Page 57 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘Surely everyone checks out anyone new they meet.’ I’m not sure if I’m insulted at being called a random acquaintance. ‘It’s one of the flaws in your book. Nobody googles anyone else and they would.’

‘Oh.’ He looks startled. ‘You should’ve said.’

‘Not up to me to say. I’m sure your publisher or your agent-slash-ex or your editor or whoever it is who looks after these things will mention it.’

He glances at his watch. ‘All of them probably,’ he says. ‘In fact, my agent is on her way to London to talk to my publisher about it right now. Hopefully it’ll go well.’

‘Even with the lack of googling and a few other fixable glitches, it’s a proper page-turner,’ I assure him, but he looks suddenly unconvinced. I like this about Charles. He can be so confident one minute and then, in an instant, completely insecure. I wonder are all authors like him, or is it only the Booker Prize winners. And do they all spend their time googling each other to see how successful they are? I smile at the thought.

‘What’s so funny?’ he demands.

I shake my head.

‘I hope you’re not laughing at me.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ I say, though I’m not sure he believes me.

The door of the pub opens and a group of young men wearing GAA jerseys walk in. They’re also wearing shorts, even though it’s still freezing outside. I shiver involuntarily. The men sit at one of the high tables and order food. Charles looks at them with interest.

‘OK, I know you live in a rarefied literary world, but you must have seen Gaelic football players before,’ I murmur.

‘Of course.’ He gives me an impatient glance. ‘I played for the local team when I was younger.’

‘Seriously?’ He’s fit, but not bulky enough for a football player.

‘Under twelves,’ he confesses. ‘I was very fast. But too light. I came off worst in every physical encounter. Broke my collarbone twice.’

I look at him in surprise.

‘So you can revise your preconceptions,’ he tells me. ‘I support Waterford and always will.’

‘Better not say that too loud here,’ I say. ‘This is a Dublin pub.’

‘The signed jersey on the wall is a giveaway.’ He grins.

I laugh, and suddenly the atmosphere between us lightens and I don’t feel like he’s a fish out of water any more. We chat about Gaelic football for a while, and he’s a lot more knowledgeable than me, because while most of what I know comes from the guys at work, he actually follows the Waterford team. Then the subject veers towards family, and he asks me what my Christmas plans are given that my parents are on the other side of the world.

‘I’m spending it with Celeste,’ I reply. ‘Her family being my family too, of course. What about you?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ he replies.

‘But it’s only a few days away.’ I look at him in horror. ‘Surely you’ve made plans.’

‘I’m not much of a Christmas person,’ he says. ‘If you hadn’t had anything on, I was going to ask you to join me.’

‘Will you be on your own otherwise?’ I really am horrified. I can’t bear to think of him alone on Christmas Day. I wonder if I should invite him to my uncle and aunt’s. But that would be unfair on Aunt Jenni, who’s already got her entire schedule worked out and has stuck it to the noticeboard in the kitchen.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ he says. ‘I have a standing invitation to my sister’s if nothing better pops up. We’re both loners, so it suits us. But,’ he adds, ‘I always have a get-together at home on New Year’s Eve, which is great fun. I hope you can come. Bring Celeste. We might have a tropical island theme, for the cocktails at least.’

I look at him doubtfully.

‘Unless you already have a party to go to?’

‘No,’ I say.

‘That’s settled then.’ He looks pleased, and I don’t say anything else. However, it seems the right moment to take the narrow gift-wrapped box out of my bag and give it to him.

‘It’s not much,’ I warn. ‘A token really.’