Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes [198]
As well as keeping herself clean, she managed to work, so long as it wasn’t anything too tricky. She’d always been embarrassed about her conscientiousness but now vaguely recognized that it had probably been her salvation.
‘The November horoscopes are in,’ Trix waved pages. ‘Gather round everyone and I’ll read them out.’
The entire office crashed to a halt. Any excuse. Even Jack hovered, aware he should be reading the riot act. He would, he decided, just as soon as they’d done Libra.
‘Read Scorpio,’ Ashling urged Trix.
‘But you’re Pisces.’
‘Go on. Scorpio. And then Capricorn.’
Clodagh was Scorpio and Marcus was Capricorn and Ashling wanted to know how they were going to fare in November. Jack Devine caught her eye and flashed her a tricky look – a mix of censoriousness and sorrow. He knew what she was up to. Haughtily she turned her head away. She could read whoever’s horoscopes she liked and there were far worse things she could be doing. After all, Joy had suggested putting a curse on Marcus and Clodagh.
According to their horoscopes, Clodagh’s and Marcus’s month was going to be up and down. Ashling could well believe it.
‘What are you, JD?’ Trix asked.
‘Mr Devine to you…
‘Libra,’ he sighed, when it became clear she was still waiting. ‘But I don’t believe in any of that star-sign stuff. Librans never do.’
Ashling found that sort of funny. She peeked out from under her hair and looked at Jack. He was already watching her. They exchanged a little smile, then quickly she found herself diving beneath her desk. She emerged with her handbag but, confused, she wasn’t sure she needed anything from it. Had she only got it in order to stop looking at Jack Devine? Then she realized it was nearly lunch-time anyway, and time for her appointment with Dr McDevitt.
The ten-minute walk to the surgery was like walking through sniper-fire. She was afraid of being out and seeing something that might cause her pain. Her eyes, as much as possible, were downcast and she didn’t see much of people above knee-level. This guaranteed a safe passage until a Bosnian refugee tried to sell her an out-of-date Big Issues. Immediately she was slapped by a wave of hopelessness.
And there was worse to come – from Dr McDevitt himself.
‘How’re you getting on with the Prozac?’ he asked.
‘Fine.’ With a wan smile she said, ‘Please sir, can I have some more?’
‘Side effects?’
‘Just some nausea and trembling.’
‘Loss of appetite?’
‘It was gone anyway.’
‘And you know you’re not supposed to mix this medication with alcohol?’
‘Um, yeah.’ Asking her not to drink was going too far.
‘How’s the counselling going?’
‘Er, I haven’t gone.’
‘But I gave you a number to call.’
‘I know, but I can’t ring them. I’m too depressed.’
‘Ah now!’ He sounded cross, picked up the phone, made a call, then made another. He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, ‘What time do you finish work on a Tuesday?’
‘It depends…’
‘Five?’ he asked irritably. ‘Six?’
‘Six.’ If she was lucky.
He hung up and handed her a page. ‘Every Tuesday at six. If you don’t go, there’ll be no more Prozac.’
Bastard!
Returning listlessly through Temple Bar she heard a shout of ‘Hey Ashling!’ A young fashion-victimy man in absolutely ludicrous shoes was clumping after her and it took a second to recognize him as Boo. His hair was shiny, his face had colour and, unexpectedly, she laughed.
‘Look at you,’ she said, in delight.
‘I’m on my way into work, I’m on the two-till-ten shift.’ He promptly lapsed into convulsions. ‘Can you believe I just said that?!’
Then he launched into breathless, effusive thanks. ‘Everything’s going great at the telly station. They’ve even given me an advance on my wages so I can stay in a hostel.’
‘And the work’s not too difficult?’ Ashling had been vaguely worried that after a life without boundaries, Boo wouldn’t be able to adapt to the disciplined, responsible world of work.
Boo scoffed. ‘Being a runner? Piece of piss! Even