Page 106 of The Honeymoon Affair

Charles himself arrives at that point and puts his arm around me before kissing me on the cheek. Then he says he wants to introduce me to Seán Óg, and I say I don’t really need to meet him, which makes Charles laugh.

‘He’s a bit of an acquired taste all right,’ he says. ‘But a good-hearted man.’

‘Did you see Mairin McGettigan?’ asks Ariel, who’s still hovering around. ‘She wanted to have a word with you.’

Even I’ve heard of Mairin McGettigan, who’s a broadcaster with a weekly arts show. Charles perks up on hearing she wants to talk to him.

‘Can you find her for me?’ he asks.

Ariel nods and walks off, while I lean closer to Charles.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he says.

‘So am I.’

‘We’ll give it another ten minutes or so and then head off,’ he tells me. Then a photographer stops in front of us and asks if he can take a photo. Charles releases me and stands straight. The man takes a photo of him but not me. I’m wondering if it would be really bad form to ask him to take one of the two of us together with my mobile, but even as I’m thinking it’s probably a naff idea, the phone starts to ring.

I frown at the unknown number, but answer it anyway.

‘Is that Iseult?’ It’s a female voice.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m calling from Beaumont Hospital. I have Steve Carter for you. Hold on.’

I don’t have time to ask her what the hell she’s talking about, because Steve is talking and it’s something about a broken arm or leg or . . .

‘Slow down,’ I say. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I came off my bike,’ he says. ‘Some effing eejit opened his car door and I slammed into it.’

‘Oh my God. Are you OK?’

‘Hardly.’ I hear him take a deep breath. ‘I’ve broken my collarbone and my ankle and I’ve sprained my wrist and thumb.’

‘Oh dear,’ I say.

‘They want to discharge me from hospital now but I can’t go home.’

‘Why not? Are there no cabs?’

‘Yes, but there’s nobody home. They’re away ’til next week. I wouldn’t even be able to put the key in the door and turn it, let alone look after myself, I don’t know what to do.’

I suggest that Dessie, one of his friends, could help.

‘Are you out of your mind?’ he says. ‘He’d probably kill me by mistake.’

He has a point. Dessie is worse than useless when it comes to practical matters.

‘I thought . . . I know this is a bit of an imposition, Izzy, but I thought maybe you could put me up for a couple of days. Until the folks are back.’

‘I can’t possibly put you up, Steve, don’t be daft.’

‘There’s nobody else,’ he says. ‘I wouldn’t ask if there was.’

‘But I’ll be at work. I can’t take care of you.’

‘It’d be better than nothing,’ he says.

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