“Makeup remover,” I said.

“Whatever.”

She hung up. Back to the drawing board.

Impulsively I rang Jacqui. “How’s the Narky Joey situation?” I asked.

“Oh, fine, fine. I can look at him, acknowledge that he does bear a resemblance to Jon Bon Jovi, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t fancy him in the slightest.”

“Thank God!” Suddenly I got a mad rush of fondness and really wanted to see her. “Would you like to do something later?” I asked. “Watch a video or something?”

“Oh, I can’t tonight.”

I waited for her to tell me why she couldn’t. When she didn’t I said, “What are you doing?”

“Playing poker.”

“Poker?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Gaz’s apartment.”

“Gaz’s apartment? You mean Gaz and Joey’s apartment?”

Grudgingly she conceded that yes, she supposed Joey did share an apartment with Gaz.

“Well, can I come?” I asked.

I mean, I thought she’d be delighted. She’d been badgering me for months to get out more.

The thing was, though, that Gaz wasn’t there. Only Joey was in and he didn’t look one bit happy to see me. I mean, he never did. But this was a different sort of displeasure.

“Where’s Gaz?” I asked.

“Out.”

I looked at Jacqui but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“The place looks lovely,” I said. “Beautiful candles. Ylang-ylang, I see, very sensual. And what are those flowers called?”

“Birds of paradise,” Joey mumbled.

“Gorgeous. Can I have one of these strawberries?”

Narky pause. “Go ahead.”

“Delicious! Ripe and juicy. Try one, Jacqui. Come here, let me feed one to you. What’s this scarf for, Joey? Is it a blindfold?”

He made some angry “I haven’t a clue” gesture.

“Lookit, I’m off,” I said.

“Stay,” Jacqui said. She looked at Joey. “We’re only playing poker.”

“Yeah, stay,” Joey said, about as halfheartedly as anyone could.

“Please stay,” Jacqui said. “Really, Anna, it’s great to see you out and about.”

“But…are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I should. Like, can you even play poker with just two people?”

“Well, there’s three of us now,” Joey said sourly.

“True for you. Although do you mind if we don’t play poker?” I asked. “I just don’t get it. You can’t really do it properly if you don’t smoke, it’s all in the squinting. Let’s play a proper game. Let’s play rummy.”

After a long silence, Joey said, “Rummy it is.”

We sat at the table and Joey flung seven cards at each of us. I bowed my head and stared hard. Then I asked, “Would it be okay if we turned on a light? It’s just I can’t see my cards.”

With short, jerky movements, Joey leaped up, hit a switch with venom, and threw himself back into his chair.

“Thank you,” I murmured. In the bright of the overhead light, all the flowers and candles and strawberries and chocolates suddenly looked a little shamefaced.

“I suppose you want the music off, too, so you can concentrate,” he said.

“No. I like Ravel’s Boléro, actually.”

I was sorry to be ruining the seduction scene but I hadn’t realized I’d be intruding. Jacqui had more or less said that Gaz would be there. And both her and Joey had insisted that I stay, even though neither of them had meant it.

I looked up from my—admittedly excellent—hand of cards and caught Joey openly watching Jacqui. He was like a cat with a fluff ball, he was mesmerized. She was harder to read; she wasn’t staring at him the way he was at her, but she wasn’t her usual outgoing self. And her mind certainly wasn’t on her cards because I kept winning. “Rummy!” I said gleefully, the first couple of times. Then it got embarrassing, then a little boring.

As an evening, it was not a success and it drew to an early close.

“At least poor Gaz can come home from wherever Joey banished him to,” I said as Jacqui and I waited for the elevator.

“We’re just friends,” she said defensively.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Great news

Two weeks off from Detta Big, thanks be to jaysus. She’s going to Marbella with “the girls” (collective age three thousand and seven if that crowd I saw her having lunch with are anything to go by). When Harry told me he said: And you needn’t think you’ll be going along with her for an all-expenses-paid fortnight in the sun.

Me: Like I’d want to go to that kippy kip.

Him (wounded): Why? What’s wrong with it?

Me: Full of knackery crims, wearing too much gold, bought with their ill-gotten gains. Costa del War Crime.

Him: I didn’t know the middle class thought that about Marbella. We thought yiz were jealous. Detta loves it.

Go figure. (Didn’t say it tho’.)

Him: But you needn’t think you’re off the hook. Keep an eye on Racey O’Grady. Make sure he stays in the country.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Photos!

Dear Anna,

I hope you are keeping well and sorry about “bellyaching” in my last e-mail. Well, finally we have photos of the woman and Zoe the dog! Helen is a good girl and hid in the hedge and “fired off a roll.” She wanted to shout, “We’re onto you, missus,” but I told her not to. Stealth will be to our advantage. I will be taking the best pictures to mass next Sunday and will ask people if they recognize either the woman or Zoe. God help poor Zoe, it’s not her fault, dogs have no sense of right and wrong. Human beings have a conscience, that’s what separates us from the animals. Although Helen says the difference is that animals can’t wear high heels. Either way, I must admit the whole business has me baffled. Obviously the old woman has some sort of “grudge” against us.