Mr Right for the Night

by Marisa Mackle

  CHAPTER THREE

  Anna sat at an empty checkout trying to figure out her life. Of course she wasn’t being paid to do that. She was being paid to tot up the previous week’s sales in ladies fashions and make a list of the top ten sellers. But all that stuff seemed pretty trivial compared to her most recent crisis. Her head was throbbing a bit after last night’s wine and the bright lights in the store seemed especially bright. Thank God it was Tuesday morning and there weren’t too many customers about. The place looked like a bomb had hit it. Anna hated the sales when everything was thrown into big metal bins near the doors under gaudy red lettering: everything 99p. Of course you got the odd punter who claimed she’d found one of the new bright-blue £20 shirts in one of the bins. But Anna was well used to those types. After four years in the retail business she’d met them all; pregnant shoplifters who weren’t pregnant at all, women who swore blindly they hadn’t worn the silky black and pink 99p knickers and were therefore demanding a refund, women who’d bought pedal pushers in the seventies only to find out now they didn’t fit. Women! They were a frigging nuisance.

  June Nelson would be around after lunch to discuss the sales report. Anna was trying to force herself to get motivated before the woman arrived. June lived for Lolta’s and seemed determined to become head of the company no matter what the cost. A manless, childless, lifeless woman; Anna had an inner dread of ending up like her. Of course Anna had ambitions of her own. She’d love to head a store eventually. After all, there was nothing she didn’t know about retailing. But she had her own private ideas about how a store should be run successfully. And she certainly wouldn’t live or die for this company. No way.

  Elaine appeared at the desk. Elaine was manager of footwear and also company mad but not as mad as June. But at least June had an excuse – she was middle-aged and discontent. Elaine wasn’t even thirty! She was far too young to be married to Lolta’s. Not of course that you’d ever mention marriage to poor Elaine. It was a sore point. Elaine had married young. She was now a deserted wife. Wasn’t that a horrible image? It always reminded Anna of a half-naked, starving woman in a desert! Ugh!

  ‘How’s the old head?’ Elaine gave a slight smile. ‘Anna, you’re a million miles away.’

  Anna sighed. There was no point telling Elaine about her silly search for a man. Elaine would only scoff at it and remind Anna that happiness could only come from within and until you loved yourself no one else could love you and all that crap. She’d suggest that Anna take up spinning classes on a Monday, yoga on a Tuesday, pottery on a Wednesday and so on. At any given time Elaine was doing about five different evening classes, which meant that she had absolutely no time to meet men, which was exactly the point, as Elaine would point out. But she was a good sort and a dedicated and non-aggressive department manager.

  ‘I’m trying to sort out this sales report.’ Anna frowned. ‘Sales are up on last year but are not matching budget figures. It’s a bit worrying.’

  ‘It’s not like you to worry so much.’

  ‘No, but June will worry and therefore I worry that my head will end up on a platter after lunch.’

  ‘Don’t let her bully you,’ Elaine said matter-offactly. ‘You know your stuff.’

  Anna sighed, ‘That’s the problem. I do know what I’m talking about but I often feel I’m bashing my head against a brick wall. All June ever does is talk down to me and slam my suggestions. I’m getting pretty sick of being treated like a clown.’

  ‘Coffee?’ Elaine asked hopefully.

  ‘Absolutely, let’s go.’

  She could always invite Mark from across the way. He was good looking in a God-don’t-I-know-it kind of way. He was well educated – boarding school, commerce degree, masters in finance. And was sociable – well, he was with women anyway judging by the amount of female traffic going in and out of his front door every weekend. Anna lived across the road from Mark in Ranelagh. She had done for years. The only difference was he owned his own house, which by now was worth a small fortune, and Anna rented hers along with four other people she didn’t know. That’s because Mark had been a good boy in UCD, playing his rugby, attending all his lectures, evenings spent in the library, two summers in Nantucket, Saturday nights in Kiely’s and the rugby club. Perfect.

  Anna, on the other hand, had studied Philosophy and Greek and Roman civilization (very interesting subjects but not ones that got you a lucrative job in Finance), got completely sloshed in the UCD bar four days a week (not including nights), hung around alternative people who’d since disappeared off the face of the earth, and then fecked around Europe for two years before securing herself a pensionable punishing position at Lolta’s.

  Anyway perhaps Mark wasn’t the best bet. Anna wanted someone sociable but not too sociable. Imagine if he copped off with one of Victoria’s single friends at the party. God it would be too humiliating by far. No, Mark was not a good idea. Besides, he’d only think she fancied him which would be absolutely ridiculous when they both knew they were strictly friends.

  ‘But you see people are far more fashion conscious these days. And they’re also insisting on quality. People know the value of a good pair of shoes.’

  ‘Yes indeed.’ Anna nodded vigorously as Elaine wrapped up her ten-minute speech on modern footwear. ‘I completely agree, Elaine, I think you’ve hit the nail on the head there.’

  They went downstairs to find the staff gathered in a circle chatting about their current flings. God, you couldn’t trust them an inch. As Anna and Elaine marched towards them the crowd dispersed. Wow, the power of being a department manager!

  Jeans were the most consistent sellers, Anna noted. In fact they sold so well they were never reduced in the sale. That made sense, didn’t it? Only the crap was reduced, and to think grown women actually fought over it! Mind you, June wouldn’t be impressed by that fact alone. Anna went through the list.

  Party wear was incredibly slow. Coats had shot up since they’d been slashed to half price the week before. The new spring collection hadn’t exactly taken off, which wasn’t too surprising when you considered it was still January and too cold to be buying flimsy cotton twinsets.

  ‘What about knitwear?’ June barked, her beady eyes bulging.

  ‘Knitwear’s fine,’ Anna was managing to remain remarkably calm.

  ‘Be more specific.’ She picked up a chenille turtleneck. ‘What about these, how many units were sold last week?’

  ‘Eighteen,’ Anna made a wild guess.

  ‘Twelve is the figure I have.’

  Well, if you already knew why did you ask me, you stupid frustrated cow?

  God the woman was so negative. Always looking for a chance to catch Anna out. If she’d listen to her suggestions about merchandising, it would be more to the point. Anna knew she had a great eye for what drew the punters in.

  ‘I want you to ring around Navan, Drogheda, Dundalk and Kildare and find out how their knitwear is selling in comparison. I’ll expect that report on my desk by five.’ She stormed off.

  Anna stared after her skinny little frame. She was tempted to raise two fingers but was aware of her position of responsibility as a department manager and therefore refrained. June seemed to be on some kind of mission recently to make Anna’s life hell. It didn’t really matter how many polo necks Kildare sold. There was much more to life. There was bound to be a war going on somewhere in the world. Or an earthquake. She was still single at thirty. Now that was more serious than a few polo necks. The retail business, which she normally thrived on, was beginning to get her down. Oh how nice it would be to win the lotto and set up her own fancy boutique in somewhere like Spain, say, where she could dress elegant women. Pick out clothes that would really really suit them. To live in such a warm sunny place would be bliss, wouldn’t it? Marbella, say. Lots of Irish people were buying places down there. A place where you couldn’t see your breath every morning in the chilly hallway, where goddam students didn’t let down the state of the place with their bic
ycles, where fifty-pence pieces didn’t run away with your hot water, where strangers couldn’t listen to your phone calls because the communal phone was placed strategically in the hallway within hearing distance of all and sundry and where people didn’t have parties full of other people who didn’t have to get up in the morning.

  Anna rang Kildare and waited for the department manager to come back with the knitwear sales. Oh to turn up one morning with sunglasses perched on top of her head, a suitcase under her arm and a one-way ticket to the sun. Then she’d tell June Nelson to get all her knitwear and stuff it up her you know what.

  By the time the cleaners had gone Annawas exhausted. It had been an excruciatingly long day with constant deliveries and staff shortages. She set the shop alarm and let herself out of the side door. It was a dull damp winter’s night and the thought of sitting in her dark damp dreary flat did nothing to raise her spirits. God, she hated January. It should be abolished from the calendar altogether.

  She’d love to pop over to Claire’s. Claire’s house was always lovely and warm with a friendly fire crackling in the grate. Claire’s kitchen presses were always stacked with good food, and expensive wine was always chilling in the fridge. Andrew would be lying peacefully among his teddies in his little yellow cot and Simon would be sitting on the sofa fidgeting with the FT.

  No, she wouldn’t call in. If she called in she wouldn’t want to leave and Simon would start yawning in a desperate attempt to get her to go. Or offer to drive her home before it got too late. She couldn’t call in to Elaine either. Elaine would have finished her yoga by now and would be preparing for a sensible early night in preparation for another early start. And anyway Elaine thought anybody who drank alcoholic units on a weeknight was definitely an alcoholic. And at that very minute Anna would almost kill for an alcoholic unit.

  It was unfair when you thought about it, Anna decided as she walked the main street in Ranelagh and passed its many busy pubs. If she were a man she could quite easily go in, prop herself up at the bar with a pint, and either watch the match of the day or enjoy an aimless chat with the barman. But as a woman, she’d do nothing but attract unwanted stares and, God forbid, if she chatted to the barman, he’d probably presume she was gagging for it. No wonder so many women drank at home on the QT.

  Anna popped into Centra and bought OK, a walnut whip, a tin of spaghetti hoops, a low-fat yoghurt, two scratch cards, the Evening Herald and a two-litre Diet 7-Up. Was she imagining it or did the young Chinese chap behind the counter look at her pitifully as he placed her goods in a white plastic bag? Oh, maybe she was just being paranoid. Surely Ranelagh was full of women living on their own. She wasn’t any different. Anyway there was nothing wrong with being single. Single was sexy. Better than separated. You only had to look at poor Elaine. Be positive, Anna told herself and quickened her step, remember you’re one of those uptown girls everybody’s talking about.

  Anna jabbed her key into the big green door. Well, it used to be green in its day, but it could surely do with a lick of paint. She looked in the cubbyhole beside the phone for her post. Nothing for her. Only a flyer for Pizzaland and a brochure on central heating. It’s a pity the landlord wouldn’t take note, Anna thought ruefully as she closed the door behind her. Suddenly there was a big bang. She found herself in darkness. Shit, the bulb in the hallway had blown. That was all she needed. She shuffled along in complete blackness, keeping close to the wall. She hit something. It fell. There was a crash. She screamed. Her leg hurt. The door of the downstairs flat swung open allowing light to flood into the hallway.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  She looked up. She blinked hard. No, she wasn’t dreaming. No, she hadn’t hit her head, only her leg, so she couldn’t be hallucinating. But something was clearly amiss for the guy holding her hand as well as holding her gaze with huge dark-brown eyes, was the cute student guy from downstairs. Good God, he really looked the spitting image of Johnny Depp up close. Not the way he looks now, but remember him in 21 Jump Street?

  ‘I’m so sorry about the bike,’ the vision spoke. ‘The light to the hall seems to have blown. Is your leg hurting?’

  ‘It is a bit,’ Anna mumbled. Actually it wasn’t really sore at all. But still, that didn’t mean she was about to hobble up the stairs and out of the vision’s life for ever.

  He and his flatmate (whose name turned out to be Martin) helped her into the downstairs flat. A small fire was lit and empty wine bottles cum candleholders were placed around the room. A stunningly beautiful girl with straggly brown hair was sitting on the sofa, dressed in something that looked like a carpet. She was obviously a student. The walls were decorated with pictures of your man from The Doors and the guy from Nirvana who committed suicide. The Charletans were playing (on the radio of course). The place was strangely comfortable except for the girl. Not that she was deliberately making the place uncomfortable, but still she was a girl and a very pretty one at that.

  ‘I’m Suzie,’ she smiled. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’

  The last thing Anna felt like was a cup of tea but she was afraid that if she said no she couldn’t justify staying in the flat a little longer. So she agreed.

  ‘Maybe Anna would like a beer?’ the vision suggested.

  It was exactly what Anna preferred. She wondered how he knew her name.

  ‘From the phone,’ he explained. ‘Your mother’s always looking for you.’

  Great, Anna thought, that will be terrific for my street cred. But why would her mother be ringing her when she knew she’d be at work? Checking up on her as usual, the nosy cow. Making sure Anna was at work and not ‘pulling a sickie’! Typical.

  ‘I’m Steve.’ He shook Anna’s hand. He’d the longest, darkest eyelashes she’d ever seen. He looked her up and down, taking in her smart navy suit and briefcase. ‘We just moved in a few weeks ago, so excuse the state of the place. We haven’t exactly got round to buying furniture and stuff.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Anna said coyly. She could always sit on his knee.

  ‘So what do you do with yourself?’

  ‘Retail manger.’ She blushed without knowing why. ‘And you?’

  ‘Student,’ he laughed, ‘in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  Anna laughed too. ‘Er, what year?’ she asked cautiously. If he said first or second she’d be out of there so fast, sore foot or not.

  ‘Fourth year,’ Steve said as Anna breathed a short sigh of relief. ‘Actually I should have finished already but I took a year out to travel around France.’

  ‘Do you speak French?’ Anna was delighted.

  ‘Bien sûr.’

  ‘Do you like Paris?’ Anna was wildly conjuring up images of the romantic city, leisurely walks along the Champs-E´ lyse´es, sipping café au lait in Montmartre.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Steve said dreamily, ‘my girlfriend lives there.’

  ‘Oh right.’

  Anna turned towards the beauty on the sofa.

  ‘Not me,’ Suzie giggled, ‘I’m Steve’s cousin, Martin’s girlfriend,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh right,’ Anna said again a bit more enthusiastically. So the girlfriend was in Paris. Oh well, not to worry. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. Anna began to relax. The beer was very good.

  ‘Actually we’re having a party tonight,’ Martin said brightly. ‘You’re very welcome to come along.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Anna grinned. Tuesday night. Of course they always had parties on Tuesdays. She might as well stick around. No point in not going to it. Sure wouldn’t she only be tossing and turning upstairs trying to block out the noise?

  Martin handed her another beer. He was very plain, Lord love him. She wondered how he got together with the lovely Suzie. Maybe he’d an engaging personality. He seemed pretty decent anyway.

  ‘Do you want me to stick your groceries in the fridge?’ Steve went to pick up her stuff.

  ‘No, I er . . . no thanks, honestly.’ God, no!

  ‘Shall I take your coat?’
/>
  ‘Oh all right so.’ She handed it over reluctantly. She wondered did her legs look big in the short skirt. At least she was wearing thick black tights. Marvellous!

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘That must be Grainne.’

  ‘Who’s Grainne?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Don’t you know her?’ Steve went to answer the door. ‘She’s one of the nurses upstairs.’

  Great.

  Grainne was a plump girl with wild black curls and a cheeky face. She bounced into the room with a six-pack. ‘Hey, folks!’

  She looked curiously at Anna. ‘Your face is awful familiar,’ she said.

  ‘I live underneath you.’

  ‘Oh right. You do the Mr Motivator video sometimes, don’t you? I’d know his voice anywhere.’

  This created a bit of a laugh.

  Another knock. Sandra. Another nurse. Where were the men? What kind of party was this?

  ‘I didn’t realize the party was semi-formal,’ Sandra said snidely, referring to Anna’s suit.

  ‘I’ve just come from work,’ Anna said, ‘I’m a manager, I don’t wear a uniform, you know.’

  ‘Turn off that shit and stick on Britney,’ Grainne shrieked. ‘Or ABBA.’

  ‘They always do this to me,’ Steve chuckled. ‘They’re always bossing me around.’

  And you obviously enjoy it, Anna thought. If it was my flat I’d have booted them out long ago.

  Two more guests arrived. Eddie and Greg. Both engineers. The party began. Conversations flowed. Beer flowed. Anna relaxed. The nurses relaxed. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all. Steve relaxed but not as much as Anna would have liked. He kept his hands to himself. Maybe he did fancy this bird in Paris after all. Foreign women had a habit of snatching vulnerable Irish men. It was their sallow skin. And skinny hips. And the way they were totally uninhibited about their sexuality.