The Make

and it felt sort of nice snuggled up against him.

‘You want romantic? I can do that.’ Now his mouth was dangerously close to her own.

‘Wait!’ said Gracie. Lorcan paused. ‘What’s the point of this?’ she demanded. ‘We’ll get together again, and then we’ll just tear each other to bits . . .’

‘We could try not to,’ he suggested, kissing her cheek.

‘We’d fail,’ she sighed.

‘Defeatist.’

‘Realist, actually.’

‘We could do a deal. Make it a rule to play nice. To compromise, meet each other halfway. Do you think we could do that?’

‘I dunno. Could you?’

‘Maybe,’ he said, and kissed her very lightly on the lips.

Oh God I’m in trouble here, she thought.

‘Maybe we should talk about it,’ said Gracie, almost mesmerized by the brilliant blue of his eyes.

‘Maybe.’

‘Right.’ With a conscious effort, Gracie hauled herself up and away from him. This time, he let her go. She stood up, smoothed down her clothes. She stared down at him sternly, despite her legs feeling as if they were just about to dissolve with sheer lust. ‘But talk first, sex after, okay?’

‘Okay,’ sighed Lorcan, sitting up.

‘I’ll make us some tea,’ said Gracie, and swept out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

Jackie Sullivan replied three-quarters of an hour later, while Gracie and Lorcan were sitting in the lounge watching Santa Claus the Movie on the telly and eating fried egg sandwiches. ‘Could do with some decorations in here,’ said Lorcan. ‘Lights. Maybe a tree.’

‘I hate all that stuff.’

‘I know. You and the Grinch, separated at birth.’

It had always been Lorcan who bought the tree, decorated their apartment over the casino with tasteless swags of tinsel and bunches of mistletoe. Lorcan’s family delighted in Christmas, whereas Gracie’s much smaller clan – her mother and dad in particular – had only ever used the occasion to get pissed and start fighting. She remembered so strongly, even after all this time, sitting on the stairs with George and Harry and listening to the traditional pre-Christmas shrieking row going on downstairs.

Those two should never have been together in the first place, she thought.

She looked across at Lorcan, slumped there on the sofa, and thought that maybe she’d been repeating patterns of behaviour learned in her youth, in her own marriage. Like her mother and father, she and Lorcan had always fought tooth and nail.

She shuddered. No, they were better apart. They ought to divorce now, wipe the slate clean, start again. She had the papers right here in her bag. She could sign them, hand them to him right now, say take it to the courts, it’s finished. Only . . . she kept thinking about what he’d said. That they could try, they could talk.

‘Whoever invented Christmas needs shagging,’ said Gracie, and phoned the garage to ask when her car was going to be ready. The phone rang and rang. No one picked up.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ she said loudly.

‘Problem?’

‘I’m calling the garage. No answer.’

Lorcan looked at her wide-eyed. ‘Gracie. Are you completely mad? It’s Christmas Eve. No one is working, and no one gives a shit about your tyres; they’re all headed home to be with their families. Give it a few days, maybe there’ll be someone about.’

Gracie gave up. Hearing the ping of an email arriving in George’s inbox, she hopped to her feet and went through to George’s bedroom to check it out. Gracie’s excitement rose as she saw it was from Jackie. She read the email, and quickly replied, then logged off and went back into the lounge.

‘Anything?’ asked Lorcan, yawning broadly.

‘Maybe,’ said Gracie. ‘Jackie Sullivan and her daughter are calling over at ten. I’m hoping they can shed some light on what’s going on with Harry.’ Please God, she thought.

She sat down and looked distractedly at the movie for a while.

‘There are mince pies in the fridge,’ she offered after a few minutes.

Lorcan gave her a wide-eyed look. ‘You bought mince pies? Gracie, what next? Stollen? Christmas cake? Turkey and all the trimmings? Chestnuts roasting on an open fire?’

‘I’ll roast your chestnuts in a minute.’

‘What are you doing for lunch tomorrow, anyway?’

‘Same as always,’ said Gracie. ‘Chicken salad.’

‘That’s my girl.’ He stood up and held out a hand. ‘Come on. Let’s go roll the dice.’

‘Pardon?’ Gracie stared up at him in puzzlement. Was he trying to get her back into bed again? And did she want that? Oh, she did. Shameful to admit it, but she did. Sod the talking. She really, really wanted to sleep with Lorcan again, even if it was for the very last time.

‘You got a dress with you? Something presentable?’ He looked down at her. ‘You used to have that black wrap dress you took with you when you were travelling on business.’

‘I have it.’ The crepe jersey dress, a great old workhorse of a garment, was in her bag in George’s room.

‘I can’t go out,’ said Gracie. ‘I told you. Jackie Sullivan’s coming.’

‘I know that. We’ll be back in plenty of time. Go put your dress on, Gracie. I’m going to show you my casino.’

George and Harry

DECEMBER

Chapter 36

George was getting very used to the escort biz now. Harry and George had worked their way through a vast array of women since George first had his business brainwave in front of the telly one drink-and-pizza-fuelled evening. George prided himself that they were doing a good job, researching their clients’ interests, studying the etiquette book they’d got from the grunge shop, dressing well, being polite, making the ladies feel good about themselves.

He knew damned well there was something going on with Harry and the cougar – he couldn’t think what, she was old enough to be Harry’s mother, after all – but hey, so long as Harry continued to pull his weight with their many other clients, that was entirely Harry’s business.

This evening Harry was with the cougar again, and George was in an Italian restaurant awaiting the arrival of Ms Sandy Cole, who had once again requested his services. She had also requested that they meet here, as usual; she specifically asked not to be collected from her home in Maida Vale, which was good – it saved George the bother of schlepping all the way over there. And also made him think that someone was at home, someone she didn’t want to have to explain him to.

Maybe her parents.

Maybe her husband.

Whatever, it was her business, not his. His business was to charm, to entertain, and, if requested, to bonk. No more, no less. That was the deal.