Mr Right for the Night

by Marisa Mackle

  Claire strode into Simon’s office unannounced. She flinched at the sight of Simon and Shelley, their heads bent earnestly over some documents on his desk. Her long sleek mane of hair hung over her right shoulder. Her short suede skirt revealed far more than was necessary for work on a Monday morning, and her tight-fitting cashmere cardigan strained against her ample bust.

  ‘Hello, Simon.’ Claire tried her best to sound bright and breezy but her voice sounded more like a squeak.

  ‘Claire.’ The expression on Simon’s face was a mixture of surprise and alarm. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ Claire was determined not to waver under Shelley’s menacing stare, ‘I’ve come to treat my hubby to a slap-up lunch. Hello, Shelley.’ She nodded curtly to the other woman.

  ‘God, this is a surprise,’ Simon sounded both pleased and relieved. ‘The only thing is . . . we’re fairly snowed under at the mo––’

  ‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ Shelley interrupted, patting Simon’s arm. ‘You go off and enjoy your lunch,’ she cooed and Claire felt a resentment she had not thought was possible.

  ‘You’re a star,’ Simon called over his shoulder as they left the large office with its futuristic pieces of furniture, potted plants in abundance and secretary sitting moodily on the enormous mahogany desk, biting her manicured talons.

  They ate lunch in Milano’s on Dawson Street. Claire ordered pasta and found it difficult to eat after the huge slice of carrot cake. But she decided not to tell Simon the real reason for the trip into town. There was no point.

  Arriving home later that evening with a couple of large Mothercare bags and a couple of Bewley’s cakes, Claire pushed open the front door. It had been a great day altogether and she was looking forward to putting her feet up and enjoying a nice relaxing evening with her family.

  Fiona stood in the hallway looking completely worn out. Andrew was lying on the floor having the mother of all tantrums, flinging toys all around the place.

  ‘Simon rang a second ago,’ Fiona told Claire. ‘He says not to leave out any dinner for him ’cos he won’t be home.’

  ‘He won’t be home,’ Claire echoed parrot-like, ‘I see.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  June poked Anna’s shoulder blade roughly. ‘Did you not hear me calling for you? There’s someone on the phone.’

  ‘Who?’ Anna was up to her ears in dust trying to sort out boxes of ladies stockings from the men’s briefs. All the numbers on the boxes were higgledy- piggledy and they were three staff down, Elaine was on holiday and the computer system had just crashed. Again. In all a typical day at Lolta’s.

  ‘Head office.’ June’s beady eyes bore through her.

  ‘Good news?’ Anna asked and then immediately regretted it.

  ‘I don’t know,’ June snapped, ‘news from head office is confidential information.’

  Dazed, Anna made her way to the phone in Mr Evans’s office. ‘Anna Allstone speaking,’ she said with a brightness she definitely didn’t feel. Then, as if in a distant dream, she heard Mr Walton’s voice congratulating her on her new position. She’d be starting the following Monday, he said. Anna, half hugging the receiver, thanked him politely before handing it back to a vicious-looking June. She watched the older woman put the phone down and utter a strangled ‘Congratulations’.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Anna said with saccharine sweetness. ‘I know you wanted this for me almost as much as I did myself.’

  The rest of the week passed in a blur. A multitude of things had to be organized. Her landlord had to be given notice, her new company car had to be collected and her parents had to be called with the good news. Oh and God, yes, she had to find somewhere new to live!

  She didn’t contact Mark. She just avoided it. Probably because she wasn’t sure what to say to him. In a way, she was afraid he might make her change her mind or something. And she was determined not to let anyone do that. She’d give him a call when she was settled in Galway. That’s what she’d do. Invite him up to visit her some weekend. And she was relieved Elaine was out of the country so she wouldn’t have to say goodbye to her either. Her parents were, not over the moon maybe, but somewhere up there with the stars anyway. Claire had cried on the phone, her reaction somewhat over the top, Anna thought. She was going to Galway, for God’s sake, not the other side of the fecking world!

  She hooked up with Rich for a boozy night of celebrations in Lillies. He swore blindly that he’d miss her, ordered a bottle of champagne and then remembered that he’d forgotten his credit card. Anna happily paid for it and for the subsequent taxi fare back to her place. She felt sorry for Rich tied up in the badly paid world of acting while she, Anna Allstone, was heading for a major career in retailing. Sure wasn’t it only fair of her to foot the bill?

  Stumbling out of the taxi as he gallantly held the door open for her, she tried to recall if there ever had been a time he actually had paid for anything. But her mind was blank. Too much champagne and all that. Then suddenly she remembered. Of course! He’d sent her that magnificent bunch of flowers on Valentine’s, hadn’t he? How could she have forgotten that? Had she ever got round to thanking him?

  She tried to remind him and thank him in the bedroom as he unbuttoned the front of her shirt and showered her neck with butterfly kisses. He didn’t respond so she tried again.

  ‘Sorry?’ It suddenly dawned on him that she was trying to tell him something. ‘What flowers?’

  She withdrew from his embrace and eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘Nope.’ He shrugged and went to unbutton his jeans.

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said icily.

  ‘Why?’ he asked foolishly, his fly halfway down.

  ‘What’s the matter, hon?’

  ‘Hon is sick,’ she answered sarcastically. Sick of being taken for a ride by deadbeats like you. ‘Now please go.’

  ‘I’ve no money to get home,’ he said sulkily, dressing himself reluctantly.

  ‘No mon, no fun . . . hon.’

  ‘What’s the matter with all you women?’ he spouted angrily. ‘You all turn out the same in the end. You’re all users.’

  ‘Really?’ Anna showed him the door. ‘That’s very interesting. Though what exactly we use you for I certainly cannot imagine.’

  He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. She heard him go downstairs. Another door slammed. Good. Good riddance!

  It all made sense now. Mark had obviously sent the flowers. Of course he had. Sure God, why hadn’t she seen it? Why had she credited Rich with the gesture – Rich who never did anything but watch other people’s TV while drinking their beer. She was a silly girl for not giving him the boot long ago.

  The car wouldn’t be ready for another three weeks, Mr Walton’s secretary apologized but she was to hang on to any travelling expenses. The Dublin– Galway train was only half full. Anna settled herself into an empty booth and flicked aimlessly through the Irish Times. After a while she was sorry she hadn’t bought Marie Claire or some trashy novel. The Irish Times was a bit too heavy this morning – she couldn’t even manage the simplex crossword!

  As the train rushed towards the West, the clouds got darker and the drizzle started. Oh good. That must be a sign they were near Galway.

  Nobody was meeting Anna at the train station so, with the detached curiosity of a tourist stumbling on unfamiliar territory, she followed the other passengers who seemed to be heading towards town.

  On Shop Street she asked a pedestrian for directions to Lolta’s. He confused her with so many instructions that she reckoned she’d be better off just figuring it out for herself.

  Eventually, after much traipsing around on tired feet, she stumbled across Lolta’s Galway. It was a large grey building casting a shadow over its optimistically vast car park. A building with eyes, Anna thought uneasily.

  Her heavy bag weighing on her right shoulder, she
wandered through the main door and approached a rather colourless woman in a fading grey suit. This must be Miss Browne, she reckoned and introduced herself.

  Miss Browne shook Anna’s hand firmly and welcomed her to the store as the shop assistants checked out their new assistant manager with interest.

  ‘I hope you’ll be very happy here,’ she said in a tone that seemed to say ‘I actually think you’ll hate it’.

  Anna was marched around the large store being introduced to staff who cautiously sized her up. They were well used to managers coming and going – it was part and parcel of retailing. But while some managers could be right walkovers, others could be weapons. They reckoned this well-dressed girl with the pretty face and fair hair tied in a high ponytail would be somewhere in between.

  The strange thing about moving store was that, no matter how competent and confident you were, you still felt like a new schoolgirl on your first day trying to find out where on earth the toilets were.

  Fortunately Grainne had given her the number of her sister Aoife, a final year student in UCG who happened to be looking for a flatmate at the moment. Anna was currently staying in a B&B where Lolta’s were putting her up for three nights.

  She dialled Aoife’s number later from the foyer of the B&B. She was dubious enough about sharing with any relative of Grainne’s. Would Aoife be as mad in the head as her sister?

  ‘Hello?’ the warm voice came through the line.

  ‘Hi . . . it’s er Anna, I’m . . .’

  ‘Anna! I’ve been expecting your call. Listen, where exactly are you? I’ll come and collect you if you like.’

  ‘Yeah, well that’s very nice of you.’ God, she was enthusiastic. Maybe she was a raving loony. Suppose her last flatmate had vanished in the middle of the night? ‘I’m in The Seaside Inn.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s in Salthill, isn’t it? I’m not far from there. The flat’s in Rahoon. I’ll be about ten minutes?’

  ‘Sure. Thanks a lot.’

  Anna waited on the windy steps, facing the rough Atlantic sea and feeling severe bouts of indecision. Rahoon was a good bit out from the centre, wasn’t it? She wasn’t too sure about living that far out. Mind you, she didn’t want to be too near work either. Then your days off wouldn’t really feel like days off, would they? And she didn’t want to be ringing up people advertising flat shares in the newspapers. You heard so many horror stories, didn’t you? Better the devil you know, eh?

  A battered green Renault 5 screeched to a halt outside the B&B. A fresh-faced, auburn-haired girl stuck her head out of the window.

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me.’ Anna smiled, prised open the rusty passenger door and climbed in.

  Aoife shook her hand vigorously. ‘Welcome to Galway,’ she enthused. ‘How was your first day in the new job?’

  ‘Fine, fine.’ Anna hoped Aoife wasn’t someone who would want her to talk about work all day long. ‘You don’t look a bit like Grainne,’ she said in an effort to change subjects.

  ‘That’s what everyone says,’ Aoife laughed. ‘Mammy must’ve kept herself busy,’ she winked.

  Anna felt herself relax almost immediately. Aoife’s high hedonistic spirits were contagious. The apartment was fine. Included all the basics. And it wasn’t far from the shopping centre – an essential for hangover and couldn’t-possibly-get-into-the-car-and-drive-to- the-shop days.

  ‘The rent is pretty reasonable,’ Aoife explained.

  ‘And it’s not too far from the prom – great for exercising,’ she continued hopefully.

  Anna drank in her surroundings – clean wooden floors, cream-painted walls, a modern-looking fireplace she wasn’t crazy about – but hey, you can’t have everything!

  There was a double bed in her room. ‘You’re welcome to have guests of course,’ Aoife said hurriedly. Guests? Ha ha!

  ‘Great,’ Anna said non-committally.

  ‘Listen, do you want to go away and think about it?’ Aoife wondered. ‘You might want to take a look at a few more places and . . .’

  ‘No, I’ll take it,’ Anna answered straightaway. ‘I kind of want to settle in as soon as possible, you know?’

  ‘Great,’ Aoife sounded genuinely thrilled. ‘Grainne said she’d a feeling the two of us would hit it off. By the way, she said some fella was round at the flat asking for you earlier on. Does the name Mark ring a bell?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Victoria Reddin sat upstairs in the bar of the Westbury Hotel and sucked on a Marlboro Light. Where the hell had Olive Lexon got to? This was not the place to be seen all on your own. The silly cow for making her wait around like this. Five more minutes and she was out of there.

  She’d a lot on her plate at the moment what with caterers messing her about and that unreliable DJ cancelling at the last minute because his daughter had gone and got herself involved in a road accident. What had happened to honest-to-God workers? People just weren’t grateful for a bit of work any more. There were now foreigners and all kinds of riff-raff running around causing havoc! Not that she’d ever really consider doing the odd day’s work herself mind. No thank you, she just wasn’t into it at all. She didn’t agree with these ambitious women you met sometimes who boasted about all the hours they worked as if that was something to be proud of ! Bloody fools, Victoria thought, privately. Let the men do the work!

  Olive arrived eventually, apologetic and out of breath. ‘I’m desperately sorry,’ she pecked the air near Victoria’s left ear. ‘Forgiven?’

  ‘What kept you?’ Victoria asked crossly. ‘I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Olive looked sufficiently upset. ‘Wow, what a coat!’

  ‘Thanks,’ Victoria fingered the leather collar. ‘Don’t ask how much it cost.’

  Olive hadn’t intended asking. She didn’t want to be depressed for the rest of the week. ‘So how are all the party preparations going?’

  ‘Nightmare.’ Victoria killed her cigarette. She hailed a passing waiter. ‘My friend here is looking for a drink.’

  ‘Has everyone RSVP’d?’

  ‘Are you mad? About half of them haven’t. Ignorant feckers.’

  ‘So who hasn’t replied?’

  ‘Well, Valerie in Australia.’

  ‘Well, that’s fair enough, her reply is probably on the way.’

  ‘I suppose, but you know with e-mail and all that nobody really has any excuse. And Margaret hasn’t got back to me either. She’s a funny one. You know she’s separated, don’t you? Apparently her husband was giving her more than the odd slap. Imagine! I dunno if she’ll show up at the party at all.’

  ‘Poor Margaret.’ Olive looked sad.

  ‘Oh, she’s not the only one to have fallen on hard times,’ Victoria continued. ‘A number of our ex-classmates are in a bad way. Not everyone is as lucky as you and I, Olive.’

  She gave Olive a triumphant little smile even though secretly she didn’t think Olive had done particularly well at all. She worked in the civil-yawn- service and had married her boss, a dull dreary- looking man with the personality of a double-glazed window. They lived in an estate where rotten little locals played ball on the road and sat on her front wall. Ugh.

  But apparently all of the women in Olive’s office had had a kind of a thing for him – so Olive in her own way thought she’d got a bit of a catch. Ha! The office stud! Ha!

  ‘What about Carmen?’ Olive asked.

  ‘Carmen’s coming,’ Victoria brightened. ‘With her boyfriend. Lovely lovely guy – one of the Stohans – property and racing, you’ve heard of the family, I’m sure. Mind you, he isn’t showing any signs of committing to poor old Carmen. And I mean it’s not like he’s not in a position to tie the knot, you know – from a financial point of view. I wonder what’s holding him back?’

  ‘Maybe she’s holding back?’

  ‘Ah rubbish, sure why would she hold back? You’re very naive, Olive.’

  ‘But they’re living together so the relationsh
ip must be quite serious.’

  ‘It’s not the same thing,’ Victoria scoffed. ‘That is not the same thing at all.’

  ‘Is Anna Allstone coming?’

  Victoria lit another cigarette. ‘Who?’

  ‘Anna Allstone.’

  ‘I don’t remember her at all.’ Victoria frowned.

  ‘You must. She was . . . I dunno . . . blonde with kind of chubby cheeks . . . nice girl though . . . quiet.’

  ‘I’ve no idea who you’re talking about. Who did she pal around with?’

  ‘A girl called Claire, she was . . .’

  ‘Oh yes, I remember now, ha ha. Little and Large. Ha ha ha ha . . . No, I don’t suppose she’s coming, I haven’t heard from her yet. Pity really. She might have provided us with a good giggle.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Outside The Barge in Ranelagh, Claire sat in her car listening to great big heavy drops of rain pound the windscreen. With big baby blue eyes Andrew watched his mother from where he was strapped into the back seat. She stifled a yawn. She’d been waiting nearly two hours now.

  The pub was beginning to empty out. Suddenly she felt terribly lonely and silly. What in the name of God did she think she’d achieve by spying on her husband in the middle of the night? It wasn’t normal. None of this was.

  Andrew began to whimper. It was way past his bedtime.

  ‘Don’t cry, pet,’ she pleaded softly. ‘Mummy’s going to bring you home soon.’ She switched on the headlights, turned on the engine and put the gear in reverse. Suddenly she froze as her world seemed to come to a halt. There they were. God. Simon and Shelley. Together. She was in her little black-leather mini, sheltering under Simon’s big black umbrella. He had his arm around her shoulder. They were laughing.