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‘God, no. Look, I’m not making excuses, right, but I’ve never looked twice at the woman. I was upset that you wouldn’t come with me to the barbecue.’
‘Upset?’
‘Yeah, well, I was annoyed, but I’m not supposed to be angry with you, am I? That’s not in the manual, is it?’
That threw her. She recalled him kissing her cheek before he left. Had he been angry? Upset? If she was honest, she’d known that he was disappointed she wouldn’t go, but all she’d felt was relief at getting out of the ordeal. Her higher ground shifted beneath her.
‘So, I drank too much, too fast.’ He held his palms towards her again. ‘And then, I was just there, in the corridor, minding my own business, and Saoirse comes tottering along in her sky-high stilettos, and she – I swear to God – she literally fell on top of me, and I sort of caught her and held her up, and she kissed me. That was it.’
Claire couldn’t help laughing. From the pit of her stomach rose a bubbling surge of hysterical giggling.
Ronan was staring at her in what looked like horrified confusion.
Again, she swiped tears from her eyes. ‘Shekissedyou?’
‘Yes!’
She sucked in deep breaths to dampen the laughter, to almost no effect. ‘Ronan MacNamara, that’s such a fucking cliché.’ And she exploded again. Her stomach hurt, and she felt light-headed.
‘I know,’ he said shamefacedly. ‘It’s embarrassing. That’s kinda why I didn’t say that in the first place.’
She laughed again, but the uncontrollable fit was passing. ‘Oh God.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘That was weird.’
Ronan stood up. He gathered the sandwich wrappings and yoghurt cartons, all the detritus of their lunch, and carried them to a bin. Claire watched him walking back across the gravel with his hands deep in his pockets and his head down. Her rage was utterly quenched. All she felt now was a profound weariness.
As he approached the bench, he smiled nervously and paused, unsure where he should sit. She patted the bench, and he sat beside her.
‘I’m so tired,’ she said, staring into the pool.
‘Me too.’
He put his hand to her hair, but she shrugged it off.
‘You didn’t kiss her back?’
He shook his head.
‘Not even a tiny bit?’
He pressed his palms together in his lap. ‘Not even a tiny bit. I swear to God, I’ve never sobered up so fast in my life.’
‘And have you spoken to her since?’
‘I have. Well, I’ve asked her for a box of staples. She acted as though nothing out of the way had ever happened. I’m not sure if she even remembers.’
‘And that works for you?’
‘Yeah. At least, it would if it wasn’t for Alison Rafferty.’
Claire could well imagine Alison holding court in Beantown, the local coffee shop, with her tan and her gleaming teeth and her sunglasses holding back her glossy hair. She’d be regaling her cronies with this one for weeks. What could be juicier than the burly, grief-stricken maths teacher finding consolation in the clutches of the sexy secretary? They must be the talk of the town by this time.
‘Oh, Ro,’ she said. ‘How will I face them?’
‘I’m so sorry, love. I really am.’
At least the anger, the gripping isolation of it, had died away. They were in it together, she thought, like the people on the train.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said.
