‘Hi,’ she pretended to know who it was, ‘how are you?’
‘It’s me.’
‘I know,’ she said. Who the hell was it?
‘How do you know?’
She was confused. The voice was undeterred by her brusqueness. This wasn’t Mark. And it wasn’t Rich unless he was acting. But she wasn’t going to back down now.
‘Because your voice is always the same,’ she played along.
‘It’s Jake,’ the voice said.
Silence followed. Who the hell was Jake? Stunned silence followed that. Oh sh . . . sugar! Jake was the fella she’d met at Claire’s. The plant and all that. Yikes, he’d think she was mad. What was he ringing her for? Janey Mack, she’d two fellas ringing her now. Well two was better than none, she supposed. It was a rare occurrence and deserved to be celebrated.
‘Who did you think it was?’ Jake asked testily.
‘My dad,’ Anna answered dryly.
The laughter that followed nearly burst her eardrum. It continued for five minutes. Well maybe not that long, but it certainly felt like it. ‘Anna, ha ah hanna ha ha ha, you’re . . . ha ha . . . hilarious.’
Jesus, he must be on drugs, Anna eyed the phone suspiciously as she held it a safe distance from her ear. What on earth did he want? Had Claire put him up to this? She’d kill her, she really would. She tried to remember what Jake looked like. As far as she recalled he wasn’t bad. Respectable looking. Not as nice looking as Mark, of course, but as nice or nicer than Rich.
‘Are you there?’ Jake sounded miles away.
‘Er . . . yes.’ With a bang Anna landed back to earth. ‘What can I do for you?’ God, she sounded like a sulky sales person.
‘Well . . . as a matter of fact ha ha . . . I was wondering if perhaps you might be interested in er . . . possibly meeting up sometime?’
‘Oh,’ Anna said because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘I could pick you up later?’
Crikey, he was keen, wasn’t he? This was good. Two dates with two different men in two nights? You couldn’t beat that, could you? And Jake had a nice car as far as she could remember. Enough! Stop it! People who thought about money were the lowest of the low. ‘I’d love to,’ she said suddenly. There! She’d agreed. There was no going back now.
‘I’ll see you at eight, Jake. Don’t be late,’ she said. ‘Oh and by the way, could you hoot your horn to let me know you’re outside?’
Another five minutes of laughter. God, he certainly wasn’t the full shilling, Anna decided. What was so funny about hooting one’s horn? She’d better get off the phone before she changed her mind about the date. At least she had got in the bit about the horn, though. Hopefully Steve would look out of the window, if he was in, and see what a good catch she’d made. Miaow.
Now. What was she going to wear? Something conservative would be good.
She flung open her wardrobe doors, taking a disdainful look at what was hanging there. Besides her work clothes were six pairs of jeans, an unworn lime-green mini two sizes too small, a pair of combats with a faulty zip, and the fuchsia bridesmaid dress she’d worn to Claire’s wedding. Swiftly she declared her wardrobe a disaster area. What time was it? A quarter to eight. Oh God, no! Why oh why had she agreed to this? Finally she retrieved a pair of black trousers from the bottom of her dirty basket. She sniffed them. They stank of stale cigarettes. Oh well, it was them or the bridesmaid dress. The black trousers won hands down. She’d better give them a rapid iron. At times like this she wished she’d a trouser press. Or a maid. Or a wife. It would be so handy. She wondered if Claire did know anything about this date. She could give her a quick ring. Another glance at her watch. Oops! Maybe not.
The front door opened. Someone was wheeling a bike into the hall. Steve. Oh yes. Brilliant. What perfect timing. Happy now and with a lightness in her step she danced around the sitting room to Roy Orbison’s ‘Pretty Woman’. Pretty was exactly how she felt. Pretty chuffed. Pretty excited. And pretty pleased about her new-found sex appeal. All these men. Wasn’t it fab? Maybe she could invite a bunch of them to the reunion. Maybe Victoria could build a kind of harem cum marquee out the back for them all. A loud banging on the door put an abrupt end to her fantasies. What the hell . . . ? God, he hadn’t wasted much time.
‘Just a minute,’ she called, the sweat-beads forming furiously across her forehead. She rushed into the bathroom and squeezed a generous blob of minty toothpaste onto her toothbrush. A quick rinse with mouthwash should finish the trick. She sniffed her underarms. Oooh dear, a blast of Sure for Men wouldn’t do any harm. The door hammered again. Hang on, that couldn’t be him. Sure, who could have let him into the house?
‘It’s me.’ Grainne’s big booming voice was unmistakable.
Jesus, that’s all she needed, Anna opened the door, her mouth full of Listerine. If Grainne thought she’d be spending another night with Anna and her date, she could forget it.
The other girl barged in.
‘Guess who rang?’
Anna ran to the sink and spat out the Listerine. ‘Who?’
‘Rich.’ Her eyes were shining.
‘Great,’ Anna said, her tone of voice suggesting that it was anything but.
‘He’s coming over tonight. He’s bringing us over the video of The Bill, you know the episode he was in, and a pop video he was also in and . . .’ Grainne paused for breath as Anna sneaked a nervous look at her watch ‘. . . and another programme he was in with Elizabeth Hurley before she was famous . . . and anyway it’ll be great. We’ve bought two twelve packs and loadsa crisps . . . oh, and the lads from downstairs are coming,’ she added.
Anna felt her heart shoot up to her mouth. The lads from downstairs? She stood rooted to the spot in her black trousers and white bra. ‘I can’t go,’ she said stiffly.
‘Why not?’ The disappointment showed on Grainne’s face. ‘Rich probably won’t stay if you’re not there and he’s such good craic . . . and he’s promised to introduce us to all his famous friends.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ Anna said, her head swimming with comical visions of Brad Pitt, Jude Law and Ben Affleck all drinking beer in Grainne and Sandra’s flat. ‘I’ve a splitting headache.’
‘Why do you look like you’re ready to go out so?’ Grainne was as sharp as an eagle when she wanted to be.
‘Oh okay so, I’ll tell you the truth, I’m actually going on a date.’
‘Another one?’ Grainne practically choked. ‘Have you joined a dating agency or what?’
Anna explained. Grainne listened open-mouthed. ‘So you see, you have to play along with me.’
‘I see,’ Grainne nodded. ‘Well, don’t worry, myself and Sandra will look after Rich.’
Anna had no doubt that they would.
A loud horn hooted outside. Grainne rushed to the curtains. ‘Is that him in the navy beamer?’
‘Yes,’ said Anna, delighted.
‘He looks nice,’ Grainne squinted to get a better look. ‘He’s wearing a suit.’
‘You’d better go,’ Anna suddenly panicked.
‘Yeah . . . well, good luck.’
‘Thanks,’ Anna smiled. Then she thought of something. ‘How many people have you invited up there tonight?’
‘Oh there’s a big gang of us.’
‘Don’t let any of your friends tempt Steve, do you hear?’ Anna threatened playfully and reached for her black cashmere jumper.
Grainne paused at the door, confusion spread across her face. ‘Steve? From downstairs? What do you mean?’
‘I know how wild those Tuesday nights can get.’
‘But Steve’s single again. Didn’t you hear? He split up with the French bird when she was over here.’
The horn hooted again. Impatiently.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘Simon’s not in the office right now,’ Shelley’s smooth secretarial tones came down the line. ‘Can I take a message?’
‘Er . . . no, thanks,’ Claire said awkwar
dly, wishing she hadn’t called the office at all. Simon’s phone was switched off and Shelley didn’t seem to know where he was. Unusual for her, Claire thought uneasily. Shelley usually knew everything.
‘Is that Claire?’ Shelley asked shrilly.
‘Of course,’ Claire managed to keep her voice even. Who else would it be? She shouldn’t have called. She only did it out of boredom. Her fingers had dialled the digits before her brain even clicked what she was doing.
‘Can I give him a message?’
‘No, thank you,’ Claire said wearily and hung up. Images of Shelley in her impossibly short skirts and skyscraper heels flooded her head. What was wrong with her? She’d seen too many immoral soaps recently – that was the problem. When Andrew slept there was precious little else to do. She’d have to get a job. Even a part-time one. Sure there were millions of jobs going now. She’d walk into something. Although she loved Andrew more than life itself, she couldn’t limit herself to endless bizarre conversations with Damien the Duck and Freddy the Frog.
She was bored. And anxious to get out of the house. Maybe she’d head into town and spend her birthday money on something. Her mother had made her swear she’d spend the money on herself. Not on the kitchen. Not on the garden. Not even on something cute for Andrew.
‘It’s for you.’ She’d been emphatic. ‘Just because you’re a married woman doesn’t mean you can let your appearance go. Your husband married an attractive woman. He’ll expect to continue to be married to an attractive woman. Sometimes wives who let themselves go find themselves replaced before they know what’s hit them,’ she’d warned. Claire had laughed. Her mother was always overreacting. But her smile had since vanished. She pictured Shelley’s glamorous ‘PA to the boss’ image, all hair and make-up with matching plum lips and nails, and gave a slight shudder. Maybe her mother hadn’t been so off the mark after all.
She’d ring Mrs Murphy next door to see if she wouldn’t mind looking after Andrew for a while. Mrs Murphy, a kind grandmotherly type, doted on the baby. She couldn’t ring Fiona: Fiona would be at her lectures in Belfield. Or hanging around the Arts block giving blokes marks out of ten. Claire remembered doing that with Anna. Those really were the days – carefree and man-mad, worrying only about the number of students she’d snogged after ten cans of Ritz at The Suitcase Ball. That was before she met Simon, of course. He was studying commerce and could religiously be found on the third floor of the library, head buried under a ton of books. He was to be Claire’s last steady boyfriend.
Andrew’s faint whimpering from the bedroom broke her thoughts. She opened the door gingerly. His little face broke into a gurgling smile at the sight of his mummy. She picked him up gently, noticing how warm and soft his body was, wrapped in a blue velour babygro.
‘Are you hungry?’ she cooed.
Andrew gave a baby chuckle.
‘You’re smelly, aren’t you?’ Claire wrinkled her nose and carried him over to his changing board. ‘You’re a stinky dinky, that’s what you are.’ She gave her son’s soft cheek a tender kiss. He answered by reaching ten little fingers towards her face and giving a curious sort of screech. She laid him on the board beside Danny the Dinosaur to whom he immediately turned his attention. People had often told her that a baby would change her whole perspective on life for ever. But nothing could have prepared her for the intensity of love that she felt for him. He was undoubtedly the most important thing in her life. The product of a deep love shared between two people. Nothing and nobody was ever going to destroy that, she thought determinedly. And certainly not some brazen floozie in a ridiculously short skirt.
Outside a cloudless sky promised some sunshine. It was unusually bright for early February. Claire walked past Hallmarks, noticing its vivid window display of vibrant red. Oh yes sure, Valentine’s was next Monday, wasn’t it? She’d have to buy Simon a card even though he thought the whole thing was a cod. Of course it was, Claire agreed. Anyone would be a fool to think otherwise. But it was fun. She gazed longingly at the cute I Love You bunnies. There was no harm in it. It was just a bit of craic. Ah well, she crossed the street and strode into the cosmetics section of Brown Thomas. Simon had given her the gift of life commitment and wasn’t that better than any amount of dead flowers and tacky heart-shaped balloons?
The beautifully made-up assistant considered
Claire’s skin carefully before recommending an expensive cream. It came with a free washbag. The girl assured her that positive results would be evident after a few weeks. Good, Claire thought. She wanted to feel beautiful and rejuvenated for Victoria’s party. She wasn’t going to have that snooty cow look down her nose at a washed-out-looking Claire. Simon, of course, thought she was making a big fuss over nothing.
‘Sure it’s only a reunion,’ he’d said casually one morning over his newspaper as Claire rabbited on about what she was going to wear. ‘It’s not like some really important do,’ he’d added.
Not to Simon, Claire thought. But he’d no idea how much that girl had taunted Claire and Anna in school. Claire shuddered as she remembered the time she’d been in hospital getting her tonsils removed. Victoria had spread rumours about her being treated for anorexia. Half her friends had innocently come to visit bringing boxes of chocolates and doughnuts in an attempt to fatten her up.
But it had been worse for Anna. Victoria once stuck chewing gum to her lovely long hair and she’d had to get it all cut off. Victoria had then called her a lesbian for weeks after that and although nobody had even known what lesbian meant, they presumed it wasn’t very nice.
Everyone in the year had a story about Victoria Reilly. One girl had even been taken away by her parents after Victoria had emptied a bin over her head then made her pick up all the rubbish. It was baffling how Victoria had never been expelled. But later it came out that her parents had donated a substantial amount of money towards the upkeep of the school sports grounds. And therefore she stayed. A bit like politics really. School politics.
The assistant placed the anti-wrinkle cream in the traditional black and white Brown Thomas bag. Claire thanked her and made her way up the escalator. She was looking forward to viewing the new Spring Collections. Being a weekday, there were no crowds in the store. It was pleasant walking around. She made for the designer wear and fingered some of the soft new fabrics. Then glanced at the prices. Uh oh, maybe she should purchase a lottery ticket before the day was out.
‘Claire Fiscon, I don’t believe it!’
Claire jumped. She swung around and blinked hard, unfolding her brain into reality. She didn’t recognize the slender blonde dressed in a classic cream suit.
‘It’s Victoria!’ The girl smiled, revealing snow-white teeth behind blood-red lips.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph! The colour drained from Claire’s face. The two women stood on either side of the clothing rail, facing each other. ‘Hi,’ Claire flashed a wary smile, ‘what a . . . a nice surprise.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You, er . . . look . . . great. Love the scarf. Er . . . where did you get it?’
‘Paris.’ Victoria smiled triumphantly.
‘Oh I love Paris . . . in fact I love many parts of France.’
‘Yes,’ Victoria said.
Claire could feel the colour rush back into her cheeks. It was ridiculous the way this other girl was affecting her. She’d better regain some self-control before she made a complete fool of herself.
‘I’m married now,’ she told Victoria. ‘I’m not Fiscon any more,’ she added.
‘Who did you marry?’
‘Simon Adamson.’
‘Would I know him? What does he do?’
‘He’s in Finance,’ Claire said, wondering if she’d have told the truth if her husband was a bin man.
‘Oh.’ Victoria presented sudden interest. ‘Well, I’ll look forward to seeing him at the party so. You’re both coming, I hope?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Are you shopping?’
‘I
haven’t found anything I like yet,’ Claire lied, taking note of Victoria’s several shopping bags.
‘I know the feeling,’ Victoria sighed. ‘You really have to go abroad for variety.’
‘Yes,’ Claire agreed uncomfortably.
‘Any plans for kids?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Do you hear the patter of little feet yet?’
‘I have a son,’ Claire said proudly and groped in her bag for Andrew’s photo. ‘That’s him.’
Victoria peered at the photo of Andrew sitting up in his cot surrounded by furry friends and looking totally adorable. ‘Very nice,’ she said unfeelingly.
Claire swiftly placed the photo back in her bag. She was furious. Very nice indeed! You’d describe a car as very nice. Or a garden. Not a child who was as stunningly beautiful as Andrew. She wasn’t going to waste a single second more with this cold, condescending woman.
‘I’d better be off,’ she made a big show of checking her watch, ‘Simon will be home looking for his dinner.’
‘Oh that’s awful.’ Victoria heaved a theatrical sigh. ‘Vincent and I rarely eat in.’
Claire felt her throat constrict with annoyance. ‘Well, you’ll find once you’ve children it won’t be so easy to go out any time you feel like it.’
‘That’s why we’re not intending to start straightaway.’ Victoria gave a silvery laugh. ‘We want some time to enjoy each other before we get tied down. After all, everybody knows once you start having kids your life is practically over.’ She paused. ‘Well goodbye,’ she said eventually. ‘It was fantastic bumping into you after all this time.’
‘The bitch,’ Anna agreed heartily.
‘You don’t think I’m being paranoid, do you?’ Claire demanded over the phone.
‘Not at all, Victoria’s just jealous,’ Anna reassured her. ‘Andrew is a divine baby. By the way, did you set me up with Jake?’
‘Jake?’ Claire sounded amazed. ‘Of course I didn’t.’
‘I went out with him last night.’
Claire nearly dropped her baby in shock. She’d never have put Anna and Jake together. Still, no harm. It’d be nice to hook up with the pair of them on a double date.
Mr Right for the Night Page 8