Alberta Clipper

by Lambert, Sheena

  MARK, I TRIED CALLING. WANTED TO TALK ABOUT CHRISTMAS. BETTER IF I DON'T COME HOME. ALSO SHEILA AND ROB AND KIDS WILL SPEND NEW YEAR'S HERE WITH ME. JUST SO YOU KNOW MY PLANS. SORRY WE COULDN'T SPEAK. JENNIFER.

  Mark stood on the pavement and read the text for a second time as other people walked past, knocking into him and making him stumble. He couldn't think clearly. She wasn't coming home for Christmas. He tried to remember if he had ever thought that she would. What had he thought? It hadn't been likely that she would have spent it in their house with him. He recalled rationalising that she would most likely have come back to her sister Sheila’s. That's right. He had assumed that she would be in Dublin for Christmas with Sheila’s family, because he had imagined meeting her on Christmas Eve, going for a drink together. He remembered now. It had seemed the right thing to do. It would have been like the soldiers of the Great War when they had stopped fighting at midnight on Christmas to play a game of football on the front lines. A moment of sanity in the madness. He had followed through on the fantasy by imagining her coming home with him, staying with him, sleeping with him, before she had returned to her sister's house early on Christmas morning. Standing on the pavement with his BlackBerry in his hand being jostled by passers-by, Mark tried to recall if the scenario had ended with him and Jennifer back together. He struggled with the memory, but it would not come, like a damaged computer file he could no longer access. A rowdy group of Christmas revellers walked past, barely noticing him, and he lost his balance and found himself sitting on the bottom step of a staircase leading to an opulent Georgian front door. Thankfully, he was still holding his phone. He tried to read the text again, searching for any sign of hope, or any clue as to where his life might be going. Home. She had said 'home'. Did she mean Ireland? Did she mean their house? Did she mean him?

  Come home.

  Don't come home.

  If I don't come home.

  Better if I don't come home.

  Mark shivered. He had left his jacket on his chair. He looked up and saw passers-by averting their eyes, probably afraid of him. He must look like a beggar. Well, possibly not. Most beggars don't wear bow-ties and hold BlackBerrys. But he couldn't stay here. Why was he even out here? Then he saw someone puffing on a cigarette and he remembered. But he didn't want a cigarette any more.

  He wanted a drink.

  ~

  Christine finished her coffee and looked around. The DJ was getting started, and there were already a few of the younger secretaries advertising their wares on the dance-floor. Most of her table had gravitated towards the bar, only Amanda and Dee were sitting, chatting, finishing their profiteroles. She scanned further around the room, smiling as she caught the admiring glances of some of the friendlier dealers. When she noticed Damien Forde staring unabashed at her, she decided it was time for some fresh air.

  “Just going for a little walkabout,” she told Amanda and Dee who smiled and nodded. Leaving the room, she almost walked straight into Shay. “Hey Shay. There's no hurry. The dancing's only getting started,” she laughed.

  “Yeah, great. Meal was nice, wasn't it?” His eyes darted around the room. “I don't suppose you've seen Mark anywhere, have you?”

  “I haven't seen him since the drinks reception,” she said.

  “Ah right. No bother. Just looking for him. Just need to check something with him.” Shay looked over to the bar, where he seemed to be searching through all the white shirts and bow-ties, but evidently Mark was not there.

  “Okay, well if I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him.”

  “Eh, yeah. Yeah, do that. Thanks Chris.”

  Christine resumed her exit through the doors. She turned to call after Shay to ask for a dance later, but he was gone. There was a queue beginning to form at the entrance to the ladies' room, so she kept walking. Still no text from Gavan. She wandered through the hotel lobby, seeking out another washroom, enjoying appreciative looks from the casually dressed hotel guests as she went. A sign for another ladies’ room across the lobby brought her past glass doors to another, quieter bar. Glancing in, she saw Mark, sitting up at the counter with his back to her.

  Without thinking, she pushed the door open and went in. “Hey Mark. Are you hiding in here? Shay's looking for you.”

  Mark swung around when he heard his name called. He found he needed to close his eyes tight and open them again to clear the blurring.

  “Christine, hey.” He cleared his throat, which appeared to have taken on a strange rasping quality. “I was just having a quiet moment.” He tried to pull himself up straighter on his seat. “Here.” He patted the stool next to him. “Have a drink with me. What'll you have?” He strained to remember what she had ordered in London. He needed to remember. It was –

  “Vodka!” he exclaimed, delighted with himself. “You're a vodka girl.”

  With only the briefest hesitation, Christine settled herself on a stool next to him and turned to the beefy barman. “Well I suppose it is Christmas. Vodka tonic. Thanks, Mark.”

  “It's definitely my pleasure.” He sat gazing at her. The barman poured her tonic, and took the twenty that Mark had left out on the counter. He returned with the change and left it back down.

  Her hair was so pretty tied back like that. It showed her face. Her lovely face. He looked at her shoulders. Pity to hide them under that cardigany-thingy. He noticed she was wearing a small sapphire pendant. It didn't seem to suit the dress. If she was his girl, he would buy her every kind of jewellery he could. Rubies. Emeralds. Diamonds. Then it occurred to Mark that he hadn't spoken in a while. He should say something.

  “This is just like the Dorchester, isn't it?”

  The barman, who was standing close, raised an eyebrow at Christine, who giggled.

  “I mean,” said Mark, “this,” he swished his arm through the air, “is not like the Dorchester. No offence mate,” he added to the barman who shook his head graciously. “This,” he paddled the air between himself and Christine, “is like the Dorchester.” He leaned forward onto the bar and smiled like an old friend at the slice of lemon in his gin. “Best night of my life. Well, best night of the summer.” He thought hard. “No, definitely one of the best nights of my life too.”

  Christine sipped her drink, and looked up at the door, at the barman, and back to Mark.

  “How long have you been at CarltonWachs, Christine?” Mark didn't look up from his drink.

  “Almost two years now.”

  “Two years.” Mark tried to remember a time before Christine had been there, but he found he couldn't.

  “It's a great place to work, Mark.”

  “It is, it is.” He looked up at her. “They're a great bunch. It is.” The barman was called to the other end of the bar. Mark turned on his stool to face Christine. “You know, I broke up with Jennifer. We're not together anymore.” He swivelled back to the bar again. Then it struck him that Christine might not know Jennifer. “Had you met her?”

  “I had.” Christine put a hand on his arm. “I'm sorry Mark. I know you were together a long time.”

  “Yeah, well. It hadn't been right for a while.” He shook his head slowly. “Probably for two years. It hadn't been right.”

  Christine took another sip of her drink, but found she couldn't swallow it. She looked hopefully towards the doors again, but it was unlikely anyone else from CarltonWachs would come in here. Poor Mark. She felt so sorry for him. He was obviously still devastated by his break-up, and he probably had no one to talk to about it. Men. At least she could confide in Emily, or Aggie, or even her Dad if she felt the need. But if Nina hadn't told her months earlier, she would have never known about Jennifer and Mark. Well, it was coming out now. Thinking of Nina gave Christine an idea. She surreptitiously pulled her phone from her purse, and wrote a short text to Shay. Hopefully, he would have his phone on him. People with kids usually did. As she put her purse back up on the bar, her hand was suddenly covered by Mark's. She froze.

  “Christine. Jennif
er and I weren't right. There was lots wrong. Lots. But we'd probably have limped along.” He lifted his hand to portray what two people limping along together through life might look like, and she used the opportunity to grab her glass with both hands and hold it on her lap, out of harm's way. “We’d have just kept going, just living, not truly happy, not really in love,” he continued, “if it weren't for you.”

  Christine's shock was interrupted by the sight of Shay bursting through the door into the bar with a look of relief on his face.

  “Christine,” he said quietly. “Mark. Buddy. How are things here?”

  Christine looked at Shay who silently reassured her that he could handle things from here. Mark looked like he was about to cry. She wasn't sure what to do. “Thanks for the drink, Mark.” She patted his knee. He grabbed her hand and smiled at her with a sadness and intensity that unsettled her. As she walked to the door, she turned to see Shay sitting on her stool, gesturing to the barman for a pint. Maybe Mark would talk to him. Christine really hoped so.

  ~

  By half-past midnight it seemed that the entire company was dancing. After a particularly exhausting ten minutes of attempted jiving with Craig, Christine decided her feet needed a break. As the DJ started to slow things down, she pulled Craig by the hand off the dance-floor and they strolled out into the courtyard together. It was a pretty space with benches and pergolas set around a small fountain, the clear sky above providing the only roof. They sat on a bench, and Craig took two cigarillos from a box in his pocket, offering her one.

  “No thanks, I'm not that drunk.”

  Craig shrugged and lit his own, sitting back on the bench, throwing his arm behind Christine. “Cold?” he asked her. “I could get you my jacket.”

  “No thanks. I'm gratified at your chivalry, though.”

  “I can be chivalrous. I'm very chivalrous.”

  “Hmm. When you want something.”

  He turned to her. “And what do you have that I could possibly want?”

  “Oh feck off Craig. I'm not going to be your token snog for the night.” She crossed her legs away from him.

  “Christine, you could never be just a token snog,” he laughed, and pulled on the cigar. “Anyway, I'm not looking for a snog tonight.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He glanced quickly at her. “I haven't had a meaningless snog for a couple of months now.”

  “Really?” Christine turned to him. “And what could this imply? Has someone charmed the charmer? Could it be possible that – no, there's no way. Could Craig Clarkson actually be in love?”

  “Laugh all you like.” Craig looked serious.

  Christine sat up straight. “I'm not laughing. Talk to me. What's going on?”

  “It's nothing new, really. Just, just Rachel.”

  “Rachel?”

  “Why are you so surprised? I've been seeing her for more than a year.”

  “Yeah, but.” Christine checked herself. “I just didn't realise it was serious.”

  “You mean you thought I was only after her father's portfolio.”

  “No. Well, not really.”

  “Hmm. Well, I'm not. Only after her father's account. I have plenty of accounts. I don't need his.”

  They sat in silence watching as others drifted out of the hotel and into the courtyard. Some of them nodded over at Craig and Christine as they lit their cigarettes and festive cigars. After a moment, Christine slapped a hand down on Craig's knee. “Well, I'm delighted for you. I really am. And does Rachel feel the same? About you?”

  “I think so. You know, she's been unbelievable these past few months. Really, supportive.”

  Christine thought about how it had been pretty difficult for Craig since the summer, since he had been reprimanded. She admired how he had worked his way through it, uncomplaining for the most part. He'd kept his head down, and had just got on with things. “Craigey?” She ruffled his hair. “Are you getting all grown up on me?”

  “Shut up.” He removed her hand from his hair and wrapped it around his shoulders. Harry stumbled past them, stopping and turning when he realised who it was.

  “Chrissy. Craig. Aw, you two. You make such a beautiful couple.” He swayed, and grabbed a climbing rose bush for support. “A beautiful couple.”

  “Cheers mate.” Craig raised his cigarillo to him, and Harry staggered off. Craig turned to Christine. “No harm to keep them guessing.” Christine whacked him with her free arm. She laid her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

  “Actually, I think I'm in love too,” she sighed. Even through the vodka and wine haze she knew it was a bad idea to confide in Craig, but it felt disingenuous not to under the circumstances.

  “Gavan?”

  “Gavan.”

  He squeezed her knee. “And all is right in the world tonight,” he smiled, and just at that moment, a dishevelled looking Dee slipped past them and back in through the hotel doors with her head down, a red faced Freddie following behind, tucking his shirt into his trousers as he went.

  Fifteen Petra knocked on Mark's door and walked in without waiting for a response. He was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, staring at some paperwork beneath him on the table. He looked up half-heartedly, and straight back down again when he saw her.

  “I've just a few letters for the Mason file,” she announced and walked over to the cabinets against the far wall. Mark glimpsed her back as she stood sorting through the papers. Did she never slow down? She even filed letters like it was the most important and gratifying job in the world. But of course, she didn't feel like he felt. For her, Friday night had been the ultimate coup. She was certainly deserving of the crown she seemed to have bestowed herself.

  “Thanks for Friday, Petra. You really had everything bang on. Everyone seems to have had a great time.”

  “You're welcome, Mark. It certainly went well. Perhaps next year you might want to re-think the free bar, but other than that it was all great.”

  He sat up straighter, trying to gauge if the comment was directed at him. But any indignation quickly passed, when he realised that he couldn't remember if he had spoken to Petra on Friday night. He certainly remembered seeing her there, but then what? Dear God, had he been inappropriate? Had he leered at her or, God forbid, made a pass at her? Mark suddenly felt sick. He watched her derrière rise and fall as she moved along the filing cabinets. Should he ask her? Oh Lord, this was terrible.

  “Those boys out there get a little difficult to handle after too many pints,” she nodded towards the dealing desk.

  Relief washed through him. “I hope no one gave you too much trouble?” He held his breath as she slammed the drawer shut with her hip.

  “Oh nothing I couldn't handle,” she smiled. “I'll just get you a coffee.” And she left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Mark leaned back in his chair. He could remember hardly anything about Friday night. When he'd phoned Shay on Saturday to see if he could fill him in on any detail, he hadn't implied that Mark had done anything to worry about. But then, he hadn't said much. And Mark couldn't even remember getting home. He stood up and went to the glass door of his office to look around. Everything seemed normal. There was no sign of groups huddled together, laughing at his expense. But still. He was the boss. He should never have been in that state. He needed to talk to Shay. He looked back at the desk strewn with paperwork he just couldn't face.

  He needed to talk to Shay.

  Twenty minutes later, having done no work, Mark took his empty coffee cup and brought it to the coffee room. The place was empty. He'd hoped to find some post-party discussion on-going. He ambled over to the reception desk where Amanda was sitting alone.

  “Hey Amanda.”

  “Mark. Can I help you with something?”

  “No, no. Just wondering how you enjoyed Friday.” Mark could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

  “Oh, it was great. Thanks again. The food was good, wasn't it? Much better than last year.
One second Mark.” She held a finger up and re-directed an incoming call for Shay. “Sorry about that. I still think it was nicer last year when we could bring our partners. Good morning, CarltonWachs?”

  Mark allowed himself feel a little relief. Maybe he hadn't made a fool of himself after all.

  “Although, not everyone would agree with me,” Amanda smiled pointedly at Dee who had just sat down beside her without making eye contact with either of them. “Isn't that right, Deirdre? Mark was just asking if we enjoyed Friday.” Amanda ignored Dee's glares. “Dee had a great time. And – good morning, CarltonWachs?”

  A blushing Dee smiled wordlessly at Mark as Amanda took the call.

  “At least we know our computers will be top priority from now on,” Amanda grinned at Mark. Dee thumped her.

  “Right.” Mark thought it better not to comment. “Well, I'm glad you both had fun. Any plans for the holidays?”

  “I'm going skiing on the twenty-third. Can't wait. Dee will be here til Christmas Eve. And Petra said she would cover the phones if we need her to.”

  Mark nodded. Dee sat looking shifty, like someone who should be wearing dark glasses and a hat. As Mark took his leave, the phone rang again, and he overheard her whisper to Amanda, “It's for him. You put it through. Please.”

  So no indication of any problems there. Mark walked past the dealing desk on his way back to his office.

  “Hey Mark. Thanks again for Friday.”

  He turned to see one of the older dealers leaning back in his chair. “No problem, Steve. Glad you had fun.”

  “Didn't see you on the dance-floor. Did you have to leave early?”

  Mark quickly searched Steve's face for any negative allusion, but it seemed a genuine question. “Eh, yeah. Was a lovely meal though.” Mark had no idea what he had eaten. Or if he had eaten.

  “Sure was. Cheers again, anyway.” Steve answered the phone which had started to buzz on his desk. Mark gave him a quick salute, and turned to escape back to the safety of his own office. But before he got there, he heard Shay’s voice behind him.