His pocket vibrating makes him sit up and check his phone. Bo. He excuses himself, though no one even notices or cares, all eyes are on Marie, as he slips from the room into the kitchen.

‘Hi,’ he says, picking at the party food on the kitchen island.

‘Hi,’ her voice shouts, and he pulls the phone away from his ear as the hum of a crowd breaks into his serene surroundings. Pub noises.

‘I thought you were working at home,’ he says, trying to keep his voice down.

‘What?’ she yells.

‘I thought you were working at home,’ he says a little louder and somebody shushes him and closes the door. He opens the back door and steps outside to the garden. The scent of honeysuckles is strong, reminds him of a life spent playing outside, long hot bright summers, adventures in every corner of the garden.

‘I was. I am. Research,’ Bo shouts, and he can tell by her voice that she’s had a few drinks. It doesn’t take Bo many to get drunk. ‘I’m meeting with an anprothologist,’ she says, then she giggles. ‘You know what I mean. Anyway, I was trying to find one, so I sent footage of Laura off. Jack loves her. He wants her to audition for StarrQuest, he thinks she’d be amazing. We can’t let anyone know he’s seen her because the judges aren’t supposed to know the acts before they audition, but he thinks she’s incredible. I know what you think of the show but I’m thinking of exposure for Laura, you know, what that would do for the documentary?’

Bo’s breathless with excitement and she sounds like she’s walking too. Down the longest noisiest busiest street there is in Dublin. Or perhaps she’s pacing.

Solomon’s blood boils. ‘Hold on. Jack Starr wants Laura to audition for StarrQuest?’

‘It could be great, if you think about it, Sol. We could film her entire journey. She wants a new start, how exciting would it be for her? He doesn’t just want her to audition, he’d want her for the live shows. Definitely. But again, don’t tell anyone, they’re not supposed to say that in advance. Think about it, how exciting would it be for Laura?’

‘I am thinking about it and I think it’s a fucking disgrace that you’re even thinking about it,’ he practically spits down the phone.

She’s silent for one, two, three… ‘I should have known you’d piss all over the idea. I called you, excited, Sol. Why can’t you ever be enthusiastic about the same things as me? Or at least share in my happiness about something. You always drag it down.’

‘What are you doing drinking with Jack?’ he demands. Jack is her ex-boyfriend of five years, the guy she dated and lived with before Solomon. A middle-aged has-been who was the famous lead singer in an American soft-rock duo that had a handful of hits. He moved to Ireland in the eighties, dated a string of models and has lived off his name ever since. Now he’s a radio DJ, fronts a TV talent show that Solomon once worked on, a job for the money, not for the love, and drives Solomon crazy. Jack enjoys that he and Bo were together before Solomon, dropping one annoying and degrading comment after another to taunt him.

‘I wasn’t out drinking with him,’ she defends herself. ‘I emailed the footage of Laura, looking for an anthropologist-’ She gets the word right this time, careful to watch every syllable.

‘Why the fuck would he know an anthropologist, Bo? He’s a washed-up fucking crooner. This is bullshit – you rang him because I’m away and you wanted to hook up.’ He’s not quite sure where the anger is coming from, where the jealousy has surged from. He knows he has a right to feel a little put out, but certainly not this much; he can’t help himself though. It’s guilt for how he’s been feeling for Laura, added to the natural protective role he’s taken on. It fires him up.

She squeals down the phone, her absolute fury and disgust at being accused, but he talks over her, neither of them listening to one another but catching the occasional insulting word and jumping on that. They go in circles. And finally they go silent.

‘If Laura auditions, it would help interest and funding for the documentary,’ she says, businesslike.

‘I thought you didn’t need funding. I think it’s a tacky idea. I don’t see how this will help you as a serious documentary maker. I think it will undo all the good that you have done this year,’ he says coldly, hopefully his iciness comes across, wondering if he should give it more punch.

She’s silent and he’s wondering if he’s made her cry, which would be unusual for Bo, but when she speaks again she’s as strong as before.

‘As producer, I am keeping all options open. So there’s a change of plan. I’m not going to Cork on Sunday, instead you’ll need to bring Laura to Dublin for the audition. Happy birthday to your mother. Good night.’

Before he can speak, she ends the call.

Bo stares at the phone in her hand, the screensaver illuminated, a photo of her and Solomon holding an award for The Toolin Twins. Tears of frustration prick her eyes. She feels such loathing for her boyfriend right now, but mostly hurt. Irritated, frustrated, suffocated, stuck in a box. It is so predictable. She knew that he would act like this, that he would stomp all over this opportunity, but despite knowing it, she still went to him with her enthusiasm and still was hurt by his reaction. She does the same thing over and over again and expects different results, she’s sure that’s the definition of insanity.

She feels arms slide around her waist. She closes her eyes remembering that feeling, savouring it, then slithers away.

‘Jack, stop,’ she mumbles.

He looks at her. ‘Phone call with Prince Charming didn’t go well?’

She can’t even lie, can’t defend herself or him. She feels the weight of his stare on her. He always did that: staring at her until she said things she never planned on saying. Well, she’s not giving in now.

Jack zips up his leather jacket and pulls down his cap as a crowd passing stare and whisper about him. ‘He’s in Galway with another woman, you’re here with me. There’s something wrong with you two.’

‘We trust each other, Jack,’ she says tiredly.

‘Come back to me,’ he says and she laughs.

‘So you can cheat on me again?’

‘I never cheated on you. I told you that. You’re the only person I never cheated on.’

She gives him a suspicious look. She never really believed that. Her definition of cheating and his was always different. Jack in a club, surrounded by a crowd of near-naked young women fawning over him, wasn’t technically cheating, but he never stopped them brushing up, touching up. Never stopped himself either.

‘So what makes me so special?’ she asks, cynically, feeling like it’s a line.

‘You shouldn’t have to ask me that,’ he replies. ‘You should already know what makes you special. You should be told every day,’ he says gently.

‘He tells me all the time,’ she says, her voice flat. ‘Good night, Jack.’

He reaches out and runs his thumb down her chin, the way he always did. She smells the cigarette smoke from his fingers.

‘You should quit smoking.’

‘Would it bring you back to me?’

She rolls her eyes but her irritation with him disappears. ‘Would that make you stop?’

He smiles. ‘Get home safe, Bo Peep.’

She stands outside the pub alone, surrounded by a dozen smokers laughing and chatting, but alone. She thinks about what he said. When was the last time Sol praised her, or told her she was special? She can’t remember. But it’s been two years, that happens, doesn’t it. Things go stale, that’s natural. At least he’s loyal, that she believes, or has always believed in the past. She never worried when he went out at night, came home late; he wasn’t that kind of guy. All she can think of is the times he’s talked her down, the times he’s tried to change her mind, in that soothing voice that now feels patronising. But that’s natural too, that’s the result of working and living together. There is rarely a break from each other, things overlap, lines become blurred, they’re doing well, she thinks. Perhaps they need more rules, more help on how to maintain their relationship while working together. No more talking the director and producer down, he wouldn’t do it on any other job. But then, she knows herself that she often needs it. She runs head-first into things, Solomon helps her to see other angles. Angles that seem obvious as soon as he says them, but that weren’t there for her at the time. They’re a good team.

But it doesn’t feel like it, sometimes, that’s all, particularly now. She’s sure that’s natural too.

As for the StarrQuest idea, despite Solomon’s reservations, which she had too, she still thinks it’s a good idea. Like Laura said, sometimes you only need one person to trust. StarrQuest is Jack’s show and despite everything they’ve been through, Bo trusts him.

Solomon swears and stuffs his phone in his pocket. It’s still bright outside, the sky starting to darken as the summer evening closes in. He takes a deep breath, his mind fuming over what Bo has said to him. Bringing Laura to Dublin to enter StarrQuest seems like the tackiest, cheesiest fucking thing that Bo could come up with, but he can’t flat-out refuse. All he can do is tell Laura and see what she says. It’s her life, not his. He has to stop getting so involved in other people’s issues, he has to stop being so sensitive to every little happening around him. It’s not his job to put out other people’s fires, it’s not his job to feel other people’s problems, but he is that way, always has been. He can’t help it. He was always the lad who tried to get couples back together if there was a misunderstanding and they broke up. He was always the lad to try to cool a drunken argument between mates on a night out. Any misunderstanding that has nothing to do with him, he tries to jump in and fix. The arbitrator. The counsellor. The peacekeeper. It stresses him more than the ones directly involved; he feels the anger, the hurt, the injustice those people should be feeling multiplied in himself. He knows he does it, realises now that he probably shouldn’t, but he can’t stop.