‘Oh, I do remember.’ She held out her arm, the inside exposed, and ran her fingers along the pale skin. ‘This is where you once signed your autograph.’

‘I’m sorry…’ He struggled for a name, an occasion, a place to remember her by. How many autographs had he signed? Thousands, probably, writing his name with a flourish for the young women who called out to him as they waited outside the pubs and clubs, their arms and autograph books an extension of their thrusting, nubile bodies. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me.’

‘I’m Karin Moylan.’ She spoke with the certainty of someone who knew her name would bring instant recollection.

‘Karin Moylan… I don’t believe it.’ The memory came back to him in disjointed flashes. The holiday, the music, and Karin, a waifish shadow against the glow of Nadine with her blaze of red hair and long, coltish legs. ‘I’d never have recognised you. No… that’s not true. Now that you say it…’ He stopped, embarrassed as he attempted to join the fragments of that holiday together. What was the name of the place where they stayed? Somewhere in West Clare, he remembered. Fishing boats and a cliff, a golden beach and long sunshine days. A ramshackle house where he, along with the lads who made up the band, had stayed for a month to work on their first album.

‘Monsheelagh,’ she said, as if picking up his thoughts. ‘I was on holiday with my parents.’ Her eyes, slightly too large for her small, heart-shaped face, had a disconcerting directness when she added, ‘Nadine was staying with us.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I remember.’

‘How is she? It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.’

‘She’s good. Busy, as we all are these days.’

‘I was studying in London when I heard about your marriage. You were both so young.’ Her voice dropped a tone, donating pity. ‘I hope everything worked out for you.’

‘Yes, it did.’ He resented her pity and rushed defensively to banish it. ‘We’ve a good life and four terrific kids.’

‘I never meant to lose touch with her but you know the way it is.’ Her scarf rippled when she shrugged, the material so light and gauzy it seemed as if a deep breath would float it from her shoulders. ‘Our lives veered off in different directions but I’ve never forgotten her.’

‘These things happen,’ he agreed.

‘I still imagined you with long hair and those wild tiger streaks.’

‘The streaks went a long time ago,’ he admitted. ‘So did the wildness. These days I’m one of society’s staunchest pillars.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ She tilted her head again, a finger pressed to her cheek. ‘You still have that look… you know… slightly edgy, alternative.’

It was pathetic to be flattered so easily. His black hair was slightly longer than the norm, his style of dressing more casual, and he still had the rangy physique of his youth but, in truth, Jake felt indistinguishable from the other grey-suited businessmen swarming from the business park every evening with their laptops, briefcases and mortgages.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘What have you been doing with yourself?’

‘I run a graphic design agency in New York,’ she replied. ‘But I’m considering moving back to Dublin after Christmas. My mother has some health issues and I’m an only child.’

‘Nothing too serious, I hope?’

‘She’ll be fine. She always is.’ Her sigh was almost inaudible but Jake understood the depths of frustration it carried.

A voice boomed over the loudspeaker and drowned his reply. Their flight was ready for boarding.

‘We’d better go.’ She stood up and brushed imaginary crumbs from her dress, buttoned her jacket, adjusted her scarf.

‘See you in New York,’ she said when they boarded the plane and made their way to their allocated seats.

‘Enjoy the flight.’ He continued down the aisle and settled into a seat four rows behind her on the opposite side. What a strange coincidence to bump into each other after all that time. Her profile was visible as she removed her jacket. She was unable to reach the baggage hold above her and the man beside her stowed her jacket away. He was young and heavy-set, his square face framed by a mop of black curls and a startlingly long beard. Earphones the size of saucers rested on his shoulders.

When the last of the passengers were seated and the cabin crew had closed the overhead lockers, she slanted her legs to one side and allowed him to leave his seat. He hurried down the aisle and hunkered beside Jake.

‘Your friend’s asked me to swap places,’ he whispered. ‘It’s no problem, mate. She’s shit scared of flying and to be honest, no offence, but it’s a long flight. If she’s gonna use that sick bag I’d prefer it to be on your time, not mine.’

‘No problem.’ Jake almost laughed out loud at Karin’s woebegone expression when she turned to look back at him.

‘I hope I haven’t been presumptuous,’ she said when he sat beside her and clicked the safety belt. ‘The thought of interacting with that beard for the entire flight was more than I could handle.’

‘I can imagine.’ He was conscious of her bare arm on the armrest between them, the heady waft of perfume. The engines growled and the cabin staff began to outline the safety instructions.

‘Inflating your life jacket as the plane goes down must be the most ineffective way of spending your last moments on earth,’ she said as the plane taxied down the runway.

‘How would you spend them?’ he asked.

She look thoughtful, as if visualising the downward plunge, and replied, ‘hopefully, in the arms of my lover.’

He wondered whose arms would hold her if the plane plummeted from the skies. It seemed too blatant a question to ask. Enquiries about a wife and family were okay. Pallid information. But a lover…how could that be phrased? Is your lover married? Are you married and having an affair? Is your lover a he or a she? Jake took nothing for granted.

Tiny blue gemstones sparkled on her ring as she stretched upwards to adjust the air conditioning.

‘Allow me,’ he said.

The jolt of pleasure was instantaneous when their hands touched. No wedding ring, he noted as the cool air flowed over their faces.

‘Are you going to New York for business or pleasure?’ she asked.

‘Purely business,’ he said. ‘I’m only staying two nights.’

‘Do you go there often?’

‘About four times a year. Trade shows, business meetings, that sort of thing.’

‘Are they always flying visits?’

‘Not always. We usually manage a show or two while we’re there.’

The ‘we’ slipped out like an unintended hiccup.

‘We?’ She quizzed him.

‘Nadine runs the company with me.’

‘Business and marriage,’ she mused. ‘Is that a difficult combination to manage?’

‘Not really. We’ve been doing it for a long time.’

‘I don’t think I could work with someone that close to me. It would be claustrophobic. I need my own space.’ The swell of her bottom lip suggested there was turbulence behind her smiling demeanour.

‘Except when you’re on a plunging plane and need your lover’s arms around you.’ The conversation had come full circle and Jake was pleased at his adroitness.

‘I’ll have to find one first. Unlike you and Nadine, I haven’t been so lucky in love. No husband, no children… not even a lover.’

‘I refuse to believe you. Any guy would…’ He hesitated, suddenly uncertain if he wanted to continue the conversation.

‘Would what?’ she prompted softly.

‘Consider himself the luckiest guy in the world.’ He could no longer pretend he was not flirting with her. What harm? A mild flirtation always alleviated the boredom of a long flight.

‘When you find him, package him and send him on to me by first class mail.’ Like her perfume, her laughter had a tantalising intimacy, as if everything outside the space they shared was of no importance.