I, on the other hand, feel great, despite having had no sleep and a few drinks myself. The moon had been full and we talked on and on like old friends. It’s really been too long since I’ve had any kind of connection with anybody, let alone a member of the opposite sex.

“So, did you get laid, or what?” asks my mind-reading friend, just as Mrs. O'Grady drops over our full Irish breakfasts.

“Yes, freshly laid this morning. You can thank Mr. O’Henry for that,” says the old lady winking at Ridlee. The horror that registers on Ridlee’s face is priceless, but I have to save her — she’s not up to it this morning.

“Yummy. I love fresh laid eggs.” I stress the ‘eggs’ bit for Ridlee.

Her face relaxes again but then she spies the black pudding on her plate.

“Everything alright, lovey?” asks Mrs. O'Grady, her voice full of concern. “You’re not sick, are ye?”

“No, no. Not sick. Just not a huge fan of black pudding,” says my fragile friend, rather bravely.

“Nonsense. It’ll put hairs on your chest. That’s probably why you’re sick all the time — ye don’t eat properly. Now, eat up. Good girl.” No sign of the concern now. She’s all matron-like, li’l ol’ lady badass. And with that she bustles off to the kitchen, throwing a glance over her shoulder to make sure that Ridlee is eating.

“Did that woman just tell me to ‘eat up’? Who does she think she is, my mother?” Ridlee jerks her head toward the kitchen, and then winces in pain at the effort.

“I have eyes in the back of my head, missy. No-one’ll say that you weren’t well fed when ye stayed at Mrs. O'Grady’s.”

Reluctantly, Ridlee picks up her fork and takes a tiny forkful of scrambled eggs. I’m waiting for the gag reflex to kick in but somehow she manages to keep the food down and actually has more. “So?” she asks.

“What?”

“Don’t try to play innocent with me. Give me deets or I give you death.” She points her fork at me.

“It’s private.”

Ridlee actually guffaws and bits of toast fly my way. “Erin, spill. Now.”

It’s weird, but for the first time maybe ever, I feel like keeping the specifics of my night with Micheál to myself. When I do get laid, which is hardly ever lately, I share every detail with Ridlee but this time it just doesn’t feel right.

“Did you go back to his place?”

“Eh, not quite.”

“Not quite?”

“He took me on a little boat trip.”

“And?”

“To a very cute little island not far from here where you can find the most interesting ancient stones…”

“Erin!”

“And, we did it! There. I said it.” Thank God there are no other guests in the dining room.

Ridlee smiles her Cheshire Cat grin and waves her fork at me. “Slut.” She stabs a bit of sausage and pops it in her mouth, obviously enjoying herself. She sees herself as my sex agony aunt or something, ‘cause she gets laid more. “So, you say you did it, eh? Did what?” The grilling has just begun.

“We made love.” Shit. I didn’t mean to say that. My hand flies to my mouth. Ridlee stops chewing.

“You did what?”

“We shagged,” I say trying to regain lost ground.

“Do you like this guy?”

“He’s alright,” I say all nonchalant.

“No, Erin, listen to me. Do you like this guy?”

“God, Rid, I just met him.”

“Answer the question.”

“Of course not! Silly…”

“Did you kiss on the lips? Did you go downtown?” she points her knife at me accusingly.

“Well, we don’t have a downtown as such here in Doolin, but you could try Lisdoonvarna. What is it you’re after?” It’s Mrs. O'Grady back again, teapot in hand.

“A solicitor’s office,” I tell her, grateful to be saved from a Ridlee interrogation.

“Mmm, let me see.” She holds her finger to her pursed lips.

We wait. Ridlee lowers her knife and the clatter as it meets her plate breaks the old lady’s reverie.

“What’s that dear?” She looks at me inquisitively.

“You were just about to tell us where to find a solicitor.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Never mind,” interrupts Ridlee, keen to avoid another reverie, “that matchmaker guy, Mr. O’Henry from Lisdoonvarna, gave me the name of someone over there.” She pulls a bit of paper out of her jeans pocket and peers at it. “Cat-Hall O Money.”

“Exactly!” says Mrs. O'Grady, sharp as a tack again. “But it’s pronounced, Ka-hal O’Mooney, like the moon.”

“Huh,” says Ridlee still staring at the piece of paper. “Come on, Erin, we’d better shake a leg. They might close for lunch.”

“Oh, they’ll not be open, “ says Mrs. O'Grady. Before leaving she glances up at the clock above the door to the kitchen.

Ridlee follows her gaze. I wince, ready for the torrent of abuse. It’s six thirty-five.

“Erin.”

“You said that you wanted to get up early,” I say weakly. “You know, make the most of the day.”

“Well, if you girls are going to Lisdoonvarna, maybe you could give me a lift to Mass in your baby-chino. I like the young priest that says Mass over in the church there.”

“Not a problem, Mrs. O. See you outside in fifteen minutes.”

And with that I dart past Ridlee and up the stairs for a real shower before we leave.

The entire time I’m in there, the only thing I can think of is Michaél: his body, his eyes, the way he touched me, made me feel. By the time I’m done, I’m ready to go take a moon bath all over again. Getting dressed is torture. Ridlee is waiting outside for me, standing next to the Bambino, and she doesn’t look happy. Mrs. O’Grady follows me out in her Sunday best.

“Hey, Rid. You okay to ride in the back?”

“Noooo way José, I’m driving!”

“Oh, come on, you’re not really up to driving in your state, are you? Be honest.” I can see that I’ve touched a nerve. She has the shakes.

“Fine, whatever.”

It’s really quite impressive how Ridlee folds herself into the small space in the back of the Fiat, that wouldn’t even house one of her suitcases.

“I told ye all that yoga would come in useful one day,” I say beaming at her in the rearview mirror.

“Just drive.”

Mrs. O'Grady sits in the passenger seat, her handbag nestled in her lap. “I used to have a car just like this. Probably before you were born though. Is it a classic? Is that what they call them old bangers that they do up, like in that show on the telly, Pimp my Ride?”

“It’s a rental car,” says Ridlee from the back. “We don’t own it. We have to give it back.”

“Yes, dear. I know that.”

I glance at Ridlee in the rearview mirror. She’s not happy to be up this early, and now she’s kind of yelling at Mrs. O'Grady. I try to catch her eye but she’s not having it.

Mrs. O'Grady witters on about the lives of each person whose houses we pass between Doolin and our destination, telling us about their ancestors and their children until we eventually arrive at the church in Lisdoonvarna. I get out of the car and run round to open the door for her and help her out.

“Thank you, Dear.” She gathers up her belongings and before closing the door she leans in to Ridlee and says, “Cheer up, Lovey. It may never happen.” And with that she slams the door and heads off toward the front door of the church.

“It already has,” mutters Ridlee darkly, her arms locked across her chest. I turn around in the driver’s seat and give her my most sincere look. “I’m sorry for getting you up so early, Rid.”

“And?” She stares stonily out the window of the Bambino at the other old people coming to mass at this ungodly hour.

“Aanndd, for not being a good friend.”

“Humph.”

I wait, hoping she’ll let me off the hook here. I should have known better, though.

“For not being a good friend in what way, Erin?” she asks.

“For staying out all night…?” I venture, unsure of the exact nature of my crime but certain that it’s serious. It takes a lot to rattle Ridlee.

She turns and looks at me at last. “I don’t give a damn if you stay out all night, Erin, once you tell me what’s going on and you’re careful.”