You’d want to watch that. Take some pills, I don’t know, ibuprofen. I thought you were going to tell me that you were dying or something, Jesus Christ, you had me there. It’s Sunday morning, let’s liven things up. I want to tell him that there are other things bothering me. I want to tell him that that’s rich after his story about the poor girl out in Bray. I begin to allude to the fact that it’s not just my back that’s been at me and that this isn’t really the problem at all. That I have worries about Jenny, doubts about Jenny. I want to tell him that there are other things bothering me. Things to do with him, as a matter of fact, that he’s encroaching on my position of power, getting a bit above his station for one. He’s the guy who helps me out with the football. It doesn’t fall on deaf ears that he’s already dished out the instructions to the lads to start on their squat thrusts when I’ve my back turned to take a call.

Jenny.

I don’t much feel like answering it, I have only just left her in the house. I don’t pick up and I ignore the voicemail too. I’ve never timed how long it takes for the voicemail to ring to let me know that I have missed a call from Jenny. Sometime I intend to do just that. Maurice is on to me about the recent attacks on women down by the train station.

You should stop that talk now, Maurice. Anyone would think that it is yourself perpetrating all this. Jesus, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the case in England. You’re like that lunatic who was constantly talking about those poor murdered little girls. Here, I better see what she wants.

Jenny’s message isn’t easy to follow. She’s meeting Simon Thompson, the manager of Gallery One in Temple Bar. Jenny reckons that he is the greatest person to know in the field. I don’t know whether to be happy or pissed off about this development. I gather quickly that there will be nothing in the way of lunch on offer for us when we get back to the house. I curse her: it is Sunday and I am looking forward to a bit of wind-down time. I rather fancy a couple of beers with Jenny in front of the fire, it’s that type of a day. But that clearly is not going to happen now. I cannot help a trickle of jealousy from seeping into my mind.