Chapter Two

FEBRUARY

 Tell me that we cleared the place up,' Tom asked Marcella sleepily next morning. 'Tell me that we didn't just walk out and leave everything as it was.'

Marcella laughed. 'Surely you remember the way you said to everyone that you were calling two taxis in half an hour, and the place had to be perfect.'

'You know what? I thought I remembered that, but I was afraid I just dreamed it.' Tom said.

'You had us all running in and out like a fast-forward film, and by the time the taxis came everything was covered with cling film and put into the right places and the dishwasher was turned on.'

'I'm a genius,' Tom said happily.

'Of course you are. You did say, however, that there would be about a hundred more glasses to do, but you were very proud that all the litter bags were tied up and the floor was clean.'

 I really laid into the wine, I'm afraid.' He was contrite.

'Not until the end. You and Cathy must have drunk a bottle each in ten minutes and you deserved it, but you'd had nothing to eat or drink all day.' She stroked his forehead and began to get out of bed.

'You're never leaving me alone in the morning of my triumph and my slight hangover, are you?' He was very disappointed.

'Tom, it's my dance class,' she said.

'Of course.' He had forgotten. Marcella didn't need this two-hour class in movement every Saturday morning; she didn't need the other classes she took either. She was a lithe, gorgeous girl who turned heads. But she convinced that these were all part of her apprenticeship, and worked hard for the extra money. She spent hours after work and early in the morning self-stacking in the Food Hall at Haywards. Only the staff saw Marcella Malone doing a menial job like that. And they didn't matter, as Marcella alwas said, because they were not the ones who were going to discover her and give her this break in modelling. The rest of the public saw her either as a beauty therapist in Haywards' salon, or as a beautiful party animal much photographed at press receptions and at the clubs.    .

Tom understood entirely why Marcella could never work as a waitress for them in Scarlet Feather. It would mean the end of the dream for her, admitting that there would be no starry future ahead. He wasn't totally sure that Cathy understood; sometimes he thought he saw a flash of impatience pass over his business partner's face when he said that his life partner would not be helping them out. Cathy's own husband Neil never minded carrying heavy trays or loading the van, if he was around. But then he seldom was, and anyway, he could do that because he was already somebody, a successful and known young barrister, his name and photograph often in the newspapers. He had already made his way. Marcella had yet to make hers.

Tom knew he should go into the premises and get the glasses done, check that the food really had been properly put away, but it was early still and they had been rushing so much in the run-up to last night, he deserved another cup of coffee. He looked out on the wintry scene, the leafless trees and wet courtyard surrounding Stoneyfield. Tom's father always said that it was a disgrace leaving that ground to go to waste when they could easily have fitted three more units into the space. It wasn't even as if it were a proper garden with lawns or anything. In vain would Tom try to tell him that the kind of people who came to live here had no time to mow lawns. But they did need places to turn and park cars, and for the athletic like Marcella, chain their bicycles in elegantly disguised sheds. JT Feather, builder, from an earlier time when more was good, would never understand it in a million years. Any more than he would take in the amount of their earnings that he and Marcella put into the mortgage. Better not to weigh his father down with details like that. As was increasingly becoming the case, Tom sighed to himself.

This thought led him to think of his brother. Joe had said he would call before he left for the airport, but then Joe was spectacularly vague about family. Tom dialled his hotel.

'You thought I'd forget to phone you,' Joe said.

'You? Forget to phone your family? Never.' Tom laughed at him good-naturedly.

'I would have, mainly to say that you've a great set-up there, it's very professional, really it is. Geraldine and I think our investment is one of the best we've ever made, we told each other several times.'

'She's a real looker that woman, isn't she? Loads of style. She's not there with you, by any chance?' Nothing was unlikely with his brother Joe.

'No indeed, she's not. Let's say she's not.'

 I don't know how you do, it Joe.' Tom shook his head. Imagine, Joe had picked up someone at their party last night and persuaded her to go back to his hotel!

'Only because I'm a sad old man without a lovely wife of my own like you have.'

'She's not my wife yet.'

 I know, but she might as well be for all the looks she gives towards anyone else.'

That pleased Tom, as Joe knew it would. 'Anyone I know from the party?'

'Aha,' said Joe.

'Is she there with you? Now?'

'In the bathroom at the moment. Any time for a drink before I get the plane?'

 I have to go round to the premises… I really do not want Cathy coming by and doing it.'

'Right, I'll see you round there in half an hour,' Joe said.

Tom was ready to leave in minutes. The van wasn't outside the door, it was in Waterview at Cathy's place. He'd get a taxi on the street. There was something he wanted to talk to Joe about too. Like was there any hope that he might actually do something in terms of their mother and father, come and see them even for very short visits. It would mean so much to them, and take so little out of Joe's lifestyle. And it would lift a great deal of the burden from Tom's back.

The van was there when he arrived. Tom was annoyed; not only had he not beaten Cathy to it but now he wouldn't be able to talk to Joe. Perhaps he could take him out for a coffee. He would make it up to Cathy later. Tom hoped that Neil would not be there, it would point up how much more involved the two of them were, Marcella at her dance class and Tom about to slip out with his brother. But no; Cathy was not with Neil. She was with those bizarre children that she seemed to have taken under her wing. Solemn-eyed, self-centred, intense and appallingly bad mannered, although there had been a bit of an improvement in their behaviour recently.

'You're late,' said Simon.

'Where's your girlfriend?' asked Maud.

Cathy came out and gave him a hug. 'Wasn't that a night to remember,' she said. Then, looking at the children, she said in an entirely different voice, 'Tom is not late, we are only here for two minutes, and his girlfriend Marcella is at her dance class, and what did I say about greeting people?'

They lowered their eyes.

'No, stop looking down at the floor. How do we greet people in a civilised society? Tell me this minute.'

'We say hallo and pretend to be glad to see them,' said Simon.

'We use their name if we know it,' added Maud.

'Okay. Sorry Tom, could you go out and come in again, it wasn't a civilised society for a moment but it will be when you come back.'

Tom went back outside, irritated. There was little enough time as it was, and now he was playing ridiculous games in a vain attempt to teach these monstrous children manners.

'Good morning,' he said as he re-entered.

Simon, with a nightmare rictus grin on his face, came out to shake hands. 'Good morning Tom,' he said.

'You are most welcome, Tom,' Maud said.

'Thank you… um… Maud and Simon,' said Tom, gritting his teeth at being welcomed to his own premises by these two children. 'Thank you so much, and to what exactly do we owe the pleasure of your company?' They looked at him without an idea of what he was talking about.

Cathy explained. 'My mother isn't all that well this morning.'

'Too much wine here last night,' Simon explained.

Cathy interrupted, 'and so I thought it would all be for the best if they came to help me here… And if you have no objections, they are about to unload and load the dishwashers very carefully now.

Now,' she barked suddenly at the children, who scuttled away to get on with it.

'Sorry,' she whispered to Tom. 'I really had to. I've never seen my poor mother so shook. She never goes anywhere where there's drink, and it's all my fault. I hated that old bitch Hannah Mitchell so much I kept tanking poor Mam up so that she wouldn't hear your woman patronising her.'

'Cathy, whatever you want, believe me, it's just…' 'It's just what?' Her eyes were bright and searching his face for what he was trying to say.

'Well it's just that I don't seem to do as much as you do. I was going to meet Joe here and have a chat with him, so now we might slope off and that's not fair on you… And also it's just…'

'Oh, go on, say it Tom. Ask are they going to be living with us until Neil and I are old and grey, and the answer is I don't bloody know. I just know that we can't abandon them. And they will do this, you know, so go off with Joe and for God's sake stop saying you're not pulling your weight. You do far more than me.'

'It was a great night last night,' he said. 'I really do think we're going to be all right, don't you?'

'I think we'll be millionaires,' said Cathy, just as Joe came in through the open door.

'That's what I like to hear,' said Joe Feather. He took Cathy up in his arms and swung her round in a circle. 'Well done, Cathy Scarlet, you and my little brother here have really got the right touch.'

She was pleased, Tom noted, as every woman that Joe Feather looked at seemed pleased.

Maud and Simon peered out of the kitchen at the sounds. 'Good morning, I'm Maud Mitchell and this is my brother Simon. You're very welcome.'

'Would you like me to take your coat?' Simon asked.

'I'm Joe Feather. Delighted to make your acquaintance,' Joe said.

'Are you Tom's father?' Simon asked, interested.

Cathy's face fell.

'Not quite, more his brother,' Joe said agreeably.

'And do you have children and grandchildren of your own?' Maud wanted to be clear on everything too.

'No, I'm a bachelor, that's a man never lucky enough to marry,' said Joe as if he were being interviewed on radio. 'And I live by myself in London in an apartment in Baling. I go to work by the Central line every day from Haling Broadway to Oxford Circus, and I walk down to the garment district, where I sell clothes.''

Tom hadn't known any of this. He knew his brother's post code, but he hadn't known it was Ealing… He didn't know about the tube journey, either.

'Do you sell them in a shop or in a street?'

'It's more an office really. You see, they come in to me and then I send them out again,' Joe explained.

'Do you improve them before they go?' Maud asked.

'Actually, no. No, they go the same as they arrive,' said Joe.

'Terrible waste then, isn't it, them going to you?' Simon said.

There was a silence.  I suppose it is in a way,' Joe agreed. 'But it's the system, you see. It's how I earn my money.'

There was another silence. 'Are we talking too much?' Simon asked Cathy.

'No, truly, but why don't you go into the kitchen again and sort the cutlery? Like now,' Cathy shouted so that they all jumped. Maud and Simon went out immediately.

'They're extraordinary,' Joe said.

'Mixed blessing,' Cathy said.

'Who are they?' he asked.

'You don't have time. Go off and have a coffee somewhere sane, and we'll do this place.'

Tom thought that Joe was reluctant to leave. His brother was such a womaniser and always had been. Tom hoped against hope that Joe hadn't suddenly taken a fancy to Cathy. Life was never uncomplicated, but all he needed now was something like this to happen, for his brother, who seemed to be able to get the entire female population of Ireland to fancy him, to move in on the happiest marriage in the Western world - that of Cathy and Neil Mitchell. Whatever else happened, this must not even be allowed to get to first base. 'Come on, Joe, we'll go to Bewley's,' Tom said, and they left.

'What does Geraldine do for a living?' Joe asked when they were seated with their sticky almond buns and coffee.

'She's got a PR agency, you know that.'

'No, I meant how did she get the money to set it up, and how can she match me pound by pound?'

'Funny thing,' Tom said. 'Geraldine asked Cathy the same question. She wanted to know where you got the money.'

'And what did Cathy say?'

'She said that she didn't know, and as far as she knew that I didn't know either.'

Joe said, 'So what do you want to know? Ask me, I'll tell you.' 'I suppose I don't know exactly what you do. You don't ever say.'

Joe leaned on the table and looked across at him without the usual jokey smile. 'God, you know what I do, Tom. I rent two rooms in the garment district in London. I get stuff made up out in the Philippines. I import it, I show it to retailers, they buy it and I get more stuff made up in Korea and I show it to more retailers and they buy it.' 'And that's it?'

'Of course it's bloody it. What did you think it was, stealing old ladies' pension books, selling hash in pubs?' 'No, of course not.'

'But what then? You know what I do. There was never any mystery. When you went to work in those restaurants I knew what you were at. I didn't say to myself, I wonder what Tom is doing in Quentin's? I knew you were an apprentice learning how to cook with that chef Patrick, what's his name?' 'Brennan. Patrick Brennan.'

'Yes, I know. I often go in there, his wife Brenda is something else. When you went on the catering course, I knew what it was about. Ask me anything you like if you can't understand what it is I'm doing,' Joe grinned at him.

 I know, it does sound like the Special Branch. Sorry.' 'It sounds worse, it sounds like the Inland Revenue,' Joe said with a look of mock terror on his face.

'Talking about that, Joe, we have a very upright bookkeeper…'  I get your drift,' he laughed.

'No, I mean he really does ask toughish questions and, you know me, I like the canvas to be uncluttered with little problems.'

 I have one really spotless account, believe me. Any support comes from that one.'

Tom decided to go no further down the road on that one, in case he heard of accounts which were not spotless and learned more than he wanted to know. 'And do you ever go out to these places in the Far East to see them making your clothes?' he asked.

'As little as I can. I know you think I'm a capitalist pig but I actually can't bear to see how poor they are and how little they're paid, I just prefer to see stuff arriving in a warehouse.

'Oh, I can't talk about people being capitalist pigs now, I've joined them,' Tom said ruefully.

 I know, the Feather brothers taking over.' Joe grinned at him.

'Talking of that...'

'Yeah?' Joe was wary now, as if he knew what was coming.

'Joe, I don't want to preach but couldn't you just go sometimes to see Ma and Da. You never see them and I have to keep on…'

'No, Tom, you don't have to keep on doing anything you don't want to. I met them last night, for God's sake.'

'For thirty seconds at a party.'

'You want me to spend hour after hour listening to Ma telling me I'll burn in hell because I don't go to Mass, Da complaining that my name isn't on the sign in the builders yard… No, Tom, I have a life to lead.'

'So do I, and I have to live yours for you too… Where is he, why doesn't he stay in touch.'

Joe shrugged. 'Say you don't know.'

 I do say it, and it's the truth. I don't know. I don't know why you who are so good with people can't send them the odd postcard, make the odd call.'

 If I go to Manila I'll send them a card, is that a deal? Will you get off my back now?'

'A card from London would be exotic enough for Ma and Da,' said Tom, but he knew when he had to give up.

Tom and Cathy sat for hours dreaming up menus for the christening, the first night party and the business lunch. All of them desperately important in their own way. The christening would have a very flash, moneyed crowd at it, people who could spend. They would have to do it right, lay out a bit more on the actual presentation. The theatre party was on a very low budget; what they wanted was something much nicer than sausages and crisps but at the price that sausages and crisps would cost. It needed a lot of thought. If they got on well with the theatre crowd it would really stand to them, there would be contacts for all kinds of events from now on. Cathy had been endlessly patient trying to think of cheap food that would seem more upmarket. Crostini, maybe? And lots of dips and pitta. But since people actually did like sausages, maybe they should have some, with a redcurrant and honey glaze.

She knew there would be no profit in it but that it was very dear to Tom's heart. So he wanted to help her also with the business lunch. Cathy's dream was that they would get into some of the banks or money houses in the financial centre, where they would serve light, exquisite lunches to the companies' clients as part of corporate hospitality, and have the ability to pick up further business at every meal they served. It would mean more daytime work, too.

Cathy had asked once if Marcella would consider helping to serve this first one, just to start them off. Nobody would ever forget Marcella pouring their mineral water and smiling her dazzling smile. Tom hated having to say no at the outset. He knew that Marcella just would not do it, and it would be unfair to ask her.

'She must have a stab at this modelling, you know, no matter how hard she pushes herself. I hardly ever see her.'

 I know what you mean,' she shrugged. 'But you're going to have to get used to it when she does become a model, because she'll be off at shows somewhere all the time.'

Tom realised with a shock that he had probably thought Marcella would never make it. He had somehow seen a future where Scarlet Feather became very successful and they could put in a manager. A future where he and Marcella would marry and have two children. But perhaps he was just fooling himself.

'Where will we be in ten years time, do you think, Cathy?' he asked her suddenly.

 T'd say we'll still be here working out this bloody menu, and the child will be nearly grown-up and walking round a pagan because he never got christened at all,' she said. 'Come on Tom, let's cost it out, salmon and a chicken dish, they want it done right, and judging by your figures, they're not likely to have a big family and lots of other christenings to follow.'

'It'll be too dear, it's the rich who always carp about the prices… you know that,' Tom said.

They were back in business. Sitting arguing in their shiny new premises, drinking coffee from the marvellous mugs which said Scarlet Feather. A gift of six of them from Marcella, who had them painted specially. Cathy's friend June who had helped last night came in to say that she would love to do the odd night waitressing, and could they just show her a few of the finer points.

'I'm not sure we know them,' Tom said. 'But we'll try anyway.'

June was a small, jolly girl who had been at school with Cathy. She had got pregnant when she was sixteen and the great thing about that, she said, was that she had her family reared now and she was free to do what she liked. According to Cathy, she sometimes felt a little bit too free to do what she liked, or that's what her husband said, anyway. But June just laughed and said that she had to go dancing and to clubs nowadays: she had missed out on all that when she was seventeen and eighteen, pushing prams and minding babies.

'I'll try not to be too forward or anything,' she promised Tom, 'and if you tell me how to pronounce the things each time, I'll be great altogether. Well, I'll be cheerful anyway, and a lot of these ones you meet at functions look as if they have a poker up their arse.'

'Yes indeed,' Tom had said.

'But of course, if they fancy me then I can't help that.' 'No indeed,' Tom said.

'When's that brother of yours coming back to town? He's nearly as good-looking as yourself, but he's a real goer, isn't he?' June ate one of the crostini.

'June, stop that, you're eating the profits,' Tom said firmly. 'Oh, Joe comes and goes, he never stays. You just hear he's here, then you hear he's gone.'

'Dead exciting,' June said.

It flashed across Tom's mind that June could have been Joe's companion, the woman who had gone back to the hotel with him after the launch party. But no, surely not June. Her interpretation of having a bit of freedom could hardly have extended to staying out all night. She did have children at home. Then of course, he realised, it couldn't have been June, she had been here dancing at the very end, when Joe was long gone. But she could have gone on and joined him there later. Sexy little thing, in her way. Not something he would ask Cathy. What he really needed were those two Mitchell children. They'd get to the heart of any story. For some reason, nobody seemed able to refuse to answer their questions.

Cathy and Tom had been trained on the catering course to do their accounting very carefully, pricing their ingredients, labour and staff very precisely. They had to work out portion control in advance and take out the hours they worked afterwards. On the theatre job they lost a total of £76. Tom was shaken to the core.

'It's a one-off,' Cathy soothed. 'It's buying goodwill. We should put part of that under the promotional budget.'

'We don't have a promotional budget. The launch party saw to that,' Tom wailed in despair.

 It will lead to other things,' she pleaded.

'No, Cathy, it won't, it was to please my theatre friends, that's all. They asked half the audience in, so no future business in that crowd… and we were hours getting the place right.'

'And we had to send June home in a taxi, which was miles,' Cathy agreed.

'And we had to pay her two extra hours because she worked them. I had no idea it was going to go on so late.' Tom was contrite.

'Okay, three jobs this month and we lost seventy-six pounds on the first. I wonder what we'll end up losing? If we did it spectacularly enough they could use our books as an exhibit on some marketing course. How not to go into business.'

'We'll have to get bloody books, you know, otherwise we'll end up in jail as well as bankrupt. It all looked so simple in theory, didn't it?' Tom sounded less cheerful.

'What we need just now is one of those strokes of luck we kept saying that we were having,' Cathy said.

The phone rang. Cathy was nearer.

'Oh, yes, James, how are you?' Tom watched as Cathy frowned.

'Yes of course, James, it would be a pleasure.' She put the receiver down. 'You'll never guess what James wants.'

'Nothing would surprise me these days. It's not one of those strokes of luck we were looking for, is it?'

 I don't think so,' Cathy said slowly. 'He wants us to teach him to make a supper for two people, three courses. He says we are to buy the ingredients and come to his place. He's costing our time at fifteen pounds an hour. Minimum four hours, including the shopping.'

'When does he want it?' Tom asked. 'We're very busy this week, we're going to…'

'No, it's ages away, but he's going to pay us in advance to book us, he says it's proper professional practice and he insists upon it,' Cathy said, knowing well that James was only trying to put some money into their very meagre bank account.

'That's okay. Sixty quid will nearly make up the deficit on the theatre party.'

'Listen, he said fifteen pounds an hour each.'

'He's going to pay a hundred and twenty pounds to make a dinner? He's off his skull.'

'I suppose it's for some woman, he did say that discretion was to be a part of it,' Cathy said.

'Good. Then let's not let Simon and Maud know; they'd have it on the six o'clock news,' said Tom happily.

Once a month Neil and Marcella cooked a meal for them all. They were both utterly hopeless at cooking, and Tom and Cathy itched to get up and do it themselves. It would have taken half the time, and been so much better. But they had to sit through the endless fussing, sauces burning, meat shrivelling and salads being drenched in dressing. It was a ritual.

Tom thought to himself that if they were giving a lesson to poor James Byrne, perhaps they should include their partners as well. But it wasn't something you could suggest. It would look too critical of all that had gone before. But unexpectedly, it was Marcella who suggested it. When she heard about the lesson she said that she and Neil had been thinking of going secretly to Quentin's restaurant to ask Brenda and Patrick for a lesson. Could this be the solution, here on their doorstep? A rehearsal for Mr Byrne? This month it was to be Stoneyfield in their own flat. Perfect.

 If you were as old as James and he was trying to seduce you, what would you like him to serve you?' Tom asked Marcella.

'She mightn't be old, she might just be a young one,' Marcella said.

'Well, what?'

'Oysters, grilled fillet of sole, French beans and fresh fruit salad with no sugar.' Marcella spoke with certainty.

'But that's because you've been on a diet since you were nine,'  Tom complained. 'She might be a big fat lady dying for steak and kidney pie and apple pie to follow.'

'Yes, but she wouldn't like it on a date, she likes to be treated as if she were fragile, even if she isn't.'

Tom thought this was a good idea, and so did Cathy. 'We should put Marcella down as our group psychologist,' she said approvingly. And, as always, Tom beamed at the compliment for his girl. He loved people to praise Marcella, as he sometimes feared that they didn't know her well enough to realise how much she cared about the enterprise.

The cookery lesson was much discussed. Tom and Cathy had to accept that Neil and Marcella were even more hopeless than they had suspected. Everything was going to take three times as long as it should have; they would get flustered and confused. Even the very language of cooking, the simplest terms, seemed to upset them. Tom and Cathy had presented them with the instructions, which had proved far from clear. They didn't know what it meant to 'reduce' something. Neil was in a rush to leave, and he read the list briefly.

 I suppose reduce means you throw half of it away?' he said absent-mindedly as he hunted for his papers.

 I can't believe that anyone thinks you are an adult,' Cathy laughed. 'Of course it doesn't mean that, why would you make twice as much and throw half away?'

Neil shrugged. 'It's all very odd, anyway. See you tonight at their place.' He kissed her and was gone.

Cathy wanted to shout that he mustn't be late, Marcella was giving up a dance class to be there. But somehow it sounded trivial, so she didn't. Tom reported that Marcella thought to reduce something meant you had it wrong and should start again with fewer ingredients.

'We have an uphill job,' he said sadly.

Cathy drove past a house where she knew her mother would be working. Lizzie's face lit up when she saw her.

'Well now, isn't that a wonderful surprise,' she said, settling into the van.  I feel like a great lady driving in this. I hope they all see me.'

Cathy looked at her fondly. She met so many people who would have looked askance at getting into a big white delivery van, but to Lizzie Scarlet it was a treat.

'Did the others like cooking at home when they were young, or was it only me?' Cathy asked.

'Marian was quite good. She's so efficient about everything she touches, it came automatically to her, but the others didn't have the feel that you do. They didn't have much time, really; they all left so young. What was there to stay for, when there was all that fortune to be made over there?'

Lizzie sighed. Ever since the first boy had emigrated to Chicago to his uncle's house, and told the youngsters about the wages that could be earned in Illinois, her children could barely wait to be eighteen and out at the airport. They had been amazed when Cathy had never shown the slightest interest in leaving. Her mother looked tired, as well she might after a day's cleaning.

'Are those kids too much for you, Mam?'

'No, I tell you, I like their company and your dad is great altogether with them. He'll take no guff from them. I'm inclined to be a bit more…'

 I know you are, Mam. You're too kind to everyone.'

'And it's nice having children around. I was always getting ready to look after babies again when you and Neil… that is, if you and Neil…'

'Mam, I told you lots of times there isn't any possibility of that, not for ages yet, if ever. We're far too busy now.'

'God be with the old days when you didn't have any choice in the matter,' her mother said.

'Now you sound just like Tom's mother, talking about the good old days. They were not good old days, Mam, you had eleven in your family and Da had ten in his. Where was the chance for any of you?'

'We did all right,' Lizzie's voice was small and tight and she had taken offence.

'Mam, of course you did, and you did so well by all of us, but it wasn't easy for you, that's all I'm saying.'

'Yes. Yes, I see.'

They had arrived at St Jarlath's Crescent. Her mother was still hurt by the thoughtless remark.

Cathy looked at her pleadingly.  I don't suppose there's a hope you'd make me some tea?'

'Well of course, if you have the time.'

'And would there be any apple tart left, do you think?'

'Oh, come on Cathy, stop behaving like a five-year-old.' Lizzie was rooting for her key and dying to put the kettle on. Forty-five seconds, the longest sulk she had ever known her mother to hold. Cathy felt a prickle of tears in her eyes.

They gathered in Tom's flat in Stoneyfield. All the ingredients were out on the table and Marcella was looking at them doubtfully. There was no sign of Neil yet.

'Should we start?' Tom wondered. Neil and Marcella made such heavy weather out of everything, they might not eat until midnight otherwise. Patiently Tom and Cathy explained, and industriously poor Marcella struggled to follow their instructions. Then Cathy's mobile rang. Neil was tied up, he'd be there in an hour, could they start without him.

'Traitor,' called out Marcella from the other side of the room.

'Swear to her I'll be there and do my share,' he begged.

But Cathy had taken too many of those calls to make any such promise. They ran out of wine, and Neil, who was meant to be looking after that side of things, still hadn't turned up. Cathy knew he might easily forget so she called him. The background noise was a pub.

'Sorry honey, I'm on my way.' He sounded annoyed to be nagged.

'Just to remind you about the wine,' she said coldly.

'God, I'm glad you did. I forgot totally, can you open what you have there just in case…'

'We have,' she was brisk.

'All right, Cathy,' Neil said.

He was in Stoneyfield an hour later, exactly two hours after the time they were meant to start. He had brought a bottle of expensive wine which he opened and poured for them. Marcella had fumbled her way through a starter and a chicken with wine main course, and she was exhausted.

'You're to do the dessert Neil,' she said, collapsing in a chair.

'Of course I will, and the washing up.' Neil smiled them all into good humour.

'Tell me what was this reducing business, anyway? I asked someone at the meeting and they thought it had to do with calories.'

They explained. 'Well why don't they use proper words like… well, make a concentrate?' Neil objected.

'Or like boil the divil out of it?' Marcella said.

Tom and Cathy took notes on the cookery lesson. It would have to be radically altered before they presented it to James Byrne. The salmon mousse was beyond them, they would have to take that off the list. The coq au vin was fine, but it took them all day and all night. The tiramisu looked and tasted disgusting. Tom couldn't see why, but it was soggy and bore no relation to what they had been asked to do. The food was terrible, but somehow the evening was not ruined. Cathy noticed that Marcella ate practically nothing and only sipped at her wine. Neil offered to keep his promise of washing up but Tom and Cathy knew they would be there until dawn if they let him, so they cleared the place up at high speed.

'Cleans up a treat, doesn't it?' Cathy admired their handiwork.

Tom looked around the flat. 'It's very practical, but I wouldn't want to live here for ever. It's like as if we're passing through without leaving any mark at all.'

Once he had mentioned it, the place did look very minimalist. Clean white walls and empty surfaces. No pictures on the walls, not many books on the shelf, no ornaments on the mantelpiece or window ledge. A little like a hotel suite, in fact.

 I know, I feel the same about Waterview sometimes. Move Neil's books out in one van load and it's just the way we got it. But then would you want it like St Jarlath's Crescent, where there isn't a space to put anything down?' she asked.

'Or Fatima. I know,' Tom agreed.

The happy medium was something that eluded the world, they all agreed.

They had no idea how hard it was to make contacts. People either didn't consider themselves in the league which hired a caterer, or if they did then they already knew someone who was doing just fine. Geraldine and Ricky gave them names, but they drew blank after blank. Tom was determined not to be downcast.

'Listen, we'll do leaflets and get some kid to deliver a thousand or two.'

If Cathy thought it was useless she didn't say so. Sometimes, after a fruitless day of searching for work, she would say that it was only Tom's enthusiasm that kept her going. And it was sincere, he really believed it. He wasn't just trying to keep her spirits up. They were so good, they had such imaginative ideas and worked so hard. It was only a matter of time until everyone realised this and recognised them for what they were. But Tom never sat back and just waited for things to happen: he was always on the move looking, asking and hunting.

 I hate breaking into your time, Geraldine, but could I come and spend just thirty minutes going through your client list again? You know we're good, it wouldn't be compromising you to recommend us.'

 It does my street cred good to have a handsome young man like yourself come to the apartments,' Geraldine said. 'Come round on Sunday morning and we'll see what we can find.'

The Glenstar apartment block was immaculately kept. There was regular landscape gardening, all the outside woodwork was repainted every year, brass gleamed everywhere and a smart commissionaire stood in the hall. Tom wondered how much they paid a year in services charges. Then he reminded himself not always to think in terms of how much things cost and how much they might bring in. It was the way his parents went on, and he certainly didn't need that. It was just that these sessions with James Byrne had been exhausting and worrying.

He had organised a filing cabinet and installed proper ledgers for them, warned them thunderously about keeping every receipt, and details of every piece of equipment bought so that its eventual depreciation could be properly noted. He explained how they must bill separately for waiters or waitresses asking clients to pay them directly; this way they avoided tax problems. It had been fascinating to hear James Byrne talk. It made Tom feel that anything was possible, and that they were safe from all the minefields of being prosecuted over VAT or any other kind of tax. Three jobs in February wasn't too bad. Was it? But he was out on the hunt for more work. And he had a Sunday-morning appointment with Geraldine O'Connor, so that she could go through her list of clients and decide who could be approached and with what angle. Geraldine looked magnificent: she wore a dark green velvet tracksuit, her hair was still slightly damp from swimming in the Glenstar pool. The smell of coffee filled her big sitting room. The Sunday papers were scattered over the big, long, low table in front of the sofas.

Geraldine got down to business at once, and they spent an hour at her dining table seeing where any opportunity might lie. 'Peter Murphy's hotel is useless, of course, since they have all their functions there and are catered by themselves. The garden centre never wants to spend any money, they serve thimbles of warm white wine and that's that.' The estate agents might, only might, let them send menus and a letter, saying how much it would»enhance any future function to have unusual and memorable canapes served. 'Let's put it this way, it might give people something to remember from their dreary dos.'

Tom looked at her with admiration. She was afraid of nobody. Where had she got this confidence?

'But Tom, these now are a bit more lively…' She gave him the address of an import agency. 'They take a lot of clothes, even some from your brother, he was telling me the other night. The sky's the limit with these lads. And they're totally legal now, no more black economy. I'll tell them they should get better known. They need an upmarket party. I'll promise them buyers from Haywards if they come.'

'And Haywards themselves?' Tom said hopefully.

'No, not a chance. Shona Burke and I have talked about it over and over. She's done her very best but they have a cafe, you see, so it doesn't make any sense for them to bring in an outsider.'

 I know, that's true. It's just that it would have been such a feather in the cap for Scarlet Feather,' he said wistfully.

What Tom really meant was that it would have been good for Marcella too. If her fellow was doing the high-profile catering it would make her look good by association. But it wasn't to be. They went through the list of names. The pharmaceutical people possibly, the educational project no way, the people who organised the big literary competition were attached to a brewery and had their own contacts, the cross-border cooperation people had no money. Tom admired the matter-of-fact way Geraldine went about her business. She spoke affectionately, even discreetly about her clients, she emphasised to Tom that this was all in confidence, but she was in no way impressed by any of them. She told him that they had to have this conversation in her home rather than at her office as she would not want the staff to know she was divulging the secrets of the filing cabinet. She looked so at ease with herself, unlike any other woman he knew. Not like her sister, Lizzie, who worried and apologised; unlike Cathy, who was driven to show Hannah Mitchell that she was a career woman in her own right. Not like his mother, who saw only the bad side of everything and relied on the power of prayer. Not like Shona Burke, who always had this faraway, sad look on her face. He remembered Joe asking how Geraldine had got the money together to buy this agency, but it wasn't a question he would ever put to her, even though the great splendour of her apartment and her readiness to back them in this enterprise sometimes did make him speculate. But he frowned to himself. He would not become obsessed with money like so many people were nowadays.

'What on earth are you making faces about, Tom?' Geraldine didn't miss much.

 I was thinking about money, actually, and why it mustn't be a god itself but if you don't keep an eye on it you go down the tube,' he said.

'I know what you mean. Money itself is not important at all, but in order to make it and to get the life you want you have to pretend that it is for a while, just so as to keep it rolling on in.' Her face looked hard for a moment.

Tom said no more on the subject. He gathered up his notes to leave. When he took his coffee cup into the kitchen he saw ingredients for a lunch set out there. 'Have you a busy day?' he asked.

'A friend to lunch,' she said briskly. 'Which reminds me, find a few canapes that freeze well and give them to me, then I can talk you up all round the place.'

'Of course, but why don't you let us do a lunch for you, any time, it's the very least we can do.'

'I know, Tom, so Cathy already said. You're both sweet, but the kind of guys I entertain like to think that I cooked everything for them with my own fair hands.'

Shona Burke was getting out of her little car, and she called out to him as he left. 'Do you have your brother's phone number in London?' she asked.

'No, not you too. What do you all see in him?' he groaned.

'Purely business,' she said. 'Anyway, you're much better-looking than he is. They're doing a young people's promotion in Haywards in late spring, and he told me that he might just have a line of what he called fun clothes. Swimwear, lingerie, you know.'

'Sorry, Shona.' He took out a Scarlet Feather card and looked up Joe's London phone number for her in his diary.

'You don't know it?'

'Hey, no, I've no memory for numbers,' he said.

She nodded.

For some reason Tom said, 'Anyway, I don't call him that much or he me, I don't know why it is. Have you got sisters and brothers?'

Shona hesitated. 'Well, yes, in a way I do.'

It was an odd response but Tom let it go. Some people hated to be interrogated about their families; Marcella did. Her mother was dead and her father, who had married again, just wasn't interested, she said, and wanted it left like that. Cathy, on the other hand, had something to say every day about her parents: she loved Lizzie and Muttie, in spite of her mother's humble, grateful attitude to life. Cathy would also go on about her mother-in-law Hannah's innate viciousness, and about the sisters and brothers in Chicago, particularly Marian, the eldest, who had done well in banking but poorly in her love life until recently, and was now going to marry a man called Harry who looked like a film star. And look at his own brother Joe, who had not a family bone in his body. Tom got into his van waving her goodbye. She stood there taking no notice of the light rain that had begun to fall, not covering up her hair as most women would, still looking oddly lonely and vulnerable. She was a handsome girl, not strictly beautiful. Marcella always said that Shona Burke could look much better than she did if she wore more make-up and got her hair changed from that old-fashioned style. Her hair did look dull and flat. But she had a lovely smile. He wondered for a moment if she had been Joe's companion back in the hotel after the party. Why not? They were both free. She didn't have to tell anyone about it. Then he pulled himself together. He must stop speculating like this. She was saying something; he opened the van window to hear properly.

 I was only saying that you're very restful, Tom, a peaceable, handsome person,' Shona said.

'Not a word about the killer instinct that's going to make me a force in the land?' he called.

'Oh, that goes without saying.' She laughed

.

Marcella came home from Haywards beauty salon the following evening and told Tom amazing news. This woman had come in to book a hairdo, manicure, a facial, the works, and said she was going to a drop-dead-cert smart christening party on Saturday, and she had actually said there were going to be fancy caterers at it. Tom could hardly believe it. Already people were talking about them and they hadn't even got properly started! He couldn't wait to ring Cathy. But tonight she and Neil were taking those children to see their mother in some drying-out place. He would tell her tomorrow.

'Will we celebrate?' he asked Marcella.

'Ah love, I'm just off to the gym,' she said.

'Couldn't you… Just for one night… To raise a glass to posh people in Haywards referring to us as fancy caterers?'

'Tom, we agreed. The subscription costs so much, the only way to make sense out of it and get any value is for me to go every day.'

'Sure,' he said, then knew he must sound a little warmer. 'You're absolutely right,' he said. 'And as soon as we really are a fancy caterers, then you'll come to every classy, fancy thing we do as a guest and get yourself photographed all over the place.'

'It will happen that you'll be a great big success… you do know that, don't you?' she said, and he thought he saw tears in her eyes. 'I'm not just saying that… you really know.'

'I know.' He did know. She had wanted the best for them from the start. 'Of course I know,' he said, and he held her close to him before she went to pack her leotards, trainers and body lotion. Tom looked out of the window until she waved up at him from the gates of Stoneyfield, as she always did. He wondered had she any idea how beautiful and endearing she was already, without having to punish herself with all this ruthless regime.

Ricky rang. He had the pictures they needed, six black and white arty studies of food which they were going to put up in the premises. He could bring them around tomorrow if the picture rail was up, and did Tom want the measurements. Tom did, and he got his paper and pencil.

 I was going to give them to you tonight at the do, but I figure it makes us look idiotic talking work at a party,' Ricky explained.

Tarty?'

'Yeah, you know, the new club?'

'No, I never heard about it.'

'Well I told Marcella, she said you'd both be there.' Ricky was puzzled. Tom could feel his heart beating faster.

'Misunderstanding of some sort,' he mumbled.

'Sure. Now they're all portrait-format. I'll give you the top-to-bottom measurements first, then the side-to-side. Your father's getting a rail made, isn't he?'

Ricky went on and on with his specifications and Tom wrote down lists of numbers of centimetres on his pad, but his mind was on autopilot. He could not believe that she had just left pretending to go to the gym, and was in fact heading off to something without him. And how would she account for her late arrival home? He felt such a shock at the betrayal that he could hardly hear Ricky's words.

'Right, I'd better go and put on my going-out gear. Crazy idea having a party at this time. No one's properly awake yet. See you over at the HQ tomorrow, okay.'

'Okay Ricky, thank you a million times,' Tom Feather said to the cheerful photographer who had just broken his heart.

He needed to give his father the measurements. The pictures were to be suspended from a pole that would have grooves cut in it at a specific number of centimetres apart, and JT had been asking when anyone would inform him of what he had to do, so that it would not be yet another botched job. With fingers that seemed the weight of lead he dialled his parents' number, realising that first he must cheer him up before his father would agree to write down the measurements. Please may it be his da - he couldn't go through the whole cheering-up process twice if he got his mother.

But it was neither of them. It was a woman with a bark that nearly lifted him off the phone.

'Yes,' the voice said.

'Sorry,' Tom began,  I've got the wrong number. I was looking for the Feathers.'

'This is the Feathers. Who's that?'

'Tom, their son.'

'Great bloody son you are, wouldn't you think you'd have left your number beside the phone for them?'

'But they know my number,' Tom cried, stung by the injustice of this.

'They don't know it now,' shouted the woman.

'What's happened… ?' This was a new kind of fear. Tom could hear voices in the background. Something must have happened. Eventually, and only when he had assured her that his phone number was at the top of a list in a plastic-covered notebook which for some reason his mother kept in the kitchen drawer, did the woman with the barking voice agree to tell him what was going on, and he learned that his father had chest pains and his mother had run out into the street to get help. Almost all the neighbours in the small street had come into Fatima, and someone had gone to the hospital when the ambulance came, and others had stayed making tea with poor Maura, who wasn't herself at all and couldn't cope with what was happening.

'Can I talk to her?'

'Why don't you just get yourself there?' said the woman with the unpleasant voice. Which made sense. He wished he had been nicer to his father, less impatient. Tom grabbed up his car keys and coat. He paused for a moment to consider writing a note. He and Marcella often communicated by letters left to each other on the table. But he didn't want to tell her about his father. And moreover, he couldn't forgive her for lying to him. And he knew she had. She had looked too excited going out to the gym, she smelled too well, there had been tears in her eyes over something. But then, she must not think he had run away either. 'My father's not well, gone to see him, hope you enjoyed the party,' he wrote. That would show her. He drove to the hospital.

Unless his father had another heart attack tonight the prognosis was fairly good, they told him in Intensive Care. Competent, calm young men and women his own age who knew about valves and arteries. A nurse asked him gently if he would perhaps like to take a seat outside. Tom realised that he must have been standing right in everyone's way.

'He's resting now, he's fine.'

'I know. Thank you,' Tom smiled.

She smiled straight back at him, a big, open smile. She was a square, freckled girl with a country accent and slightly messy hair. Tom recognised the look she gave him; it was the kind of look that almost every woman in Ireland gave his brother Joe. Interested, aware and slightly fancying. He looked back at her with a hollow heart. A perfectly nice girl, with a white cardigan over her uniform. But of course he could not fancy a woman like that in a million years. Compared to his Marcella, this girl was like something from a different planet. A totally separate species. He went out into the cold night to get some fresh air and telephoned his mother on his mobile.

'He looks fine, Mam.'

'What do you mean, he looks fine? Didn't I see him with my own two eyes clutching his chest, fighting for his breath?'

'But he's sedated now, Mam, he's breathing normally.'

She gave a whimpering sound and he heard her neighbours comforting her.

'I'll ring you in an hour.'

'Why?' she wanted to know.

'Just to tell you that he's still fine.'

'He's finished, Tom, you know he is. He shouldn't be up ladders at his age, he was just desperate to get that place right for you.'

'It has nothing to do with being up ladders, they said. It's looking good, everyone says that here.'

'Oh, so you know all about medicine, a boy who wouldn't even stay on in Sixth Year. Someone who couldn't go into business with his own father to help him out. You suddenly know what's causing heart attacks, do you?'

'Mam, I'll ring you back.'

It was freezing out here, but it was better than the heat and noise and medical smells of the hospital. He went to a bicycle shed and sheltered there against the wind, huddled in the corner and willed his father to get well. And when he was well, he would talk to his father man to man, and not leave until the conversation had gone somewhere beyond a series of shrugs. He would from now on insist that his parents came up regularly to Stoneyfield to visit them. He would cook things they liked, roast chicken, shepherd's pie. He would beg Marcella to talk to them about things that would interest them. Marcella. He remembered with a shock. He stood and watched people arrive and leave in their cars from the big ugly-looking concrete car park. What a hideous place. But to be fair, if money were to be spent on hospitals he would prefer it spent on machinery that would monitor his father's heart than on attractive landscaping for the grounds. He saw someone very like Shona Burke locking a car and then walking purposefully towards reception wearing a raincoat and carrying a shoulder bag. It was Shona. He moved forward to talk to her, then he moved back. He didn't want to tell her about his father before he knew what there was to tell. Also, he didn't want her to ask about Marcella. It would be normal for someone's live-in girlfriend to be there when there was a question that his father might die. But then, what was normal with Marcella? But Shona had seen him and called out.

'You look shivery, Tom.'

 I know, but still it's too hot inside there.'

'Oh, don't I know all about it, I come here quite a lot…'

'I'm sorry, is it… ?'

'It's all right, Tom.' She spoke gently, letting him know that there would be no discussion on who she was visiting. 'But still, you look badly. Come on inside for a bit.'

'Right.' He walked in beside her.

At first, neither of them asked each other. Then she turned to him.

 Is it something bad?'

 I don't know. My father, chest pains, angina. It all depends on tonight - if he makes it through till tomorrow he'll have a great chance.'

'Poor Tom, when did it happen?'

'I just heard about it over an hour ago. All hell broke loose; my mother is so upset I think she should be in the next bed to him.'

'You mean you've only just heard?' Shona asked.

'Yes, it hasn't quite sunk in.'

'That means Marcella doesn't know yet, does she?'

'No,' his voice was flat.

'Oh, poor Marcella. I offered to drive her home from the gym but she said no, she was getting a bus, buying you a potted plant as a surprise.'

In front of everyone in the reception area, Tom Feather kissed Shona Burke and gave a whoop of delight. 'She was at the gym?' he cried. 'Tonight?'

'But you know that, Tom, she told me you wanted her to stay at home and celebrate that people were saying you're classy caterers.'

He drove home so fast he was amazed that there wasn't a police siren following him the whole way. He let himself in the door and she was sitting there at the table, a big fern in a pot beside her.

'Marcella!' he said.

'How is your father?' Her voice was icy.

'He'll be fine, it's all under control… You were at the gym?'

'As I told you I was going to be.' Her face was like a mask.

'Marcella, if you knew… you see, I thought…'

'What did you think, Tom?'

 I supposed you'd gone to a party, to a club…'

She put her head on one side as if asking a question.

'You see, Ricky said he'd asked you.'

'He did, yes. But I didn't want to go, because you're too busy and too tired, and I knew you'd hate it, so I went to the gym as I told you I was going to do.'

He couldn't stop the tears that came to his eyes.

 I'm so sorry. You see, I didn't think… I didn't think you could love me enough to give up something like that for me.'

 I did, yes of course I did.' Her voice was very level; she did not appear to see how upset he was.

'You do love me, I know it now.'

'No, Tom. I said I did, not I do.'

 It hasn't changed. Surely?'

She picked up the note and passed it to him. 'You are the most bitter, mistrustful man I ever met. How could anyone love you?' She stood up and went to the bedroom.

'Marcella, you're not leaving.' He was ashen-faced now.

 If you imagine that I could stay a night here with you when you think I'm a liar.'

He stood at the bedroom door looking at her.

She had taken off her clothes, and reached for one of those micro-skirts he hated her to wear. She picked dark tights from the drawer and moved towards the bathroom.

'Where will you stay?'

 I have friends. I'll find somewhere to stay.'

'Please, Marcella.'

She phoned a taxi to pick her up and then closed the bathroom door. Later, when she heard the doorbell ring, she came out.

 I am so sorry,' he said.

'So you should be, Tom, seriously sorry, because I have always told you the truth, and if you think it's possible to lie to anyone you love, then you're in deep trouble.'

And she was gone. Eventually the phone rang. It was his mother.

'You said you'd ring in an hour, I had to ring the hospital myself.'

 Is he all right, Mam?'

'A fat lot you care, Tom.'

'Mam, please.'

'He is for the moment. Tom, what will we do if he dies?'

 I'm coming round to Fatima, Mam,' he said.

Before he left he had two things to do. He rang his brother Joe in Baling. He got an answering machine.

'Joe, this is Tom. Dad's had a coronary. I'll give you the number of the hospital. All you need to do is say you're his son and they'll tell you what's to be told. I hope you'll do something, Joe, but it's your life, not my life, so I'll just leave it at this.'

Then he sat down to write a note to leave on their table.

 I hope and pray you come back, and if you do, darling, darling Marcella, just know that I didn't know the meaning of love before I met you, and that I can't see much point in life without your love.'

Tom kept his mobile phone on all night, and not long after dawn he stopped at another builder's yard to make the pole with the notches to hang the pictures on, and drove to the premises. Cathy was there already.

'What does the other fellow look like?' she asked. 'What?'

'It's a joke, it's what you say to somebody who's been in a fight. You hope that someone else came off worse.'

He looked at her blankly.

'God, Tom, it was a joke. You're worse than Simon and Maud. Were you on the whiskey or something?'

'No, I've been up all night with my father. He had a coronary and Marcella has left me.' He said it in a very strange tone, as if he were just recounting two unimportant events.

Cathy looked at him, exasperated. 'What really happened, Tom?'

She was both kind and unbelieving at the same time. Tom was about to lose it, to break down and sob helplessly with his head on the table, when Ricky arrived with the pictures.

'Jesus but did you miss a wild night,' Ricky said, holding his head. 'You were the very wise one not to come along to that particular party, my friend.'

'That's me, Mr Wise Guy,' said Tom Feather sadly taking out the pole that his father had not been able to do because he had gone into heart failure before he got the measurements.

'You're nearly over twenty-four hours, Dad, so that means you're going to be fine,' Tom said to his father the next afternoon.

'If you knew what it was like, Tom, it was like two hands squeezing your ribs.' His father looked a lot better today. 'They tell me you were here all night?'

'Where else would I be?'

'But Marcella, you know?'

'She sent you her love, Da.'

 I know she did, and she's a grand girl, I heard from one of the nurses that the pair of you were hugging and kissing in the hall when you heard I was going to be all right, I'll never forget that.'

Tom looked at him blankly.

'Oh, that nice girl Catherine, she said she was very disappointed to know you had a ladyfriend. She was on duty and she told me everything.'

His father was patting his hand and Tom smiled at him. The nurse in the cardigan had seen him kissing Shona Burke when he had discovered that Marcella had really been to the gym.

The christening was what Cathy said should be called The Function from Hell. They had been asked to cater for fifty, but they could see as the room filled up that there were at least seventy people there. They hadn't cleaned the kitchen properly so Cathy, June and Tom had to spend the first twenty minutes wiping surfaces and putting down a disinfectant. When they opened the kitchen windows to let out the medicinal smell the baby's father came in and said the whole place stank like a urinal. When they tried to set up the buffet, the two small dogs of the house began a game of pulling the tablecloths.

'People who don't like animals are really not my kind of people,' said the baby's mother, who was three gins in before they had left for the church.

The ceremony had been forty minutes shorter than Cathy and Tom were told, so their bar wasn't ready.

'I was told you were top-drawer,' said the baby's father. 'We're in business just as you are, and we don't pay for what we don't get.'

They had ordered kedgeree served from a hotplate as a starter. It was a good choice, but before it got under way, the baby's mother began telling everyone, 'Don't bother eating all this rice and fish stuff, they have a proper roast coming later.' So a lot of people obediently put down their half-finished starters. Tom and Cathy looked at each other, wild-eyed, in the kitchen. Their only hope was that people would stock up on the kedgeree. Now they were waiting for the miracle of the loaves and the fishes.

'What in the name of God will we do?' Cathy asked him.

'Get them drunk,' Tom suggested.

'It's not fair on them, it means they will have to pay for all that extra wine.'

'What's fair, Cathy, tell me, what's fair about anything? What's fair about my father who worked hard all his life lying in hospital? What's fair about you having those kids that don't belong to you, ballsing up your life and your parents' lives? What's fair about that guy that Neil was trying to save being thrown out of Ireland? And what is fair about these two beauties telling us they were having fifty people when they have seventy-five? Get them drunk, I say.'

And they did. Spectacularly.

Before they started on their mission, Cathy Scarlet approached the baby's father firmly.

'Can I suggest something? Your guests seem to be enjoying themselves enormously, and you have chosen some particularly good wine.'

'Yes, yes, what?'

'And in case there's any doubt about the wine you would like us to serve, can I ask you to sign permission to bring out more?'

'We thought a half-bottle a person?' He was a small, fat man with small, piggy eyes.

'Yes indeed, that is what we suggested, but it's all going so well here, we would like your permission to bring out—'

'Do what you want.'

'And is it all to your satisfaction so far?'

'Yes, it's okay… just keep getting the drink round.'

'Thank you. You are a wonderful host,' Cathy said through tightly clenched teeth.

Nobody had ever told them it was going to be like this. Tom eased his way through the crowds of guests, smiling and telling them that the kedgeree was delicious.

'You're pretty delicious yourself,' said a woman with chocolate smeared over her face. She looked silly, and was about to become sillier. Tom thanked her for the compliment.

'You've got such a lovely dress,' he said. 'Is it from Haywards designer room?'

'Yes, it is.' She was stupidly flattered.

'Come here to the mirror, you've got some kind of mark on your face.' He offered her a tissue, and she looked at herself. Then, appalled at the reflection, she wiped the smears away hastily.

'That was nice of you to do that,' Cathy said.

'Come on, Cathy, it's only those clowns giving the party who are the villains here. I wish I knew where I saw that guy before, he really annoys me. The poor eejit with the Walt Disney designs on her face isn't doing anyone any harm.'

'No, you're right. God Almighty, there's more of them arriving at the hall door. They'll be eating the wallpaper.'

'What does he do for a living? I've met him somewhere, I know I have.'

'Probably some bar we worked in once. Listen, give June a hand over there. I'll ring my father and get him to provide taxis.'

'Muttie? Taxis?'

'Have we time to start looking up taxis at this stage? Half the people my father bets with drive taxis.'

'You're brilliant, Cathy! Maybe there's something we can salvage from this after all. Listen, am I going mad or something, or is that man Riordan looking at me as if he's fallen in love with me or something?'

'Well you don't realise it, but you are quite good-looking. Why shouldn't Mr Riordan try his chances like everyone else?' 'Excuse me?' 'Yes, Mr Riordan?' 'Don't we know each other?' 'Well, Mr Riordan, I'm the caterer…'

'Stop pissing about, we met at a party a couple of months ago, New Year's Eve…'

'Oh, yes?' Tom wasn't really listening, he was watching the room, seeing where he was needed.

 I remember now. I just wanted to say that this sort of thing rarely happens, it was the drink, I felt very odd after it. I think they deliberately mixed the drinks there. Some photographer fellow, very irresponsible of him.'

Then Tom remembered him. He was the man who had been pawing Marcella at Ricky's party.

'Oh, yes, yes indeed, Mr Riordan, of course I remember you.' 'You did from the beginning,' Larry Riordan said. 'No, not until this minute.'

'Come on, you've had a load of attitude since you came in the door, you knew you had one over me.'

 I knew you had made a mistake about the number of guests you had invited. I didn't realise until now you were the happily married man I met on New Year's Eve,' Tom said. He seemed to grow taller and broader as he spoke. Larry Riordan shrank in front of him. 'The whole thing was a total misunderstanding, of course… due entirely…'

'We know what it was due to, Mr Riordan.' 'What I wanted to say was that if there was any offence 'Oh, there was great offence at the time.' 'But not now, I hope.'

'Now I shall continue to do this job professionally for you and your wife, with whom I have no quarrel. Despite the fact that you told us there would be fifty people and there are over seventy in the house.'

'That was also a misunderstanding.'

'There have been a lot of them… I was going to ask your wife…'

'No need to ask her anything. Just ask me.'

'Relax, Mr Riordan, I was only going to ask her did she think we should arrange some taxis for later; many of your guests will have to leave their cars behind.'

'Do whatever you like,' said the host, loosening his collar. 'But believe me, that was all totally out of order, that incident, and I hope it had no repercussions. I mean, that everything is all right in so far as…'

'Everything is fine, Mr Riordan.'

'Very fine, beautiful young lady… I apologise again.'

'Thank you, now if you'll excuse me there are quite a lot of people need attention.' Tom moved away. This man would never know that Marcella had left him.

Cathy had busily recycled the kedgeree, adding mushrooms and chopped potatoes. She told Tom that she knew all that crowd would need it later as blotting paper, and they certainly did. They gave everyone in sight their business card, and tidied the house to within an inch of its life. When those people woke up next morning, they would find their place looking immaculate. They would find one cold bottle of champagne and a carton of orange juice in their fridge. They lined the bottles up in the back garden in ranks like soldiers, so that there would be no dispute about the number ordered and drunk, and said they would collect them the following day when they called in the afternoon to present the account. Muttie had sent five taxi-driver friends to the scene. They did a shuttle service all evening, and were well rewarded for their efforts. Tom and Cathy paid June an extra three hours, and her taxi home, before they got back to number seven Waterview.

'Come in,' Cathy said.

'No, it's late, Neil will be…'

'Neil'll be one of three things: out, asleep or happy to pour us a drink,' Cathy said, and they went up the stairs.

Neil was sitting at his big table with papers all around. 'Oh, good, Cathy I…' Then he saw Tom, and momentarily his guard fell.

'Oh, Tom,' he said, disappointed and then recovered quickly. 'How was the function? Come and tell me.'

'No, honestly Neil, it's late.'

'Come in now that you're here.'

He got three beers and they sat down.

'Tell me all about it,' Neil asked politely. His heart wasn't in it; Tom gave the briefest of descriptions and drained his beer. Before he could leave there was a tap on the door.

'Are you drunk?' Simon asked with interest.

'Not yet,' Tom said.

'Where's Marcella?' Maud wanted to know.

'Not here,' said Cathy.'

'Should I not have asked? I was just being interested, as you said I should.' Maud was confused.

'No problems.' Cathy was tight-lipped.

There was a silence.

'Would you prefer us to go back to bed now?' Simon enquired.

'Yes. It is the middle of the night, actually,' Cathy said.

Maud and Simon departed swiftly, detecting a hint of steel somewhere.

Tom let himself into the van and drove home through the dark, empty streets. Those two really worked hard - few other couples were still earning a living at this time of the morning. And it couldn't be easy for Neil having those odd, awkward children there half the time. And your wife out all hours working as well. Cathy had been wonderful. She had asked everything about his father and nothing at all about Marcella, who had left him, had refused to accept his calls into Haywards and had not even come back to collect her clothes.

'Is there anything wrong, Neil?' Cathy said. 'Your mind was a million miles away when we were telling you about the party.'

'Sorry,' he said, 'but honestly, those children, I couldn't do a thing all night. They kept coming in, asking about this and that. Homework, and where they should do their washing.'

'Well that's an advance, when they first came they just threw it on the floor.'

'They can't keep coming here. We'll have to increase what Muttie and Lizzie get.'

'They don't do it for the money, we agreed to give them a bit of a break.' '

'But who is giving us a break? There's so much to do and discuss, and we haven't one minute to talk.'

'Okay, we have a minute now.'

'No real time.'

'Well, okay, I'm happy to talk now, it's kind of unwinding, but if you're tired...'

'There's this job…'

'The big case next week… ?'

'No, not a case. A job. I could… Now, it's not definite but I hear that I could be offered this amazing position…'

She looked at him open-mouthed as he told her about a committee that worked in connection with the UN Commission for Refugees.

'Now it's not an actual UN appointment, it's part of a group under the umbrella...'

She interrupted him. 'Sorry, I don't understand. Are you trying to tell me that you would consider taking a job abroad now?'

'Not immediately.'

'When then?'

'In about five or six months, I imagine. That's if it comes to anything, but it's only fair to tell you about it now.'

 Is this a joke?'

'No, I was amazed when I heard it myself. Usually you'd have to have much more experience, but they think that—'

'You're not asking me to throw up everything and follow you out to Africa because you got a job out of the blue?'

'It's not necessarily Africa. It could be Geneva, Strasbourg, Brussels.'

'You have a job. You're a barrister, that's your job. Defending people, rescuing them, representing them. That's your job.'

'But this is something—'

'That was never on the cards, Neil, never part of any plan.'

'You don't know anything about it yet. And you'd love it, you've never had a chance to travel.'

'Oh, but I have travelled. To Greece, didn't I, where I met you.'

'But that was only a holiday.'

'It may have been a holiday for you. It was a job for me. I was cooking in that villa.'

'Oh, but honey, that was only a Mickey Mouse summer job as a chalet girl,' he said.

Her face hardened. 'But I don't have a Mickey Mouse job now, I have a company,' she said.

'Yes, but you can't expect to think—'

'Think what?' she asked.

'It's not the right time to talk now, it's too late.' He stood up.

'One sentence isn't finished. You said I can't expect to think…' She looked up at him.

'Please, this is how fights start.'

'No, leaving sentences unfinished is how they start.'

 I didn't know how it was going to end,' he said, anxious to be out of it all.

'Well, will I finish it for you?' She sounded calm, too calm.

'No fights, Cathy.'

'Absolutely not. I think we'll end it like this: we can't expect to think that you'd ask me to give up my whole life's work and dream any more than I would ever expect you to. Was it something like that?'

 It needs a lot more thought and discussion,' he said.

'You're right,' she said, and they went to bed, where they slept so far from each other that not even a toe touched, and Cathy pretended to be asleep when he left Waterview early next morning having totally ignored his promise to take the twins to school.

At the premises Tom was in better humour - his father was definitely on the mend. His mother had apologised for her somewhat hasty words; it had been the shock. The Riordans sent a message that the account was all in order and the bill for the christening would be paid in full this afternoon. There had been a note from Marcella saying that Shona had told her of Mr Feather's heart attack, and she sent her sympathy and hoped that he was getting on well. All that news was good. The bad news was that Marcella had asked him please not to get in touch for the time being. There had been no word of response from Joe Feather, whose father could well have died and been buried. And when Tom told James Byrne that Mr Riordan, the baby's father, wanted to pay for the christening in cash, the accountant was not happy.

'Not good to hear,' James Byrne said crisply.

 I know this, James, but what do we do?'

'We present an invoice for our records, and receipt it when we get the money.'

'But suppose…'

'You're paying for my advice, so don't suppose,' James said.

'Mr and Mrs Riordan, I hope it was all to your satisfaction.' 'They loved it,' said the wife. 'Full of praise,' echoed her husband. Tom didn't milk it, he did not want to make the man squirm any more.

'Our accountant actually prefers us to be paid by cheque.'

'Sure, it's sometimes that people like cash to avoid the tax,' said Larry Riordan.

'Which we wouldn't want to do.' Tom never lowered his gaze.

'No, of course.'

'Will we all go into the other room while I get my chequebook,' Larry Riordan suggested. He was obviously terrified to leave Tom alone for a moment, in case he began to tell tales.

Tom took out his calculator and his invoice book. 'The wine is all accounted for, the taxis and extras paid. It's just a small matter of… Are you sure you had the numbers right? You see, our waitress kept counting the plates and—'

'My wife says there was a mistake. She thinks we were well over fifty, actually.'

'How well over?' Tom's eyes were cold.

'Nearer to eighty, she thought.'

'Perfect,' said Tom, and signed a receipt for them.

Back in Stoneyfield he put on the Lou Reed record he loved because it showed other people had lives as confused as his own. There was a ring at the door. He answered it, and it was Marcella.

'You have a key,' he said quietly through the intercom.

 I wouldn't use it unless…' Her voice faltered.

'Unless what, Marcella?' He was still very quiet.

'Unless you wanted me to come in and talk.' He pressed the buzzer. But she didn't come in.  I mean, really talk,' she insisted.

'Well, I've been just waiting for you all those days, hours, minutes, seconds, however long it's been,' he said.

'You know I know, come on, we both know how very, very long it's been,' she said simply.

'So, Marcella, are you going to come up here to me, or what?' He hardly dared to hope.

'Tom, I wanted to know how the christening went, and to tell you that I do know you love me, and that we both made silly mistakes along the way.' There was a silence. 'Would that let me come home, do you think?' He knew she was crying, and he didn't care if she knew that he was crying too as he ran down the stairs to bring her back home.

Next morning there was a call from the woman at the party whose face Tom had rescued. She said that she wanted to thank them for their courtesy and splendid food, and to book them for a silver wedding party weeks ahead. Geraldine booked them a lunch for a group of estate agents who wanted to get into the villa market, and would like a buffet with a Spanish theme. The hospital called to say that Tom's father was now well on the mend, and that Mr JT Feather would be going home today. There was a message from Joe in Manila saying that somebody had eventually caught up with him with the news about their father, and could someone now fax him back since he had to be in the Philippines for another two weeks. James Byrne left in a note confirming the date of his cookery lesson, and saying that he always paid in advance and always by cheque, being someone who disapproved strongly of the black economy. Cathy got an e-mail from her sister Marian in Chicago, asking Scarlet Feather to cater for a lavish Dublin wedding in August. The theatre wrote to say that there just might be another gig. Apparently everyone had been very pleased with the last one, they said with some surprise. They were sure Tom could oblige again. Cathy had received a letter from Hannah Mitchell marked 'personal', in which her mother-in-law had suggested a little lunch in Quentin's to clear up any outstanding difficulties. And when Cathy rang Tom to tell him this last and most amazing of all the amazing pieces of information that day, the phone was answered by Marcella.

'Oh, Tom, you were so right to be optimistic. You just kept us all afloat. I'm so happy for you, so very happy,' Cathy said with a lump in her throat when Marcella passed the phone to him.

 I know you are,' he said, and he smiled at Marcella as he said it.