Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [104]
Or maybe they were calling Angie Gillette because she shaved her pubic hair. Could be. Then Katherine found herself wondering if Angie had done it on her own initiative. Or did Joe ask her to do it? Did Joe help her to do it? Did Joe tie her up and insist on doing it? Jealous and strangely turned on at the image, Katherine didn’t notice in the expenses claim in front of her that Darren had included one restaurant bill three times.
As she continued earwigging, Katherine realized she hadn’t thought of Fintan in about ten minutes and was shocked and ashamed. How could she be worried about Joe Roth and Angie at a time like this? What kind of friend was she?
But she couldn’t help it. Again her ears pricked up as she overheard more talk of Gillette. She stopped banging away at her calculator, just in time to hear Myles singing, ‘Gillette! The best a man can ge-eh-et!’
Aaaahhh. Katherine suddenly understood. Gillette had nothing to do with Angie shaving her pubes or playing jack-in-the-box with razors. It was because – in the words of the ad – she was the best a man can get. Unlike her male colleagues’ usual rechristening of women, Gillette was a nice name, a complimentary name. The jealous pain in Katherine’s stomach increased. Angie was the best a man could get. Which man was getting her, anyway? There was no proof that it was Joe. Despite Katherine’s beady surveillance, she couldn’t find any definite indication that something was going on between Angie and Joe. And at no stage had he been overheard referring to Angie as Gillette. But Katherine wouldn’t take that as any reason to stop worrying. She always liked to expect the worst, to meet disappointment half-way. She’d die rather than be caught on the hop.
On Thursday morning, Katherine went to work looking as if she’d slept in her clothes. It had been a rough few days, as they waited for the result of the biopsy, and she didn’t have the energy or the concentration that she usually devoted to her appearance. Though the O’Gradys had only been staying with her since Tuesday night, it already felt as if they’d been there for ever. As the lads were used to rising at the crack of dawn to tend to their farms, Katherine was woken at half six each morning by them watching telly. Then when the time came to iron her shirt, she found that access to the ironing-board was blocked by the pair of them cooking scores of rashers in the kitchen.
Also she’d lost her black work shoes. They’d disappeared into the twilight zone created by all the extra people and possessions in the flat, so she had to go to the office wearing a grey suit and brown shoes. In a vague, exhausted way she was mortified.
As Katherine pushed open the office door she was hit by the atmosphere of tension and exhaustion. Cigarette fug swirled in the air, coffee cups and takeaway bags littered the ‘creative’ area, four or five of Joe’s team were slumped around a storyboard, looking dishevelled, grey-faced and sleep-deprived. ‘You look as if you’ve been here all night,’ she said, in surprise. She wouldn’t usually have commented, but her defences were down and normal services were suspended.
‘That’s because we have,’ Darren replied wearily. ‘Presentation to Multi-nut Muesli this morning. Bastards never told us they were adding chocolate chips to their recipe. Only found out five o’clock yesterday. Had to change everything.’
Katherine couldn’t stop herself glancing at Joe – now that he no longer came near her, she was constantly aware of him. He was unshaven and bad-tempered-looking. For a cold moment he held her eyes, then stood up and stretched. Hypnotized, Katherine watched as his shirt pulled itself out of his