He wasn’t worthy of her love. Or a £159 return ticket. He’d cheated on her, for God’s sake. He’d do it again if Anna had anything to do with it.
Claudine must be stopped. She mustn’t make that wasted journey. Anna would save her much heartache in the long run. God, could somebody please inspire her and tell her what to do?
CHAPTER SIX
‘Anna, we’ve got to talk.’ The familiar glint had disappeared from Steve’s dark eyes.
‘I know,’ she said, aware that the talk mightn’t be great fun. Men never wanted to talk. Unless of course it was trying to talk you into the sack. But, more often than not, when men tried to talk it usually meant they never wanted to talk again. To you. Or see you . . . Or snog you. Well, maybe snog you. Occasionally. If there was nobody else about. But only if you understood that the snog wasn’t going to lead to anything else. Anything more meaningful. ‘Okay, shoot,’ she told him.
They were sitting in Steve’s flat, which was now significantly less inviting than it had been the night of the party. The expression on Kurt Curbain’s black and white face was painful. Probably as painful as the look she herself was sporting, Anna thought glumly.
‘Would you like a cigarette?’ He held out a near empty carton of Marlboro Lights.
‘No thanks,’ she shook her head, ‘I’ll probably need one more after the talk.’
‘Remember I told you about the girl in Paris?’
‘Vaguely,’ Anna sniffed. ‘As far as I remember you mentioned her the first night we met, but I don’t recall any reference after that.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Steve stared at the ground. He looked perfectly stunning tonight. And younger than usual, but perhaps that was just an illusion. ‘I’m racked with guilt.’
‘Oh.’
‘She’s coming to Dublin tonight.’
‘Oh.’
‘I only found out this evening. Apparently she rang on Wednesday but one of the nurses must have forgotten to give me the message.’
‘Oh.’ It was now Anna’s turn to feel guilty.
‘So . . . God, I hate doing this . . . but we can’t see each other again.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you hate me for doing this?’
‘No . . . but to be honest it’s a bit silly you telling me you can’t see me again when I live upstairs.’
Steve gave a short laugh. ‘I know, it does sound silly.’
‘Right then.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll be off.’
‘Do you mind terribly?’ He looked beautiful. She wanted to kill him but she was too upset.
‘Mind?’ she shrilled. ‘Mind? I couldn’t give a shit.’
‘Oh.’ It was Steve’s turn to look hurt.
‘Well, good luck.’ She made for the door.
‘Sorry.’
She closed the door gently. Paused for a moment. Contemplated going back in and abusing him.
Decided against it. Gave his bicycle an almighty kick. And stormed upstairs.
The flat was cold. It was always cold. And cheerless. She didn’t turn on the light. Turning on the light might be interpreted as a positive action. And she didn’t feel positive at all. She turned on the little fan heater and dragged it over to the window. She sat on the tiny stool there and stared numbly through the draughty window. The light in Mark’s front room was on and she could see a table was set. For two. How nice. And Steve and Claudine would be two tonight. Also very nice. And she, Anna, would be one. Eating for one, sleeping as one and feeling miserable as one.
She had to ring Claire. Claire would be so sympathetic and wouldn’t say, ‘I told you so.’ She never did. At least not straightaway. But she couldn’t ring from the phone downstairs. Not while Steve was still in the building. God, it was very annoying. She should get herself a mobile. Even if it did do damage to your ear and irritated the life out of strangers all around you. Eventually she heard him leave. It was upsetting to hear him go. It meant that he wasn’t going to change his mind and come up the stairs to tell her he’d made a terrible mistake and beg her forgiveness.
She ran downstairs and rang Claire.
‘He’s gone,’ she wailed.
‘Oh you poor pet.’ Claire sounded appropriately distraught.
‘It’s so unfair. I thought I was falling in love with him.’
‘Yes, but you have to remember you didn’t know him very long,’ Claire reminded her.
‘Will you come out with me for a few consolation drinks?’
‘I can’t, Anna, I’m in the middle of cooking. Simon’s got some friends calling round.’
‘Who?’
‘John, Richard and Jake.’
‘All married?’
‘Jake isn’t.’
‘And he’s the ugly one, I suppose.’
‘He’s not bad, I don’t really know him that well.’
‘Can I come round and help out?’
‘You mean . . .’
‘No, I don’t mean just to eat all your food. I’d love to help out . . . genuinely.’
She wore a black velvet dress to the knee, black patent shoes with a slight heel, small diamante earrings and twisted her fair hair into a high ponytail. She eyed herself doubtfully in the mirror. If these guys were hotshot traders, they’d probably admire glamorous, chic-looking women. Anna pulled on her black wool, full-length coat and wrapped herself in a grey cashmere scarf. This was about as glamorous as she got.
Simon nearly died when he saw her standing at the door.
‘Don’t worry, I’m here to help.’ Anna pushed past him into the hallway. Simon would be mortified by a woman showing up on a lads’ night out. Simon was a man’s man, and although Claire raved about him, he wasn’t exactly Anna’s cup of tea. Anna was way too independent for the likes of Simon.
Claire was completely freaking out over chicken á la king.
The doorbell rang loudly.
‘Oh God,’ Claire panicked, ‘they’re early. Oh no, Simon’s gone up to have a shower. You wouldn’t entertain them in the drawing room, offer them a drink or something?’
‘No better woman,’ Anna grinned. ‘Do I look okay? Has my ponytail fallen down or anything?’
‘No, you look fine. Go on, run.’
Anna braced herself at the hall door. She took a deep breath. Calm, cool and sophisticated – her image for tonight. She opened the door. A well-built man of average height with a nicer than average face, a short haircut and a smile, stood there. He was holding a plant. He looked mildly confused.
‘Oh you shouldn’t have,’ Anna giggled as she stretched out her hand to receive the plant.
‘Er . . . this is Simon and . . . ?’
‘Yes, Simon and Claire’s house, only Claire has been replaced by a younger model called Anna. 'I’m Anna.’
‘You’re . . .’
‘Joking, yes of course I’m joking. I’m Claire’s best friend, come in.’
Jake, yes it must be Jake (because he wasn’t wearing a ring), threw back his head and roared with laughter.
‘You’re brilliant,’ he yelled enthusiastically. ‘God, you’d almost got me there, ha ha!’
Anna was delighted. She’d made a good impression already. She hadn’t meant to be funny. The thing about the plant had come from nowhere. Probably something to do with the glass of white wine she’d gulped down behind Claire’s back.
‘If I’d known you were going to be here I’d have brought a second plant,’ he laughed.
‘Oh well, next time.’ Anna took his coat. ‘Drink?’
‘Yes, and I smoke too.’
They both laughed.
‘Seriously though, I could murder a G&T,’ he said.
‘There’s ice in the fridge.’ Claire fingered the chicken and frowned. ‘It seems to be all right now.’
‘So, where have you been hiding Jake all these years?’ Anna demanded as she poured a generous measure of gin.
‘Ah, leave Jake alone, he’s not so ba
d. Stop being so sarcastic,’ Claire scolded.
‘I’m not being sarcastic. I’m serious. He’s a good laugh. He’d be perfect for Victoria’s party. He’d know Simon so I wouldn’t have to look after him for the evening. Perfect.’
Claire stared at her friend suspiciously. ‘You can’t be serious. Jake’s not your type at all.’
‘Well, let me be the judge of that.’
‘You’re on the rebound, Anna.’
‘Ah, don’t be daft. Steve – stunning as he was – lasted little longer than a one-night stand. Besides he was too immature for me.’
Anna was tired of Claire’s pessimistic attitude, this firm belief that Anna couldn’t make anything work with anyone, that she was a walking disaster with an ‘ABUSE ME’ sign firmly painted on her forehead. Jake mightn’t be Russell Crowe but he wasn’t bad.
The doorbell rang again.
‘You get that,’ Anna told Claire, ‘while I bring Jake his drink.’ There was no point making small talk with the married ones. They might think she was charming but who cared? They were taken!
‘Do you know that gin can be a depressant?’ Anna handed Jake his drink.
‘No way.’
‘Seriously, it’s a medical fact I think. People can get angry because of gin.’
‘Ah nonsense.’ Jake knocked back half the glass. He swallowed hard and blinked twice. ‘Get lost, Fatso.’
Anna stared, completely stunned.
‘Jesus, you’re right,’ he laughed unselfconsciously, ‘It’s having a terrible impact on me.’
Anna gave a surprised laugh. Jesus, that wasn’t much of a joke. If he’d called her Bony or even Thicko it wouldn’t have been so bad. But Fatso? No, that was way too rude. That’s what Victoria had always called her. God, on second thoughts maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea to invite Jake to Victoria’s. They might gang up on her!
She gave him a watery smile. ‘Perhaps you should have a beer,’ she whispered.
John and Richard entered the room and shook Anna’s hand formally. They were all business. Both wore glasses. John’s hair was badly receding. Richard was grey all over. Shocking. And these guys were only in their mid-thirties! Well, Jake looked very handsome indeed beside his two colleagues. Anna decided she’d give him a second chance. After all she shouldn’t be too quick to jump down people’s throats.
‘Drinks, gentlemen?’ she offered.
‘I’ll have a white wine spritzer.’ John was folding his grey rain mac.
‘And I’ll have a Ballygowan,’ said Richard, ‘No ice.’
She fled the room.
‘I’m not going back in there.’ Anna slumped down on one of the kitchen chairs and zapped the remote control. ‘Oh, Fair City. Great.’
‘You don’t watch Fair City.’ Claire prodded the Black Forest Gateau ice cream to see if it had begun to thaw.
‘I do now.’
‘God, Anna, you have to make more of an effort. You can be very unsociable at times.’
‘I’m sociable when I meet interesting people.’ Anna popped a cherry tomato into her mouth when Claire wasn’t watching. ‘It’s just that those guys in there . . . well, they’d put a bloody insomniac into a coma. I mean, I can’t understand it, they’re ugly men, right? But they’ve good jobs and therefore probably had no difficulty getting two wives for themselves. But if you took two equivalent women, say, they’d have a much harder time getting two husbands because a lot of men prefer good-looking women to women who have good careers. Do you see what I mean? Women get a pretty raw deal when you think about it.’
‘Listen,’ Claire moved the bowl of cherry tomatoes out of Anna’s reach, ‘I don’t have time to be contemplating life and all its faults. I’ve Simon and Andrew to keep my mind full.’
‘Ah Claire, you’re becoming one of those women we always swore we’d never become – you know, babies, husbands, nappies, Volvos, bills and washing machines.’
Claire feigned sudden shock. She peeled off her apron, threw it on the table and placed her fists defiantly on her slim hips. ‘I should throw you out,’ she threatened playfully.
‘I’ll only leave if you absolutely promise to come on a girls’ night out tomorrow.’
‘It’s just that . . .’
‘I’m serious, now or never.’
‘Right, if it will shut you up.’
Anna stood up. ‘I’d stay and help you clean up and that . . . but it’s been a long day and I don’t want to get in anyone’s way . . .’
‘Go,’ Claire ordered and opened the kitchen door into the hall.
‘Goodnight.’ She kissed her friend’s cheek. ‘Should I go in and say goodnight to the lads?’
‘Better not,’ Claire said wisely. ‘I’ll give them your regards. And eh . . . don’t worry about the student. He didn’t sound that great to begin with.’
Anna closed the door behind her and the icy January air immediately bit her uncovered skin. She delved deep into her coat pockets to retrieve her gloves. It was true. Steve wasn’t any great shakes. And had never realistically been a contender for Ideal Date of the Year award. But still she wasn’t looking forward to going back to the empty flat knowing that the man who’d just rejected her was living under the same roof. She began the walk home.
As she neared the house she noticed the lights in the downstairs flat were on and the curtains hadn’t been drawn. She wondered if the beautiful Claudine had already flown in from the French capital and whether she was now murmuring sweet nothings into smitten Steve’s ear.
As she neared the front door, keys dangling in her right hand, she heard loud voices. The door opened slightly. Anna’s blood ran cold. Oh God, what was she going to do?
She could always dive into the long grass that was supposed to be a garden, but that would look pretty pathetic. Desperate even. She took a deep breath and a bold step forward.
Steve’s face appeared. He caught Anna’s eye like a rabbit caught in unexpected headlights. They both froze.
‘Er . . . Anna. How are you?’
‘Fine.’ Anna’s voice was stilted. She craned her neck for a view of the buxom Brigitte Bardot. Instead she was greeted by the sight of a slight, mousy-haired girl of about five foot, dwarfed in an unflattering dun-coloured coat. The girl smiled awkwardly, revealing Bugs Bunny teeth.
‘Anna, this is Claudine,’ Steve introduced the two girls without emotion.
‘Enchantée.’ Claudine held out a bony, ice-cold hand.
Anna was flabbergasted. Surely . . . surely this wasn’t her? She shook the French girl’s hand automatically.
‘I live upstairs,’ she said.
‘Superb.’ The foreign accent sounded bizarre.
Anna wasn’t sure what was superb about living in a dingy little lifeless flat in Ranelagh but she said nothing. If Claudine thought it was superb, let her. Then again Anna might think it was superb herself if she was here to visit the seductive Steve. And didn’t realize he was a cheat. She caught his eye. He looked guilty as hell. Good.
Anna bid them a frosty farewell and marched upstairs to her own accommodation. Christ, she couldn’t believe it was Friday night and once again she hadn’t a damn thing planned. She wondered where Steve and his amour were heading. Somewhere really unromantic probably. Like a walk around the block. Or a boring old drink in one of the local pubs. Thank God she was rid of him, she told herself half-heartedly. She turned on the fan heater and the radio. Nothing but dance music. Damn. They always put on dance music on a Friday evening to put people in the mood for going out. Why weren’t there any stations geared towards lonely thirty-year-old women who preferred to sit in? Maybe she’d get ready and pretend she was going out. Sure, didn’t they say half the fun was getting ready? Yeah right!
The phone rang. Oh God, she really didn’t feel like answering it. Let one of the nurses get it – it was usually someone looking for one of them anyway. It rang and rang. Oh no, just suppose it was someone for her? But who could be ringing at nine o’clock on a Friday n
ight? The house was obviously empty. The person on the other end of the phone was being very persistent. Oh maybe she should answer it. It could be an emergency. Reluctantly she made her way downstairs.
‘Hello?’ she whispered, as though it could be a nuisance caller.
‘Anna?’
Heavens! A male voice! Anna quickly racked her brains to figure out which of her desperate exes had the nerve to call her so late on a Friday evening and presume she’d be in.
‘Who’s this?’ she asked warily.
‘Mark,’ the voice answered casually. Relief flooded her. Thank God it was Mark and not some pervert looking for one of the nurses. But relief soon turned to indignation. What did he mean by ringing her so late? Did he think she hadn’t got a life or what?
‘Hello, Mark,’ her voice was politely cool, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘Are you up to anything?’
‘I’m just getting ready to go out,’ she lied.
‘Oh where to?’
‘Into town and then off to Club Anabel to meet some friends,’ Another lie.
‘Oh! A few of my mates are heading there.’
‘Right.’ Oh Jesus! ‘Right, well I’m not one hundred per cent sure if that’s where we are going. We might go to Renards instead. Or Spy. Or straight to Leeson Street. It depends how things go.’
‘I see,’ he sounded subdued. ‘That’s a pity because I thought we could do something tonight. We haven’t met up in ages.’
‘Well, if I’d had a bit more notice maybe . . .’
‘Right. Well, listen I’ll give you a lift into town, it’s raining.’
‘Oh no!’ Anna practically shouted, ‘I’ll get the bus.’
Mr Right for the Night Page 4
