Mr Right for the Night

by Marisa Mackle

  Laughing.

  And Andrew was in the back crying.

  Claire felt sick. Andrew’s whimpering became louder and louder. Claire was panicking. Should she get out now or just drive home and decide what to do from there?

  Then something made her blood run cold.

  Shelley had reached up and kissed her husband full smack on the lips.

  Right, that was IT!

  She jumped out of the car and slammed the door. Walking boldly towards them, she didn’t notice the rain saturating her head and neck.

  ‘Simon,’ she screeched.

  Her husband froze. So did Shelley.

  ‘Simon,’ she was a lot closer now, ‘get into the car.’

  ‘Wh . . . what’s the matter?’

  ‘GET INTO THE CAR, DO YOU HEAR?’

  ‘Go on, Simon,’ Shelley urged.

  ‘But what about you? Will you be okay to get home?’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Claire roared at him. ‘If she’s able to go around stealing other people’s men, she’s well able to get her little ass home to whatever hole she crawled out of.’

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that,’ Shelley’s eyes hardened. ‘As if I’m after your husband. You really need to get yourself a life.’

  ‘A life like yours? I don’t think so,’ Claire said acidly. ‘Come on, Simon, we’ll carry on this conversation at home.’

  In stony silence they walked to the car.

  ‘Why did you bring Andrew with you?’ Simon seemed astounded to see his son in the back seat.

  ‘Well, I was hardly going to leave him home alone while his mother was out spying on his father chasing whores.’

  ‘Chasing whores? What on earth is up with you?’

  ‘I saw you kiss that stupid bitch.’

  ‘She kissed me. That’s Shelley’s thing. She kisses everybody.’ Simon shrugged, ‘It’s just her thing. I’m sorry it bothered you so much. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Well, I won’t be around to witness it if it does.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Claire said quietly. ‘You’ll see.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘Dad? Hi, it’s me.’

  ‘Deirdre? Is that you calling from America? Don’t you be wasting your money now.’

  ‘No, Dad, it’s me, Claire.’

  ‘Oh it’s you.’ Her father paused. ‘Well, there’s nobody here.’

  Claire hated the way he always said that. She was tempted to say ‘Actually, Dad, it’s you I wanted to talk to. How’s life? Seen anything on TV recently? Any new spuds in the garden?’

  But she didn’t.

  ‘When will Mum be back?’ she asked instead.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he sounded irritable. ‘She’s out with your Nan.’

  ‘I was thinking of coming down to see you,’ she tried to sound cheerful.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to let yourself in. I can’t be here waiting for you.’

  ‘That’s no problem.’

  She heard the phone go dead.

  ‘Bye bye, Dad,’ she muttered. He was probably rushing out to buy a few balloons, she thought sarcastically. Oh well, she’d made up her mind now. She was leaving. Andrew was coming with her. Simon would survive. Of course he would. With a VBF like Shelley who needed a wife? Let Simon wonder what the hell she was up to now. Let him see how much fun it was.

  She scribbled her goodbyes on the back of an envelope.

  Gone to Mum’s. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Claire

  P.S. Don’t forget to feed Blackie.

  She propped it up on the kitchen table against a bunch of dying flowers. There, that should make him stew.

  Poor Blackie seemed upset to see her pack the car boot. It was as if he knew being left at home with Simon wouldn’t exactly be a bundle of laughs.

  She was all set. Andrew, dressed in a fluffy yellow cardigan, was strapped into the back seat.

  Three and a half hours later she arrived in Limerick.

  Her mother was in a tizzy because the spare room wasn’t made up. Every window in the place was open to let the air circulate. Claire shivered. It was freezing.

  Her sister Aileen was lying on the sitting-room floor munching Taytos, a big green towel wrapped around her head. ‘Claire!’ Her big chubby face broke into a smile when she saw her sister. ‘Andrew, coo chi coo angel baby. It’s your Auntie Aileen. Yes it is. Oh yes it is.’

  ‘Aileen, would you ever get dressed, you big lazy lump,’ Claire’s mother barked. ‘Honestly, Claire, you arrived at a really bad time. I can’t have you disrupting everyone like this. Aileen’s supposed to be studying for her finals and that brother of yours is hoping to pass his leaving.’

  Aileen made a face behind her mother’s back.

  ‘Talk to you later,’ she said. ‘I dunno why you bother coming to visit. Once I leave home I’ll never put foot in this house ever again.’

  It was funny, Claire thought, when you were away from home you lived with this kind of misconception that you missed your family and they missed you. But in reality they’d probably never even noticed you’d left in the first place.

  Mrs Fiscon pinched Andrew’s cheek and frowned.

  ‘He’s very thin.’

  ‘He’s not thin,’ Claire scowled. ‘He’s just normal.’

  ‘Are you feeding him the right food?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘You don’t want to be giving him too much sugar,’ her mother insisted. ‘I made that mistake with Aileen and look at her now. She’s huge.’

  ‘She’s studying,’ Claire countered.

  ‘Well, she’s down here every five minutes with her head stuck in the fridge. Both of them have me driven demented.’

  ‘Poor Mum. You’re worn out.’

  ‘I notice you’re looking a bit worn out yourself.’ She picked up one of her father’s white shirts and draped it across the ironing board. ‘When was the last time you got your hair done?’

  ‘Mum, I’ve been up to my eyes looking after Andrew and . . .’

  ‘I raised five children and never missed my weekly hairdressing appointment.’ Her mother patted her coiffed auburn bob. ‘What about that money I gave you? Have you bought something nice yet?’

  ‘No,’ Claire admitted guiltily.

  ‘You’ll have to pull up your socks, Claire. You’re thirty going on fifty. You’ll just have to cop yourself on.’

  Claire’s father trudged in from the cold and threw his hat and coat onto the kitchen table. ‘Claire,’ he acknowledged his eldest daughter.

  ‘Dad,’ she returned the acknowledgement. The Fiscon household was not one where you’d throw your arms around someone and give them a big hug.

  Claire suddenly thought of Anna’s home and all its walls plastered in photos of the family. The pictures on these walls were of cows and sheep and tearful-looking members of God’s family.

  ‘He’s the image of me.’ Mr Fiscon picked his only grandchild up and threw him in the air. Claire was about to object but didn’t when she heard Andrew squeal with laughter. ‘He’ll be a fine rugby player.’ Claire’s father had played rugby for Ireland and was somewhat of a rugby hero in the area. His son Mickey was a bitter disappointment to him. He didn’t see why grown men would run around a field after a ball. He was more into poetry and jazz and stuff that meant something.

  ‘George, hang up your coat, dinner’s ready.’

  Her husband obediently cleared the table. Aileen was called down. Mickey was nowhere to be found. As usual. He thought family dinners were naff.

  ‘Did you make sure to leave plenty of food in the house for Simon?’ her mother asked between mouthfuls of Shepherd’s pie.

  ‘Of course I did,’ Claire lied. Of course she didn’t. The whole point of going away was to make Simon suffer. If she’d left him any food he wouldn’t notice she was missing.

  ‘He’s a fine lad, Simon.’ Mr Fiscon spoke with his mouth full. He adored the fact that his son-
in-law could talk for hours about rugby.

  ‘That’s right, he’s a super guy,’ his wife agreed.

  ‘Why didn’t he come down with you?’ Aileen reached for a second helping of mashed potatoes.

  ‘Simon’s too busy. All work and no play.’

  ‘No harm,’ her mother said matter-of-factly. ‘Sure, wouldn’t it be worse to have him under your feet all day?’

  Andrew, determined not to be ignored, gave a surprised shout from his baby chair.

  ‘Oh he’s so adorable,’ Aileen gushed. ‘I can’t wait to have a baby of my own.’

  ‘You’ll have to wait till you’re married first,’ her mother said firmly.

  ‘And where would I find a husband? There’s nothing but eejits around here. I wouldn’t touch them with a barge pole.’

  ‘Ah Aileen, you’ve plenty of time yet,’ Claire said kindly.

  ‘Not really,’ her mother sniffed. ‘You were Aileen’s age when you met Simon.’

  Feeling her pulse rising, Aileen made a swift exit from the room. Her father disappeared into the good room to watch the news. Claire and her mother tackled the washing-up.

  ‘My biggest mistake was not sending Aileen and Mickey to boarding school.’ Her mother scrubbed one of the big saucepans fiercely.

  ‘But I hated boarding school,’ Claire argued, ‘I was so lonely.’

  ‘Well, look how well you’ve done. You met all the right people and moved in the best circles. And I mean I have to say you married one of the best catches around.’

  ‘I dunno about that.’ Claire gave a plate a half-hearted wipe. ‘Simon is out a lot with his friends.’

  ‘George did that too at first. But look how settled he became. I turned a blind eye to it all. Just made sure I kept myself slim and attractive.’

  Claire sighed. This conversation was getting her absolutely nowhere. Not a negative word was allowed to be heard about super Simon.

  She’d have to go back to Dublin in the morning and try to sort things out herself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Back at home, Claire found it hard to be civil to her husband. Although on the outside she put up a semblance of normality, inside she seemed to be constantly crying. At night she found it increasingly hard to sleep and spent most of the time staring vacantly out of the kitchen window where darkness stretched into infinity.

  She felt trapped. She didn’t know what to do. One moment she was Claire and everything was normal and then she’d remember Shelley kissing her husband and her world would spin out of control again. She had to do something. But what?

  Her own head did not have the answers. Anna had moved on to her new job in Galway. Nobody was around. Nobody seemed to be there for her. That’s why when Tom rang to innocently arrange another trip to the gallery, she broke down. It was as if all the torturous anxieties and strangled emotions she had been bottling up over the past few weeks had finally tumbled forth.

  Concerned, he invited her to his apartment for tea the following Saturday. She accepted without hesitation.

  Simon didn’t dare refuse to babysit, as his wife got herself ready in stony silence and left the house.

  As she nervously took the lift to Tom’s Dalkey apartment, overlooking the sea, Claire felt an inexplicable wave of guilt sweep over her. But she dismissed it just as fast. After all it wasn’t like she was planning anything terrible. Everything was above board. She pressed the doorbell and Tom let her in.

  His apartment was simply furnished with white cotton rugs, and flanking the fireplace was a pair of ornate mirrors, designed to give the impression of spaciousness.

  Claire was drawn to the view from the bay window. The sea was sparkling like a thousand million diamonds. Magnificent.

  ‘Wow, this is hugely therapeutic,’ Claire murmured. ‘No wonder you’re always in a good mood.’

  ‘Not always.’ Tom joined her at the window and slipped a strong arm around her tiny waist. ‘Not always I’m afraid.’

  ‘Emma told me about the tragedy,’ Claire said softly. ‘I . . . I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘It’s not always easy to find the right words,’ Tom said delicately. ‘Sometimes it’s just best not to say anything.’

  When she moved closer to him and felt the warmth of his body against hers it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  They stood in companionable silence, gazing at the breathtaking view. It had such a calming effect. She wondered what was going through his mind. Did he simply feel protective towards her or was it more than that?

  She moved slightly towards him. He didn’t move away. But that’s where the physical contact ended and for some reason Claire was glad of it. Of course it wasn’t out of loyalty for Simon. No, definitely not. It’s just that somewhere deep deep down, Claire knew that two wrongs would never make a right.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ‘So what are the fellas like up in Dublin?’ Aoife was dying to know. ‘Grainne says they’re all rides.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ Anna sipped a cool beer on the bright new yellow sofa. ‘I suppose city men make a bit more of an effort with their appearance. But there’s more choice in Dublin.’

  ‘More clothes shops?’

  ‘And more men.’

  ‘So are you going to contact that fella who was asking after you?’

  ‘You mean Mark?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one.’

  ‘Ah no, he’s just a friend.’ Anna lit a cigarette. Aoife wasn’t a smoker but insisted she didn’t mind other people smoking, which was great. There wasn’t anything much worse than a flatmate who was constantly opening windows to shoo away the smoke.

  Aoife was really easy going and Anna just knew she was going to enjoy living with her.

  Work was going well too. It was great not having

  June breathing down her neck like a demented dragon. She wondered how Elaine was getting on. She’d be back from her holidays by now.

  Dublin seemed a million miles away with its constant stream of traffic and pollution. She loved the soft west-of-Ireland air and the fact that the Galwegians didn’t seem to suffer the same stress that Dubliners did. Nothing could beat walking the pier in Salthill in the evenings with the fierce Atlantic wind against your face. Living near the sea did one’s complexion no harm, that was for sure.

  But she did miss Claire and Mark and sometimes in work, though she tried hard to concentrate on her sales figures, images of Mark’s smiling face floated past.

  The following morning at work, one of the girls handed her a handwritten envelope. Anna was intrigued. It was always great to get something in the post other than company mail. She opened the envelope tentatively.

  Inside was a card with a cute cartoon kitten on the front.

  Best of luck in your new role, Elaine

  Anna smiled. That was big of Elaine. Anna knew how much her colleague had wanted the job. Fair play to her for sending the card.

  She was busy busy busy. Being an assistant manager was a huge responsibility. Miss Browne was often out of town, leaving the day-to-day running of the store to Anna. The new position had given her enormous confidence, however, and looking back Anna often questioned how she’d ever doubted taking on the role.

  But it left little free time. For men or anything else.

  Often Anna barely had the energy to take off her make-up in the evenings before flopping into bed.

  The date of the dreaded party was looming and the thought of it just would not go away.

  Who the hell was she going to bring?

  She didn’t know if she could face going alone. No matter how successful she’d become those silly twits would still look down on her because she hadn’t nabbed a man for herself.

  Aoife was very good to her. Insisted on dragging her to Central Park on a Friday night when Anna would have killed just to fall into bed instead. Aoife wouldn’t hear of it. She was Grainne’s sister after all. The nights were admittedly great craic and the music in Centr
al Park was always brilliant but unfortunately most of the guys who chatted Anna up were younger than her and she wasn’t prepared to go down that road again. Oh God, what was she going to do about this blasted party? She couldn’t wait for it all to be over.

  And then she met Darren. Totally out of the blue.

  A last-minute meeting in Dublin meant that she had to take the early morning flight to the capital. A heavy fog meant a late departure. Anna sat in the airport and stared out of the window waiting for the incoming plane to land.

  It felt like it was still the middle of the night.

  At first she didn’t notice the tall, handsome man take a seat opposite her.

  ‘Is this Terminal One?’ he asked.

  ‘Excuse me?’ She looked up and locked eyes with him. He was good looking. Very good looking, in fact, with striking blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones. He showed her his ticket. Terminal One was clearly written on it.

  They both laughed.

  ‘I presume you’re in the right place,’ she chuckled. Galway airport was tiny, definitely not enough room for a second terminal.

  ‘Must be a mistake then.’ He grinned, revealing film-star teeth. ‘So where are you off to? Is it business or pleasure?’

  ‘Business,’ Anna said firmly. ‘Sure what is pleasurable about getting up in the middle of the night?’

  ‘I know what you mean. I’m actually on my way to Manchester.’

  ‘Very good.’

  ‘You don’t sound terribly impressed.’

  ‘It’s hard to be impressed at this time of the morning,’ she laughed. ‘If you were going to Bermuda maybe . . .’

  ‘Are you from Dublin?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Because they were delayed and there was nothing else to do, the conversation lasted quite a while.

  By take-off Anna had decided he was the one. They chatted easily as the plane whizzed across Ireland.