As a rising tide of self-loathing swept over him, Vinny Fitzpatrick felt like a cork drifting helplessly in storm-tossed waters.

He was drifting towards the reefs where his reputation as a faithful, caring, husband and a champion of fair play and democracy, would be ripped apart. At times like this, when demons were circling, Vinny went into lock-down mode. Like Garbo all those years ago, he wanted to be alone.

It explained why he slipped in the side door of Foley’s public house on Sunday evening, hid inside the snug, with nothing more between him and some serious soul-searching, than a pint of plain.

“Even Shackleton would struggle to plot a way out of this jam,” he sighed, shaking his potato head sadly. Vinny knew he wasn’t the first middle-aged man to have his heard turned by a glamorous doll.

Serious repercussions

And while nothing improper had occurred with

Tabitha Tregoning

, the spin-offs of Vinny’s new-found association with the sassy PR lady for Irish Water were damaging.

Vinny knew he’d erred. He also knew things would get worse before they got better, and that he had crossed a line with Angie which could lead to serious repercussions in Mount Prospect Avenue.

Silently, he cursed himself for ever complaining to Irish Water in the first place, and especially for getting all doe-eyed when the Welsh vixen of the valleys, knocked on his door, and began to cast her spell. How had he got it all so wrong? Because he’d been flattered by the personal attention of a beauty almost half his age, that’s how. It was no consolation that he wasn’t the first eejit to make a fool of himself.

He should have drawn a line in the sand after the wine flowed in Stoker’s. Instead, he’d jumped when Tabitha called on Saturday morning and casually summoned him to the Irish Water offices in Talbot Street.

There were dozens of protests planned nationwide and Vinny was needed as ‘a voice of reason,’ according to Tabitha, should the marchers try to storm the building.

As it happened, Vinny was clear after a morning shift on the 130 and had toddled along to the Irish Water HQ, arriving ahead of the scheduled marchers. Over tea and biscuits, Tabitha casually mentioned she was looking for a place to rent in a nice part of town.

At that, Vinny had plunged in, feet-first, without a life-vest.

“I’ve a place in a quiet part of Clontarf, it’s small-sized but well-kept. My, er daughter, was stopping over there for a while but she’s gone back home to Manchester now. You can have a look at it next week, if it suits,” he said.

Tabitha had flashed her emerald eyes and squeezed Vinny’s knee. “Do I get a discount for being a close friend of the landlord?” she said teasingly.

Vinny had blushed, a bit like Grumpy in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs when the heroine pecked him on the bonce.

If the snap offer of the old Fitzpatrick family home in Causeway Avenue to Ms Tregoning was a poor judgment call by Vinny, things worsened for him when the anti-water charges activists flowed into Talbot Street.

The throng was headed for the meeting point at the GPO but paused outside the Irish Water building to vent their ire. Banners were held aloft such as “Right 2 Water, Can’t Pay, Won’t Pay”, and “Don’t Tax The Jacks”, which drew a smirk from Vinny.

As the demonstrators snaked along towards O’Connell Street, Tabitha tut-tutted in annoyance after them.

“Don’t these people know that you can never beat City Hall?” she said in a cold voice Vinny didn’t recognise.

“They may win a minor skirmish but this war will be won by Irish Water. Isn’t that right, Vinny?”

Beside her, Vinny bristled. He hadn’t liked the tone or the tenor of Tabitha’s remarks, the cutting reference to “these people”. He shifted uneasily and cleared his throat.

“I think the coast is clear, Tabitha. Looks like no one is going to throw a brick through a window or call for anyone’s head. It’s all been rather civilised, and slightly moving too, if you ask me.”

As Vinny made to leave, Tabitha moved in closer to her busman prey, so close the scent from her perfume was overpowering.

Cold feet

“You’re not getting cold feet on me, are you Vinny?” she said.

“Just remember, you’re part of my strategy to ensure the Irish Water project gets over the line. By hook, line or sinker, it will be done, and you will play your part, even if it’s a rather insignificant one.

“Do I make myself clear?” she said, casually lifting a knee and pressing it firmly into Vinny’s groin, causing the bus driver to wince.

“In case you forget, you’ve signed up to speak on behalf of Irish Water. And you will speak, starting next week, because I will make sure of it.”

With that, Tabitha drew her knee back, and casually flicked the flecks of dandruff off the shoulders of Vinny’s bus driver uniform. “There, there, who’s a smart boy, then?”

Reddening with embarrassment and rage, Vinny couldn’t wait to get out. As he left the building and prepared to head towards the GPO to support the demonstrators, he heard a voice with a Welsh lilt call out from above. “I’ll be in Clontarf at seven o’clock on Monday evening to check out my new home. See you there.”

Now, as he sat forlornly in Foley’s, running his hands across his bald dome, Vinny was racked with guilt, fear and apprehension.”Good God,” he said aloud, “what have I done?”