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           Thiswasdifferent,itcontainedadistantmutterofoldage,anunderlyingwearinesswhichpokedupawordortwoabovethesurfaceinanitieslikeaniceberg.Justinedidn’tlikeit.Old.Mum,old!

           WhatwashappeningonDrogheda?WasMumtryingtoconcealsomeserioustrouble?WasNannaill?OneoftheUnks?Godforbid,Mumherself?Itwasthreeyearssinceshehadseenanyofthem,andalotcouldhappeninthreeyears,evenifitwasn’thappeningtoJustineO’Neill.Becauseherownlifewasstagnantanddull,sheoughtnottoassumeeveryoneelse’swas,too.

           ThatnightwasJustine’s"off"night,withonlyonemoreperformanceofMacbethtogo.Thedaylighthourshaddraggedunbearably,andeventhethoughtofdinnerwithRaindidn’tcarryitsusualanticipatorypleasure.Theirfriendshipwasuseless,futile,static,shetoldherselfasshescrambledintoadressexactlytheorangehehatedmost.Conservativeoldfuddy-duddy!IfRaindidn’tlikeherthewayshewas,hecouldlumpher.Then,fluffingupthelowbodice’sfrillsaroundhermeagerchest,shecaughtherowneyesinthemirrorandlaughedruefully.Oh,whatatempestinateacup!Shewasactingexactlylikethekindoffemaleshemostdespised.Itwasprobablyverysimple.Shewasstale,sheneededarest.ThankGodfortheendofLadyM!ButwhatwasthematterwithMum?

           LatelyRainwasspendingmoreandmoretimeinLondon,andJustinemarveledattheeasewithwhichhecommutedbetweenBonnandEngland.Nodoubthavingaprivateplanehelped,butithadtobeexhausting.