Mr Right for the Night

by Marisa Mackle

  ‘Did I hear you got married yourself, Alice?’ Claire suddenly felt nauseous and was extremely anxious to change subjects.

  ‘Yes,’ Alice instantly became quiet, ‘yes I did. I’m separated now though.’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry,’ Claire commiserated. ‘I really am.’

  ‘Ah well, unfortunately things don’t always turn out the way you’d hoped.’

  ‘Yes.’ I know.

  ‘Well, will I see you this evening then?’

  ‘Great,’ said Claire, ‘See you.’

  Good old Simon, Claire grimaced. Wild, huh? Not with his wife he wasn’t. Unless you meant wildly boring. Then again, maybe he really was this mad thing when he went out without her. Maybe he danced on tables and mooned at shocked onlookers. Nah, that was ridiculous. It wasn’t in Simon to behave like that. He was still fairly solid at the end of the day. People didn’t change that drastically.

  She ran Andrew’s bath and sat on the toilet seat as steam engulfed the room. She missed female company. Adult company. It was great that Alice was calling over to chat about the old days.

  Andrew shouted joyfully, throwing gallons of water over the edge of the bath. The carpet underneath was getting saturated. Claire wondered if baths had been as exciting for her when she was young. Children were such simple creatures. It was a pity they had to grow up.

  Her son squealed with unconcealed delight as Claire rinsed his dark blond curls with warm water.

  ‘Mama,’ he shrieked, ‘Mama.’

  ‘Baba,’ she cooed back. ‘Baba good boy, yes you are, yes you are.’

  He grabbed his yellow duck and splashed the bathwater even more. Thankfully he’d no idea that his Mama and Dada were involved in a silent war, Claire thought darkly. No idea that his mother had lusted after another man while he slept innocently in his cot at home. No idea why his father would choose to chase the knickers off the office tart.

  Claire secured Andrew into his buggy. His mother had seen a stunning sequined silver number in the window of a chic Ranelagh boutique. Maybe they’d have it in a size ten. It would be absolutely perfect for Victoria’s party.

  She took a critical look at herself in the hall mirror. Despite wearing full war paint and cherry blusher, she looked worryingly pale. A few sunbed sessions were badly needed. The silver dress wouldn’t exactly go with snow-white arms.

  She pushed Andrew’s colourful buggy down the main street, lost in her own little world. A tall handsome man waylaid her on the pavement.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered and went to manoeuvre the buggy around him.

  ‘Hey, good looking.’

  She stopped and stared up at him, the sun almost blinding her.

  ‘Mark,’ she laughed, recognizing him. ‘Ever the charmer.’

  ‘My charm doesn’t work on everybody sadly.’

  ‘I feel so sorry for you,’ Claire said sarcastically.

  ‘So how’s Simon? I see him now and then around the I.F.S.C. One of these days I hope to nab him for a drink.’

  ‘I’m sure he’d like that.’ The only person who can’t nab him is me.

  ‘How is the fair lady getting on in Galway?’

  ‘She’s very busy as far as I know.’

  ‘One of these days I might drive up and surprise her.’

  ‘I’m sure she’d be delighted to see you,’ Claire enthused.

  ‘And how’s this little fellow?’ He made a face at Andrew who chuckled his little baby laughter.

  ‘Great. Hey, don’t tell me you’re getting broody.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a mini Mark.’

  ‘Ah go way out of that, you chauvinist,’ Claire belted him playfully with her handbag.

  ‘I suppose a daughter would be nice too,’ Mark grinned. ‘I’d need to get a wife though.’

  ‘Well, maybe if you stayed with someone for more than two weeks you’d have a better chance of getting one.’

  ‘God, you know,’ Mark pretended to contemplate the idea, ‘maybe you’re right.’

  Claire pushed Andrew’s buggy through the door of the plush boutique. The well-groomed assistant rushed over to help. Claire asked for the silver dress in a small. She was dying to tell Anna about her chance encounter with Mark. God, if Claire was single again she’d jump at someone like Mark.

  The assistant returned with the dress. The fabric felt extraordinarily delicate. God, you wouldn’t want to behave like a heifer in a little slip of a thing like this. She sneaked a quick look at the price. Holy God! Still, Simon never begrudged her the price of a piece of clothing. Simon’s wife had to wear the right clothes, portray the right image. It wasn’t a bad thing. At least he wasn’t mean. There was nothing in this world worse than a mean man.

  God, would she ever forget Neal Marron, the stunning-looking medical student she’d dated in college? Everybody had thought he was a great catch.

  Especially her mother who’d had the wedding invitations practically written the first evening she went out with him. They’d gone to the cinema, Claire remembered. How could she forget?

  She’d arranged to meet him under Clery’s clock. Nervous as anything, she’d sat in a fast-food restaurant across the way and stared at him through the big glass window. She was dying to see how long he’d wait for her before moving off.

  After a full twenty minutes he checked his watch and started to walk slowly down the street. Legging it out of the fast-food joint, she caught up with him, apologizing breathlessly for being so late.

  When they reached the cinema, Neal immediately excused himself to go to the bathroom.

  Rather than hang around like a spare tool, Claire bought the tickets. And why not? Sure they were both students, weren’t they?

  But when Neal didn’t offer to pay for the popcorn and coke Claire was a tiny bit disappointed. However she decided to put it to the back of her mind. She’d so looked forward to the date and after all you couldn’t expect men to pay for everything.

  More to the point he was a fab kisser. Not like some guys who didn’t really have a clue.

  Afterwards they’d walked home hand-in-hand to Neal’s parents’ place and raided the fridge. They’d ‘got to know’ each other on the family sofa while listening to some funky songs Neal had recorded off the radio.

  Eventually she’d lost her virginity to him.

  That was after his many protests when he insisted that he’d seen it all before and it wasn’t such a big deal.

  But to Claire it was a big deal.

  Neal had booked a B&B to make the whole occasion more romantic.

  But to Claire’s bitter disappointment, when they arrived he produced a half-price voucher.

  The landlady had scrutinized it as if trying to remember when the hell it had been issued.

  She pointed out that breakfast wasn’t actually included in the special offer.

  Claire out of sheer mortification had offered to pay for breakfast but Neal had already spotted a little newsagent around the corner where he insisted they could grab something in the morning.

  That night he was in and out before you could ask ‘Are you in yet?’

  Claire had lain awake in the dark listening to Neal’s infuriating snores.

  Everything seemed to go downhill after that. Every little thing he did annoyed her, from bumming cigarettes off people in the UCD bar, to turning up at every medical function for the free glass of wine. But only when she got a hand-picked bunch of flowers for Valentine’s did she finally decide to call it a day. Claire gave a little shudder at the memory.

  There was nothing worse than a penny-pincher. The dress fitted perfectly. Claire gave a little twirl in front of the full-length mirror. Andrew clapped his baby hands showing his approval.

  ‘You look stunning,’ the assistant crowed.

  Claire believed her. Simon would want to eat her in this.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ she grinned. ‘I’ll just have to get my husband to come in and pay for it. Can I leave a deposit?’

  ‘Of course,’ the ass
istant beamed. It wasn’t every day she made a five-hundred-pound sale. This week had been a particularly good one though. Sure wasn’t it only yesterday she’d sold the exact same dress to that awfully pushy Reddin woman. That silver dress was really turning out to be a winner. Perhaps she should order in a few more.

  Claire handed over a crisp fifty-pound note. As she did so, she felt a wave of sudden nausea wash over her. The assistant watched in alarm as Claire’s face turned a curious shade of green.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Claire clasped a hand over her mouth and shook her head violently.

  ‘Quick, the bathroom’s over there.’

  Claire ran to the back of the shop, flung open the tiny bathroom door and reached the toilet bowl just in time. She collapsed to her knees, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She suddenly felt terribly weak.

  The assistant was handing her man-size tissues through the door. Eventually Claire emerged and was handed a glass of water.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ the assistant said kindly.

  ‘Are you pregnant?’

  Claire faced the shop assistant in alarm. ‘No,’ she practically shrieked.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to react like that . . . it’s just, oh God, it doesn’t seem possible, I . . .’

  ‘Listen, you don’t have to explain yourself.’ The assistant was beginning to look extremely uncomfortable. ‘Go home now and have a nice cup of tea. I’ll hold the dress for you.’

  Typical Irish woman, Claire thought as she left the shop. A cup of tea was the answer to everything. She wondered what had made her so sick. The omelette she’d had for breakfast had tasted a bit funny.

  Passing a chemist Claire hesitated for a second. Should she or shouldn’t she? It was ridiculous really. Herself and Simon hadn’t made love in nearly two months. Suddenly a thought struck her. Two months? Claire had missed her last period. She hadn’t given it much thought as she was pretty irregular anyway.

  Slowly she reversed the buggy into the chemist.

  The test was blue, for positive.

  Claire was in shock. This was so unplanned. So unplanned. Vaguely she was able to remember the night of conception. She’d been exhausted as far as she could remember and Simon had been slightly drunk and unusually horny. She’d basically told him to get on with it.

  What a dreadful way to conceive a life!

  She wondered how long she was gone. Thank God she was still slim enough to wear the dress.

  She reached for the phone. She’d have to ring her mum straightaway. Halfway through the digits she stopped. Surely Simon should be the first to know. He’d helped make the baby after all.

  I’ve a feeling this one’s a girl; she patted her stomach and waited for Simon to answer his mobile.

  ‘Hello?’ It was a female voice. Uh oh, Claire thought, she must have dialled the wrong number.

  ‘Er . . . is Simon there?’

  ‘He just popped out for a minute. I’ll get him to ring you back or shall I take a message? It’s Shelley by the way.’

  Shelley? It didn’t sound like her. Her voice wasn’t quite as cocky as usual. And no, she didn’t want to leave a message. Unless of course Shelley would like to pass on the message to Simon that his wife was expecting a baby.

  ‘Thank you no, Shelley, I’ll ring back.’

  She pressed end with a sigh. It was ironic really, wasn’t it? She was pregnant with Simon’s child and he was out cavorting with another woman. Great. The doorbell rang loudly. Sugar, that must be Alice already. She’d completely forgotten about her calling around. Well, it was too late to send her away.

  ‘Alice, you look fantastic,’ Claire said as she opened the door. ‘Come on in.’

  Alice, a small mousy woman with a large nose and a generous smile, stepped into the hallway and gave Claire a hug. ‘It’s good to see you,’ she beamed.

  ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’

  Alice followed Claire into the kitchen and sat on one of the stools. ‘This is a great place you have here. You’re lucky.’

  It was funny, Claire thought, everybody went on about how lucky she was. But if she was so lucky why was her husband not at home this evening? Why hadn’t he phoned her back at all?

  ‘Where’s Andrew?’ Alice wanted to know.

  ‘He’s in bed,’ Claire replied. ‘Would you like to see him?’

  ‘You bet.’

  Alice had obviously picked up some key sayings in New York.

  The two women tiptoed into Andrew’s room. He was sleeping soundly and looked unbelievably cute.

  ‘I’d love a child,’ Alice said with a hint of sadness.

  Claire felt a wave of guilt pass over her. No wonder Alice thought she was lucky. She lived in a beautiful comfortable home and had a gorgeous healthy child. What did Alice have? Nothing but a failed marriage and an obviously painful history back in America. It would be hard for her to start all over again in an Ireland that had changed drastically over the last few years. God, she was making Claire feel very ungrateful indeed.

  ‘So, what would you like to drink?’ Claire opened the fridge. ‘How about a nice glass of white wine?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Alice smiled.

  Claire poured one for herself. She’d have just the one. God it was going to be hard to give up the drink. It had become her friend.

  ‘So,’ She settled herself on the stool opposite Alice, ‘what happened?’

  ‘My husband ran off with our next-door neighbour . . . John.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘John.’

  ‘You mean . . .’

  ‘Yes, you see he wasn’t always absolutely sure he was gay, apparently. I guess being married to me made his mind up.’

  ‘You’re having me on.’

  ‘I wish I was. Well, at least there weren’t any children involved. I think that’s a blessing.’

  ‘So John and your . . .’

  ‘And my husband are now living together. They moved to San Fran to start a new life together.’

  ‘You poor thing.’

  ‘Yes well, these things happen, don’t they? Thing is you never really think they’re going to happen to you.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ Claire replied quietly. God, she couldn’t even contemplate Simon leaving her for someone like, say . . . Jake. The idea was absurd.

  ‘So how have people reacted here?’

  ‘To be honest, I haven’t told that many people. It’s not the kind of thing you want to shout from the roof tops.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No,’ Claire said truthfully. ‘No not really. In fact I can’t even begin to understand what you’re going through.’

  Jesus, meeting people like Alice really put her own life in perspective. Suddenly Claire felt like a monster. She demanded so much out of life. But Simon hadn’t left her or anything. And she hadn’t any proof that anything was going on between himself and Shelley. Except for that kiss. The kiss. How could anybody explain that away?

  God, she didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t just pack up and leave. Tonight she was going to sit down and talk properly with Simon. That’s what was wrong with their marriage. Neither of them communicated any more.

  Men weren’t great talkers. Everybody knew that. It was a well-known fact. You couldn’t go around holding it against them.

  Claire sipped a little of her wine and began to cheer up. Everything would sort itself out. Yes, everything would work out in the end.

  ‘Are you going to Victoria’s party?’ Claire poured

  Alice a second glass of wine.

  ‘That blasted party,’ Alice frowned, ‘I’ve thought of nothing else for the past few weeks. I’m dreading it.’

  ‘Why bother turning up so?’

  ‘I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of not turning up.’


  ‘So she wasn’t your favourite person either?’

  ‘She was horrible,’ Alice fumed.

  ‘How did she get away with it?’

  ‘Oh, because her parents poured money into the school.’

  ‘Terrible, wasn’t it?’

  ‘She used to call me Malice,’ said Alice.

  ‘Don’t worry, she had a name for everybody.’

  ‘Do you remember when I left school at the end of fifth year to go to Spain for a year? She told everybody that I was pregnant.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?’ Alice sipped her wine thoughtfully. ‘I mean I shouldn’t be bothered by any of this at my age. After all, we’re all grown-ups now. She probably isn’t so bad these days.’

  ‘Indeed she is,’ Claire said crossly. ‘I met her recently and she’s still the same old cow.’

  ‘We should all boycott her silly party,’ Alice said suddenly. ‘I mean it’s not like anyone else really wants to go.’

  ‘I’ve already thought of that,’ Claire chuckled.

  ‘But in a way I wouldn’t mind going along to have a look at the house. I believe it’s out of this world. I shouldn’t really be admitting that. It’s like those social diaries at the back of Irish magazines. You ridicule them and pretend you don’t give a damn about who wore what to the opening of those silly things but somehow when you’re standing alone in the shop and you think nobody’s looking, you can’t help sneaking a quick look.’

  ‘And you usually recognize somebody you can’t stand,’ Alice laughed.

  ‘Yeah and you’re thinking “Why did they bother taking a picture of her?” ’

  There was a pause.

  ‘We’ll go along and have a laugh anyway,’ Claire said. ‘I’ve already put a deposit on a ridiculously expensive dress so I’m kind of committed.’

  ‘Shame on you.’

  ‘I’ve lots of other lovely dresses that you might want to try on,’ Claire offered delicately, aware that Alice’s financial situation might not be the best following her speedy return from the States.

  ‘Thanks, Claire, I just might take you up on that.’

  ‘Please come back and see me again soon,’ Claire stood up. ‘When Andrew’s awake. My husband might even put in a surprise appearance,’ she grimaced.