Thank you! You’ve made my day/week/year!
All the best
NiceGirl x
She agonised for ages about how to sign off – should she use her real name? Or should she sign off with a kiss like he had? In the end, she decided to hold off revealing her true identity, at least until they had hammered out the details a bit more. But she didn’t want to seem stand-offish, so she went for the kiss. A couple of minutes later, a reply came back.
Great! Would like to meet up sooner rather than later. I’ll be in Dublin in the next couple of weeks. Not sure of the exact date yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I have it and we can arrange where and when to meet. Aren’t you going to tell me your real name? And how will I recognise you? Or are you really a cartoon?
Claire smiled. Her avatar was a sexy cartoon woman. She replied:
I’ll tell you my real name when we meet. And I know what you look like – I’ll find you.
When they had emailed their goodbyes back and forth, Claire flopped back on the sofa, unable to settle to anything. She was so keyed up, longing to tell someone and go out to celebrate. But there was no one she could tell – at least, not yet. Her friend Catherine was the only person who knew about her blog, and she was on holiday. She would just have to keep it to herself for the moment. She went into the kitchen, found a bottle of cava in the fridge and opened it. When she had poured herself a glass, she finished making her dinner and sat down at the table. She would usually have turned on the television or read a book if she was eating alone, but tonight she did neither, enjoying the peace and quiet so she could absorb her news.
It was only later, after she had drunk half the bottle of cava, that worry set in. She was going to have to come out from behind her avatar and meet Mark in real life. She was nothing like the sassy sex bomb he would be expecting, and he’d probably be seriously disillusioned when he discovered she was just an ordinary girl with zero seduction skills. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to publish the book after he’d met her.
She needed a makeover, and fast. She didn’t have anything in her wardrobe remotely suitable for impersonating her alter ego. And she was meeting Mark in the next couple of weeks. She hadn’t much time.
Chapter Three
As she got ready to go out on Friday, Claire found herself wishing she could stay at home, open a bottle of wine, get a takeaway and spend the evening curled up on the sofa. The weather wasn’t helping her resolve. As she was on her way home from work, it had started raining heavily, and since then it had turned into a newsworthy downpour that was already causing traffic chaos, making the sofa more appealing than ever.
But it had been kind of Yvonne to ask her, and she felt she should make the effort – not just for Yvonne’s sake but for her own too. She needed to push herself out of her comfort zone. And you couldn’t let a bit of rain stop you going out – not when you lived in Ireland.
Her mother had been moved to the nursing home that morning, so Claire knew should take the opportunity to go out and spend a night with people her own age – or at least in the same ballpark.
As a concession to her comfort, she decided to take the car. That way she could escape whenever she wanted to, and wouldn’t have to depend on public transport or wait for a lift from someone else. So, before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled on her wellingtons, put her shoes into a bag and splashed outside.
The Zone bar was heaving when she arrived, and her heart sank. How could she have forgotten how much she hated this sort of thing? She searched the crowd for Yvonne and saw her surrounded by a group of solid, ruddy-faced young guys and tanned, waif-like girls in spindly heels and tiny dresses.
Even though she had made an effort, she felt dowdy and out of place among this glitzy throng with their sheen of wealth and privilege. They had the glow that money bestowed, from their subtly highlighted hair to their expertly manicured fingers. Claire felt as if she had wandered onto the set of Made in Chelsea by mistake. Her eyes darted to the door. Was it too late to make her escape? She could tell Yvonne that something had come up at the last minute – some crisis with her mother or a problem with the car. But even as she thought it, Yvonne spotted her, waving at her from across the bar. She sighed, pulling off her coat. She would just have to grin and bear it, she thought, forcing a smile onto her face. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
‘Hi!’ Yvonne beamed, enveloping her in a hug. She was towering over Claire in a pair of vertiginous heels, and wearing a spangly micro mini that seemed to make her legs go on for ever. ‘I’m so glad you could make it! Lots of people have got stuck because of the rain.’
Damn! Why hadn’t she thought of that?
‘This is Ivan,’ Yvonne said, putting her arm around the guy beside her – a thin, cool-looking boy with streaky blond hair. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, and a little silver cross dangled from one ear. ‘It’s his bar.’
‘Oh, congratulations!’ Claire smiled at him. ‘Great place!’
‘Thanks,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Thanks for coming. Have a cocktail.’ He waved over a waiter with a tray of turquoise drinks. ‘It’s the house speciality.’
‘They’re totally yum,’ Yvonne enthused, swapping her empty glass for another.
‘Oh, I can’t, thanks,’ Claire said. ‘I’m driving.’
‘Oh. Well, have a mineral water, then.’ He beckoned another waiter with a tray of glasses and Claire grabbed one.
‘Thanks. Well, here’s to your new venture!’ she said, saluting him, then gulping some water. Ugh! She could have done with a cocktail. It was nice to have the freedom of her car, but the downside was that she couldn’t have a drink to take the edge off her nerves.
Yvonne introduced her to the rest of the group – Fionn, Leah, Philip and Chloë.
‘What do you do?’ the guy beside her – Philip – asked.
‘I work in the same bookshop as Yvonne,’ Claire said. ‘That’s how I know her.’
‘Ah, right. Are you studying?’
‘No.’
Philip looked at her expectantly.
‘I work full-time in the bookshop,’ she explained.
‘Oh, okay.’ Philip nodded. ‘You own it?’
‘No, I just work there.’
‘Oh, right.’ Philip seemed perplexed.
‘But she wants to be a writer,’ Yvonne piped up. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Well, yes.’ Claire blushed. ‘But that might never happen.’ Clearly, having an ordinary job wasn’t the done thing with this crowd.
‘What sort of stuff do you write?’
‘I’m working on a novel for teenagers.’
‘Ah! So you’re going to be the next J.K. Rowling?’ Philip smiled knowingly.
‘Um, yeah … fingers crossed,’ Claire said weakly.
‘Come and sit down for a minute,’ Yvonne said, grabbing Claire’s arm and leading her to a shell-shaped turquoise sofa. ‘What do you think of Ivan?’ she asked, plonking her drink on a low, chocolate-coloured table in front of them.
‘He seems … nice,’ Claire said warily, hoping Yvonne wasn’t going to try to set them up.
‘What about the earring? Is it on the side that means you’re gay? I can never remember.’
Claire looked across the bar at him. ‘No, I’m pretty sure it’s the other one,’ she said, realising with relief that Yvonne was interested in Ivan for herself.
‘The bar is nice, isn’t it?’
‘It’s lovely.’
‘He designed it all himself,’ Yvonne said. ‘He did the décor and everything. Do you think that’s a bit girly?’
Claire laughed. ‘No. He’s got great taste,’ she said, stroking the plush of the sofa. ‘But that doesn’t mean he’s gay. Anyway, why don’t you just go for it? You’ll find out soon enough if he is.’
‘He might be in denial.’ Yvonne poked her straw around in her drink.
‘Then I don’t think he’d go with the earring and play up his interior-decorating skills.’
�
�True!’ Yvonne brightened. ‘You talk sense, O Wise One. Thank you.’
Yvonne’s friends soon gravitated towards the sofa, and they were joined by everyone except Ivan, who was working the room. Claire found herself having to explain her position as a bookshop assistant to each of them in turn, meeting with blank incomprehension every time.
‘But … how old are you?’ Leah asked her pointedly.
They all seemed to own chic shops or were hatching little start-up companies, playing entrepreneur on Daddy’s money. Claire sipped her water as the inane chatter went on around her, wishing once again she had something stronger.
‘Why did you have to invite that fucking pikey, Yvonne?’ Philip said suddenly, glowering across the bar.
‘Luca is not a pikey,’ Yvonne said, as Claire followed Philip’s gaze to another turquoise sofa on the far side of the bar where a dark-haired man was just visible between two very pretty blondes. One sat on his lap, her crotch-length mini riding up while his hand rested casually on her tanned skinny thigh. Claire was relieved to see that she was wearing underwear. The other was trying to get his attention with a frantic combination of hair-flicking and boob-shimmying.
‘How do you know?’ Fionn said. ‘Christ knows who his parents are. He could be one hundred per cent, pure-bred gypsy for all you know.’
‘Anyway, we know he’s Romanian,’ Philip said. ‘They’re all pikeys.’
‘Philip! Anyway, Luca’s no more Romanian than I am,’ Yvonne said. ‘He grew up here. He went to the same school as you, Fionn. He’s as Irish as the rest of us.’
‘You can take the boy out of Romania …’ Philip said sulkily. ‘What’s Aisling doing with him, anyway?’
‘Trying to get into his jocks, by the look of it.’ Fionn smirked, turning to him. ‘Are they the same lips she kisses you with?’
‘Never again.’
‘Don’t pay any attention,’ Leah said soothingly, putting a hand on Philip’s knee. ‘Aisling’s just doing it to make you jealous. Don’t let her get to you.’
‘Round one to Aisling, I think,’ Fionn said, watching as the hair-flicker gave up and stalked off. Seconds later, the girl on Luca’s lap peeled herself off and headed for the bar.
‘Now’s our chance,’ Yvonne said, grabbing Claire’s hand and pulling her up. ‘Come on and I’ll introduce you.’
Claire had no desire to be introduced to Luca, but she jumped at the chance to escape from Philip and the others. Another minute with that lot and her head would explode.
‘Sorry about Philip,’ Yvonne said. ‘He’s not usually that bad. He’s just pissed off because Aisling’s sort of his girlfriend – she’s the one who was sitting on Luca’s lap.’
‘Yeah, I gathered.’
‘Luca!’ Yvonne beamed, stopping in front of the sofa. ‘Hi. This is my friend, Claire. She works at the bookshop with me.’
‘Hi, Claire.’
Claire had never felt so thoroughly checked out as Luca’s eyes raked over her. They were nice eyes, dark brown and wide apart, and there was something pleasingly feline about the shape of his face, framed by a mop of dark-brown curls. He was very handsome in a rugged sort of way, but he lacked the polished, robust look of most of Yvonne’s friends. His eyes were weary, and there was an unhealthy sheen to his skin. Still, he seemed interesting and real, like someone with stories to tell, and he made the other guys here look bland and insipid. He was wearing a threadbare black jumper, faded black jeans and a pair of battered black boots.
‘Claire, this is Luca,’ Yvonne said, flopping onto the sofa beside him and waving Claire to the seat at his other side. Claire perched on the edge, not wanting to look like one of his groupies.
‘What are you doing with Aisling Wilson?’ Yvonne asked him. ‘She’s such a tart.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’ Luca smiled wickedly.
‘Honestly, I don’t know what you see in her.’
‘Well, she can do the splits. So there’s that.’
‘Oh, you’re disgusting.’ Yvonne punched him playfully on the arm.
He grinned. ‘I like girls with low standards. So sue me.’
‘Ooh, food!’ Yvonne squealed, as a waiter appeared with a large tray of canapés. ‘Great! I’m starving.’
‘Me too,’ Claire said, loading a napkin with a prawn on a cocktail stick and a little filo tart before the waiter whisked the tray away. She ate them each in one bite and was still starving.
‘These prawns are great,’ Yvonne enthused.
‘They’re very small,’ Luca said, popping one into his mouth.
‘Oh, Ivan wants me!’ Yvonne exclaimed. He was beckoning her from across the bar. ‘Mind if I leave you two on your own for a bit?’ she asked, jumping up.
‘No,’ Claire said, though she really didn’t want to be alone with Luca. She found his raw sexuality intimidating.
‘Knock him dead,’ Luca said, lying against the arm of the sofa, pulling one leg up on the cushions and stretching the other out in front of him so that he was sprawled across Yvonne’s space. Claire clutched her drink with both hands, leaning forward on her knees, horribly aware of Luca’s scrutiny.
He had man-whore written all over him, she thought crossly. He was obviously the type of guy who couldn’t meet a woman without contemplating sex. Even though the bar was full of glamorous, sexy girls, he still couldn’t resist giving her the once-over. Self-conscious, she racked her brain for something to say to distract him.
‘Yvonne tells me you’re an artist.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What kind of art do you do?’
‘Painting,’ he said in a bored voice.
‘Oh. What kind of paintings?’ God, listen to yourself, Claire thought. You sound like the Queen trying to chat to one of her subjects. Next, you’ll be asking him if he had far to travel.
‘Big ones,’ he said.
‘Oh, that’s …’ She tailed off, nodding miserably.
‘Yeah, really big. Oil paintings mostly. The kind no one wants to buy.’
‘Right,’ she said, feeling rebuked. Okay, so she wasn’t good at small-talk, but he didn’t have to be so rude. Did he have to make it so obvious that he couldn’t be arsed even talking to her for a few minutes? She didn’t imagine that blonde’s conversation had been scintillating either, but Claire had seen the indulgent way he’d been gazing at her.
‘And, no, I’m not the next Damien Hirst, or whatever other living artist you happen to have heard of. I don’t own a gallery, and I’m not really a graphic designer or advertising creative who paints in his spare time.’
‘Well, at least you’ve cleared that up,’ she said stiffly, brushing imaginary crumbs from her dress. ‘Because they were definitely going to be my next three questions.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, if they weren’t, it’d be a first for this evening. I’m not minted either, by the way.’
‘I can tell,’ she said, casting a scathing glance at him. Don’t sink to his level of rudeness.
‘Hey,’ he said with a laugh. ‘How do you know I’m not just an eccentric millionaire who dresses like a bum for shits and giggles?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think Yvonne would have gone out with you if you were a millionaire. You’re not her type.’
‘No, Yvonne likes the pretty boys,’ he said, looking across the room at Yvonne and Ivan. ‘Not that I’m saying I’m not pretty.’
‘Of course not.’
‘So you think Yvonne was with me for my lack of money? She was using me to get at Daddy?’
Claire got the impression the idea wasn’t new to him. ‘Sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘No biggie. We both got what we wanted out of it.’
Claire raised an eyebrow. He was implying that he had got sex, and she knew for a fact that wasn’t true. ‘Yvonne’s not a bad person,’ she said. ‘She just has Daddy issues.’
‘Yeah, I got that. Yvonne’s all right. She’s the best of this bunch, that’s for sure,’ he sa
id, looking around.
Claire racked her brain for something else to say, but came up blank. She was relieved when she saw the leggy blonde returning from the bar with a couple of drinks. ‘Oh, your, um … friend is coming back,’ she said, getting up.
‘Hey, you don’t have to go.’ Luca shifted so he only took up one corner of the sofa and there was room for three again.
‘I’m in her seat.’
‘Hardly. She was sitting on me.’
‘Well, three’s a crowd, so …’ Claire picked up her empty glass. ‘I need another drink anyway,’ she said, wiggling it around. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
She turned on her heel, relieved to get away from him. Forcing what she hoped was a natural-looking smile to her face, she marched up to the bar and asked for another glass of mineral water, trying to appear confident and nonchalant. She shouldn’t have been so quick to ditch Luca, she thought, her eyes straying back to the sofa, where the blonde was making strenuous efforts to get back onto his lap. Just then, his eyes met Claire’s. He gave her a little smile that was almost sympathetic. Claire looked away again quickly. She stood at the bar for a while, sipping her water. God, this was her idea of hell. How much longer before she could reasonably call it a night? Maybe she could fill in some time in the loo …
‘Claire!’ Yvonne rushed up to her, Philip and Fionn in tow. ‘We’re all going on to a club after this. Will you come?’
‘Oh, not tonight. I really have to go soon,’ Claire said, glancing at her watch. ‘I’ve got work in the morning, remember?’
‘Oh, pooh.’ Yvonne pouted. She looked over Claire’s shoulder. ‘Luca. You’re not leaving already?’
Claire turned to see Luca behind her. He was on his own.
‘We’re going to a club later. Come with us,’ Yvonne pleaded.
‘No, I’m off home.’
‘Alone?’ Yvonne raised her eyebrows.
‘Yeah, I’m beat. And broke.’
‘How are you going to get home?’ Yvonne glanced towards the large windows. Rain was still thundering down outside.
Some Girls Do Page 3