Shauna Griffin was a large, fair woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to the Honey Monster. She regularly exceeded the recommended dosage of Mills & Boons.

‘Unhappy?’ Ashling asked scornfully. ‘JD? He’s just bad-tempered.’

‘That’s the first bitchy thing I’ve ever heard you say about anyone,’ Trix exclaimed hoarsely. ‘Congratulations. I knew you had it in you! You see what you can achieve when you put your mind to it.’

‘Diet Lilt,’ Ashling replied drolly. ‘And a bag of buttons.’

‘White or brown?’

‘White.’

‘Money.’

Ashling handed over a pound, Trix wrote it all down on her list and moved on to the next person.

‘Lisa?’ Trix asked, adoringly. ‘Anything?’

‘Hmmm?’ Lisa jumped. She’d been far away. Jack had discovered that she hadn’t found anywhere to live yet, so after work he was taking her to see a house that a friend of his wanted to let. She’d been worried that he would get back with Mai over their lunch, but it looked as if her path was clear…

‘Cigs?’ Trix urged. ‘Sugar-free gum?’

‘Yeah. Cigs.’

The door opened again and Jack emerged, looking faintly distraught. Trix hopped nimbly back to her desk, and with a practised flick of the wrist opened her drawer, threw her cigarettes in and slammed it shut. Jack roamed amongst the desks and no one would meet his look. Those that could inched and hid their cigarettes behind something. Lisa had a box of Silk Cut open beside her mouse-pad, but though Jack wavered and seemed like he might stop, he sped up again and passed by. Everyone flinched. Then he got to Ashling and halted and the office exhaled silently. Safe, for a while.

Against her will, Ashling’s face was pulled up to look at him. Silently he tilted his head at her box of Marlboro. She nodded warily, hating her compliance. He was so unpleasant to her, but she seemed to be the only one he cadged cigarettes from. She obviously had Gobshite stamped on her forehead.

His eyes coolly watching her, he fastened his lips around the filter and, as usual, slowly, smoothly slid the cigarette from its box. Jerkily, she passed him her box of matches, taking care not to touch him. Without moving his eyes from hers, he struck a match, held the flame against the tip, then shook it out. Inclining the cigarette upwards, he pulled deep. ‘Thanks,’ he murmured.

‘When are you going to start buying smokes again?’ Trix demanded, now that her own were briefly safe. ‘You obviously can’t give them up. And it’s not fair, you must earn millions more than Ashling but you’ve been bumming loads of cigarettes off her.’

‘Have I?’ He looked startled.

‘Have I?’ He turned his gaze on to Ashling and she seemed to wither away from him in her seat. ‘Sorry, I hadn’t noticed.’

‘’s OK,’ she mumbled.

Jack disappeared back into his office and Kelvin observed drily, ‘Betcha he’s inside there kicking himself for exploiting the workers by nicking their smokes. Jack Devine, Working-Class Hero.’

‘Wannabe Working-Class Hero, more like,’ Trix scorned.

‘How so?’ Ashling couldn’t hide her curiosity.

‘He’d love to be a humble craftsman, and do an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.’ Trix’s contempt for such modest aspirations was almost tangible.

‘Problem was,’ Kelvin expounded, ‘he was born middle-class and burdened with all kinds of advantages. Like an education. Then he gets an MA in communications. Next,’ he lowered his voice ominously, ‘he begins to display excellent managerial skills.’

‘Fair broke his heart,’ Trix sighed. ‘I reckon he’s riddled with middle-class guilt. That’s why he’s always offering to fix things. And why he has all those macho hobbies.’

‘Which macho hobbies?’

‘Well, he goes sailing, that’s macho,’ Trix offered.

‘Not very working-class though, is it? Drinking pints, now that’s macho,’ said Kelvin. ‘And riding sexy half-Vietnamese women,’ he added, ‘that’s very macho too.’

Ashling sidled tentatively up to Lisa. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘No, thank you,’ Lisa sang, not even looking up from her desk. ‘I don’t want to come for a drink with you and Trix or your friend Joy or anyone else this evening. Or any evening.’

Everyone sniggered, to Lisa’s gratification.

‘I wasn’t going to ask you that.’ An embarrassed liver-coloured patch crawled up Ashling’s neck. She’d only been trying to be nice to a stranger in Dublin, but Lisa made it sound like she fancied her. ‘It’s a work-related question. Why don’t we have a problem page with a difference?’

‘What’s the difference, Einstein?’

‘We get a psychic to do the anwers, instead of a counsellor.’

Lisa was thoughtful. Not a bad idea. Very zeitgeisty, what with everyone on the hunt for a spiritual element to fix their lives. She believed none of it herself – taking the line that her happiness was very much in her own hands – but that was no reason not to peddle it to the masses. ‘Maybe.’

Relief soothed the sting of Lisa’s innuendo. In the short time Ashling had been working at Colleen, constant anxiety about her lack of ideas had gnawed at her. Then Ted suggested that she think about what she’d like from a magazine and suddenly avenues opened up. Anything to do with tarot, reiki, feng shui, affirmations, angels, white witches and spells piqued her interest.

Jack’s door opened again and everyone flung themselves protectively on their cigarettes.

‘Lisa?’ Jack called. ‘Can I have a word?’

‘Certainly.’ Elegantly she got up from her desk, wondering what he wanted to talk to her about. Could it be that he was going to ask her out?

When he instructed her to shut the door her excitement mounted. And instantly disappeared when he said apologetically, ‘There’s no easy way of saying this.’

He paused, his handsome face shuttered by discomfort.

Lisa said coolly, ‘Go on.’

‘We’re not making the advertising,’ he said, baldly. ‘Nobody’s biting. We’re only up to –’ He checked the memo on his desk, ‘– twelve per cent of what we’d projected.’