s over, Janice, now get out of my house.”

“Phil,” she cried, reaching for my hand.

I recoiled and pulled it back quickly.

“That’s the hand you held Gerry’s cock to your mouth with. Get it the fuck away from me and fuck off out of here.”

The words of a song I couldn't quite place, played through my head when I woke the next morning.

'She wants new shoulders to cry on

New back seats to lie on

And she always gets her way.

She wants to see other guys.

Get lost in other eyes’.

Another line said something about leaving a grief to haunt the lonely nights away. As I looked through the pictures again a thought ran through my head. "That's a load of old bollox," I thought, at least it was in my case.

I felt relieved. Relief I hadn't felt in a long while. She'd attempted all kinds of guilt trips and it was nearly 2:30 by the time she got into a taxi and fucked off with the threat of her solicitor thrown at me as she slammed the door behind her. I simply turned over and fell fast asleep. We had zero shared assets or bank accounts and the house we shared was mine before she moved in and didn't ever pay any rent.

I took a leisurely shower and was about to go out for a relaxing Eggs Benedict at the Koffee and Kale restaurant around the corner from me when I heard Tommy's words about Lipitor echoing through my head. I made my version of Eggs Royale without the killer Hollandaise Sauce and a cup of tea, after which I foostered around in my home office and gathered together web links and files that would aid my presentation in Belfast. I checked my watch and phoned into the office.

"Moore Design Studio," Veronica, our receptionist, said happily, "how may I direct your call this morning?"

"Does my number not show on your thing there, Ronnie?" I said.

"Yes, it does, why?"

"I'd like to avoid your morning salutation, that's all," I said as we both laughed.

"The boss is away today, so we can do what we like," she said. "I brought in some DVDs."

"Any porn?"

"Why don't you come down here and find out?" she said.

"I'm afraid to."

"I'll look after you, Philo," she said.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"I won't be nineteen forever," she said.

"You'll find someone your own age and then cast me aside like an old brown shoe," I said. "Now, is Aoife in yet?"

"No, just me and Barry at the moment. Will I get her to call you?"

"No, just tell her that a chap called Harry George will be in to see her this morning about a design consult on a house he's applying for Planning on."

"Is that Harry George the photographer?"

"He's an architect first, Ronnie. Don't be dazzled by his yellow bow tie and artistic demeanour."

"Ok. But while I have you, Phil, there was a call for you this morning."

"Did you take a message?"

"She wouldn't leave one, she asked for your mobile number, but I didn't think I should give it to her."

"Did you get a name at least?"

"Yes, Cassandra Williams. Does it ring a bell?"

"No, never heard of her. If she rings back just give her my number, it could be anything."