Mr Right for the Night

by Marisa Mackle

  Anna woke at ten on Thursday morning. She stretched lazily like a cat in the bed, and then fell back against the mound of pillows.

  Having a weekday off was one of the advantages of being in the retail business. It meant you could browse around town without the Saturday afternoon crowds jostling you out of the way.

  Anna wasn’t exactly what you’d call a shopaholic. Two shopping trips a year sufficed – one in the autumn and one in the spring. She couldn’t bear crammed dressing rooms with unforgiving bright mirrors and nauseating air-conditioning. It was horrible the way cheeky teenage shop assistants would yell, ‘Are you all right in there?’ as she fought to fasten the zip on the hipster jeans that hadn’t seemed so tiny on the hanger. Most of all she hated it when the assistants offered to fetch a large or an extra large just to be sure.

  With a slap of foundation and a few tugs of the oul wig she was ready to face town. She grabbed her bag, ran down the stairs and danced down the path of the house. An angry black cloud stared at her. She was about to glare back but decided against it. If she were to pick a fight with the cloud, the cloud would win hands down. And Anna didn’t feel like getting soaked. A passing car threw a beep. The nerve! Anna fumed. It wasn’t as if she was dressed like a tart or anything. In fact in her green wax jacket and sensible cords she looked more like a farmer. ‘Pervert’, she muttered. The car jolted to a halt a few yards down the road. It was one of those new Saabs. A black one. She slowed her pace. Her heart began to beat faster. Suppose the owner of the car was trying to abduct her? Should she turn and run now while there was still time? A male head appeared out of the window.

  ‘Anna,’ it yelled, ‘would you ever hurry up and stop making me look like a bloody kerb-crawler?’

  Relieved, Anna ran towards the car. Mark leaned over and opened the passenger door for her. He looked cute in a cream polo and chinos.

  ‘Why aren’t you at work? Nice car, by the way.’

  ‘I’m on two weeks’ leave. So you like her? Our eyes met across the showroom floor. She begged me to take her home.’

  ‘And as usual you couldn’t say no,’ Anna checked her reflection in the side mirror. ‘Mind you I can’t understand how anybody who lives in this city could spend money on a fast car. The traffic is hell.’

  ‘I see you’ve been back to those charm classes again. Really, I think you should take a break. You’re in danger of becoming too nice.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Anna smiled, ‘she really is a beauty. I’m just jealous. By the way I thought you were going away?’

  ‘I’m visiting a friend in London next week.’

  ‘A girlfriend?’

  ‘A friend who’s a girl, that’s right,’ he said cheekily.

  ‘And she doesn’t mind putting you up for a few nights, does she?’

  ‘She doesn’t have a problem with that, no.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ Anna said airily. ‘I suppose Sally’s too busy to mind.’

  ‘She doesn’t know.’

  ‘See? I always knew you were a bastard.’

  ‘It’s so unfair to call me that. It’s actually all off between Sally and myself.’

  Anna sighed. Men like Mark were impossible.

  ‘Why the sigh?’ he pressed on. ‘Don’t you believe that somebody finally found the strength to give me the boot? Am I that irresistible?’

  ‘Piss off,’ she laughed.

  ‘Day off ?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Lunch?’

  ‘Um . . .’

  ‘Stop trying to think of a reason why you shouldn’t.’

  ‘I’ve had my lunch.’

  ‘A drink then?’

  ‘At this hour? Do you think I’m an alco or what?’

  ‘Tell you what, we’ll go for a walk.’

  ‘Nah, too cold.’

  ‘Cinema?’

  Anna considered it. The idea kind of appealed to her. ‘You’re on’ she agreed.

  Mark sighed with exaggeration. ‘You’re a tough one to please,’ he chuckled. ‘No wonder the student ran a mile.’

  ‘He’s back,’ Anna blurted out defensively.

  ‘Great,’ he indicated in a tone that wasn’t so great at all. ‘I’m pleased for you, Anna. Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding.’

  ‘I’m pleased for me too,’ she replied tartly. ‘But don’t rush out buying me a wedding present. It’s not that serious. Yet.’

  They drove in silence out to the Ormonde complex.

  ‘How about Bridget Jones’s Diary?’

  ‘I’m easy,’ Anna shrugged.

  Because it was afternoon, the cinema was half empty. They sat in the middle halfway up. Anna made herself comfortable. It was hard to imagine, Anna thought as they sat in the darkness, that it was the middle of the day. During the film she was very aware of Mark’s bare arm brushing against her own. She made no attempt to move away. And she was almost sorry when the credits rolled, telling people it was time to move on. Now there were no more excuses for accidentally catching Mark’s fingers as they both reached for the popcorn. The lights brightened, urging punters to leave and get on with their own mundane Irish lives. Anna sighed.

  ‘I don’t feel like going home now,’ Mark said suddenly, echoing her thoughts. ‘How about a drink in town?’

  ‘Too noisy,’ Anna proclaimed. ‘I’m too tired to stand in a crowded pub with a load of suits.’

  ‘Johnny Fox’s?’

  ‘Ah why not?’ Anna brightened. She hadn’t been up to that place in years. The highest pub in Ireland. If you couldn’t get away from it all up there, well there was no hope for you.

  Mark started the engine. They zoomed off.

  In Johnny Fox’s they settled in a cosy seat beside one of the log fires. A true gentleman, Mark took her jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. ‘What’ll you have?’

  ‘A Heineken will do me just fine.’ Anna pulled her chair closer to the warmth of the fire.

  He came back with two pints, a Heineken and a pint of the black stuff for himself. ‘Well, this is nice.’ He sat down. ‘You’re impossible to nab for a drink.’

  ‘I just need a good bit of notice,’ Anna insisted.

  ‘I’m a busy woman, you know.’

  ‘I’ve learned my lesson you’ll be glad to hear. Next time I’ll give you plenty of notice.’

  ‘Well, I’ll need it. I’m going to be up to my eyes from now on . . . and Steve’s very possessive,’ she added just to annoy him.

  But the look on his face didn’t give her much satisfaction and she felt guilty almost immediately. Why be nasty to those who were nicest to you?

  What had Mark ever done wrong except flirt with her occasionally? It was hardly a crime. Yet for some bizarre reason she felt she had to keep up this ‘treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen’ attitude whenever he was around. He deserved it, though. He was a man after all. And an extremely good-looking one at that. She almost hated him for it.

  ‘So how is work going?’ He lifted his Guinness to his lips and sampled it thoughtfully.

  ‘Great,’ Anna tried to say cheerfully but Mark’s eyes seemed to question her. ‘Actually,’ she took a climb down, ‘things are pretty terrible.’

  After some further probing, Anna gave in and admitted the whole nightmare situation with Elaine over the promotion. He listened carefully and gently squeezed her hand as she told him about the breakdown in communication between herself and Elaine.

  ‘That’s a pity, she seemed like a nice girl,’ Mark commiserated.

  ‘She is,’ Anna gratefully accepted his man-size Kleenex, ‘that’s the whole point.’

  ‘Success has its price,’ he continued thoughtfully.

  ‘Take for example the lads I used to hang around with in UCD – you remember most of the lads, don’t you?’

  Anna nodded. How could she forget? Herself and Claire had snogged most of them.

  ‘Anyway, I thought we were like this huge inseparable gang bonded by a love of rugby, women and booze. In college we were all
pretty much the same – you know, busy sending off vanloads of CVs and turning up to open days in suits. Some of us thought this was all hilarious, spinning around on the merry-go-milkround. But some people took it all very seriously.’ His face clouded.

  Anna eyed him over the rim of her beer glass and pretended to herself that she didn’t know how good looking he was.

  ‘Everything changed after college.’ He paused and drained his Guinness. ‘I saw my friends turn from fun-loving party animals into competitive freaks. I reckon some of my office colleagues would happily bring their sleeping bags into the office if they thought there was a promotion in it for them.’ He shrugged. ‘The Celtic Tiger for you, eh?’

  ‘Unbelievable.’ Anna shook her head and wondered if she should order another drink in case he decided to suddenly call it a night.

  ‘Same again?’ He beat her to it.

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ she answered almost shyly.

  She watched him order the second round at the bar, unable to steal her eyes away from his thick rugby neck, broad rugby back, broad muscular shoulders and a bottom that just begged to be pinched.

  Jesus, what was she at? She scolded herself for harbouring such sinful thoughts. Mark was her friend. A friend. Like Claire was her friend. She didn’t fantasize about pinching her bottom or making sure her legs touched Claire’s as they sat side by side having a drink in the Merrion Inn on a Friday night. Stop it, she reprimanded herself. You’ve gone mad altogether. Surreptitiously, as if to make a point, she moved her chair slightly away from Mark’s. If he noticed any change when he returned from the bar, he didn’t comment. He simply placed the drinks on the table and smiled.

  ‘Thanks for listening to me,’ she returned the smile. ‘I know I sound like a wet weekend.’

  ‘I don’t mind listening. That’s what friends are for.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed in a high thin voice that sounded nothing like her own. She resented the way Mark constantly referred to their ‘friendship’. ‘Friends are extremely important. And I’m here for you too.’

  He looked at her puzzled.

  ‘I’m here to listen,’ she continued and patted his knee like a mother would a small child. ‘Now what about this break up with Sally? Are you upset about it?’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty more fish in the sea,’ she continued like a robot. ‘I hope everything works out with your one in London. She seems very nice.’

  ‘How do you know? I haven’t said anything about her.’ He began to laugh at her poker face.

  Anna opened her mouth to say something but shut it just in time.

  ‘Her name’s Jane,’ he said finally. ‘She used to go out with my brother.’

  ‘Super,’ said Anna. ‘So she’s already met the family.’

  ‘It’s not like that. Anyway, Anna, since when have you been interested in my love life?’

  ‘God Almighty, is it that late? Steve will be out of his mind with worry,’ Anna said knowing he’d be nothing of the sort. He’d be up there studying in the UCD library until the bell sounded, telling students to sod off back to flatland.

  ‘It is late, time flies when you’re having fun.’ Mark held her jacket open for her. ‘Thanks for your company.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she answered guiltily.

  He parked his new Saab outside his front gate. ‘I’ll walk you home,’ he offered.

  ‘Ha ha very funny.’ She sneaked a quick glance across the road. Darkness enveloped Steve’s downstairs flat. She hoped Mark wouldn’t notice.

  ‘I’d invite you in for a nightcap but I don’t want Steve hammering on my door with a battleaxe,’ Mark said.

  ‘Of course.’ Anna looked mortified. She knew that he knew there was no chance of Steve going near anyone with a battleaxe. A deep colour crept into her cheeks but she wasn’t prepared to take another climb down. ‘Goodnight,’ she said awkwardly.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he replied and retreated to his bachelor house. Alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘I like niva iva wanna come hoime.’

  Claire listened politely as her sister Emma rattled on and on about how wonderful Oz was. Apparently the place she lived in was just like Home and Away. Trouble was, since Emma had gone Away she now didn’t seem to be planning to come Home. She’d adopted an irritating Australian accent, the result of hooking up with some surf dude named Brad no doubt. Claire’s parents were freaking out at the prospect of Emma settling on the other side of the world. Dublin was bad enough, they thought, but at least Claire could get to Limerick in three hours in a crisis.

  ‘Guess who I met the other day?’ Claire tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tom from Galway.’

  ‘Oh that Tom, how’s he coping?’ Emma sounded all serious all of a sudden.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Tom’s fiancée was killed in a car accident last year,’ Emma continued in a morbid voice. ‘We all thought he’d go off the rails. She was so perfect for him. Shocking tragedy so it was.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Tell him I was asking after him if you see him again.’

  ‘I will,’ Claire said soberly.

  ‘How’s Simon? Still stuck to his computer?’ Claire’s sister had never considered Simon to be the world’s most exciting man.

  ‘Oh great,’ Claire said with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. ‘And Andrew’s got so big you wouldn’t recognize him.’

  ‘Send us a recent photo, won’t you?’

  ‘Sure . . . listen, sis, this is costing me a fortune. Talk to you again.’

  ‘Love ya.’

  ‘You too.’ Claire hung up. Talking to her little sister usually lifted her spirits no end. Not this time. Poor Tom, she thought. Some people had it very tough. She wished she could help him somehow. But she wouldn’t know where to begin. Besides she didn’t even know where he lived or worked. He might think she was a prying old busybody or worse, somebody pretending to help, just to make herself feel better. An involuntary shudder shot down her spine. Maybe that’s what she was trying to do. Feign concern about other people’s misfortunes when her own shoddy life was crumbling all around her. She met her eyes in the hall mirror. You freak, she told herself, you miserable freak.

  Simon arrived home in good spirits. The market was strong, he told his wife as he nabbed a beer from the fridge. In all it had been a good week’s trading so far. In fact, he added like a bombshell, it was so good, the office was going out celebrating.

  Claire’s face fell. Not another night alone with the TV and a sleeping baby. She just couldn’t face it. She was supposed to be a young wife for God’s sake, not the merry frigging widow! ‘No you’re not,’ she said deliberately, stopping just short of stamping her foot.

  Simon had been about to switch on the box in order to catch up on the sports news but suddenly thought better of it. The look on his wife’s face was thunderous. What was the story? What the hell was wrong now?

  ‘Fire ahead,’ he pretended to be contrite, ‘what have I done? Left the lid off the toothpaste again? Silly me.’

  ‘You’re not going out again, I’m sick of it.’

  ‘What do you mean you’re sick of it? I’m the one bloody well working my ass off all day long. I’m entitled to the odd night out!’

  ‘Odd?’ Claire gave a high-pitched squeal. ‘If you go out again tonight, that’ll be the third night in ten days.’

  ‘Oh my God, she’s counting,’ Simon sighed. ‘She’s keeping tabs on me already. This is why they tell you not to get married.’

  ‘They? Who’s they, may I ask? Jake?’

  ‘Listen, don’t throw that at me.’ Simon could feel his blood pressure beginning to rise. ‘I was dead against Jake and Anna pairing off from the start.’

  A fraught tension hung between them.

  ‘Come out with u
s,’ Simon finally suggested. ‘Why don’t you?’

  ‘Who’ll mind Andrew?’

  Simon concentrated on the remote control as if it could somehow provide the answer. ‘Fiona?’ he suggested limply.

  ‘Fiona can’t babysit on weeknights till after her exams. You know that, Simon.’

  ‘What about Mrs Murphy?’

  ‘It’s too late to be asking her.’

  ‘Have you any suggestions then?’

  Claire saw a flicker of impatience cross the face that had been smiling barely ten minutes ago. ‘What about your mother?’ she said suddenly.

  ‘My mother!’ Simon couldn’t have acted more surprised if she’d suggested The Cookie Monster.

  ‘That’s out of the question.’

  ‘Why?’ Claire placed her hands defiantly on her hips. ‘Why is it so out of the question?’

  ‘My mother’s too old,’ he said tonelessly.

  ‘And what about mine? She’s the same age but Mum didn’t mind taking Andrew for a whole week after Christmas.’

  ‘You mother was glad of the company.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Claire’s eyes bulged with rage. ‘She did it to give us a break. But some women are too selfish to give a hand.’

  The look on Simon’s face was one of sheer disbelief. ‘Are you referring to my mother?’

  Claire shrugged. ‘Well,’ she spoke deliberately, ‘she certainly did a very good job of raising a self-centred son.’

  Minutes later the front door slammed. ‘And fuck you too,’ Claire muttered, her face dissolving into a river of tears. She flung open the fridge door, grabbed a bottle of white wine, filled a teacup and swallowed it all in one go, wincing as the alcohol stung the back of her throat. Immediately she refilled her cup. God where had it all gone wrong? What had happened to her dreams? Cosy nights in with her handsome husband? Adoring baby sitting in between them? A roaring fire and good home cooking? How had her husband gone from finding her the sexiest siren that ever lived, to the most boring woman in Ireland? She drank some more. Why did everyone pretend marriage was the be and end all of life? Simon had been mad about her for years. He hadn’t stopped grinning the night of their wedding. He hadn’t let her sleep a wink in their big double bed. And then Andrew had arrived and changed everything.