Mr Right for the Night

by Marisa Mackle

  ‘Is she still seeing Jake?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Kind of,’ Claire admitted. How much did her husband know? Had Jake confided in him? Why was Simon so secretive? Why did men never communicate?

  ‘Has Jake said anything?’ Claire tried not to appear too interested.

  ‘He thinks she’s attractive.’ Simon turned to his computer. Claire gave his back a look of dismay. Her husband thought speculating on other people’s relationships was a complete waste of time.

  ‘Did he say anything else?’ She was careful to tread carefully.

  ‘Of course not,’ Simon scoffed. ‘He’s a bloke. He wouldn’t have the time or the patience to analyse things that trivial.’

  Andrew started to wail in his playpen.

  Simon showed no signs of budging.

  As usual it was his mother who picked him up.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘For you.’ Elaine handed her the phone at the customer service desk.

  ‘Who is it?’ Anna was barely able to speak. Jesus, that bottle of wine she and Steve had drunk the night before must have been one of those 99p bottles. Never again. No really. It just wasn’t worth it.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mr Walton here, head office.’

  ‘Yes?’ Anna felt the walls closing in on her.

  ‘I’m pleased to inform you that your first interview was a success and we’d like to invite you for a second and final one next week. If you would like to arrange with Personnel for a time that suits . . .’

  Anna barely heard the rest. She couldn’t believe it! A second interview? What was going on? She’d done a crap interview.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Walton . . . Yes, delighted . . . Yes, thank you very much.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Elaine was beside her with a face that was devoid of any colour whatsoever.

  ‘He . . . Oh God, Elaine . . .’ Anna’s stomach gave a violent rumble and she fled the shop floor.

  Clinging onto the toilet bowl, tears running down her cheeks, Anna cursed the day she ever hooked up with Steve. It was all right for him to get pissed out of his mind any day of the week. But she was too old for this kind of carry on. Far too old.

  She heard a pair of high heels click clicketing along the corridor. Oh God, she really didn’t want one of the shop girls to hear her retching.

  Eventually she came out of the cubicle. June was at the mirror spraying cheap perfume onto her giraffe-like neck. The powerful stink made Anna want to vomit again.

  ‘Well, I must say you’ve surprised us all by your interview skills,’ the older woman almost spat.

  Interview skills? Sure, it was the quick blow job I gave Walton when Fidelma wasn’t looking that did the trick.

  Anna grimaced and said nothing.

  ‘But don’t think you’ve got the job yet,’ June added spitefully. ‘There’s still plenty to be done around here. I want a full sales report for last week on my desk before you leave here this evening.’

  The bloody bitch, Anna thought as June sashayed out of the door. Just because she didn’t have anybody taking her out tonight.

  It didn’t feel like Valentine’s at all, Anna thought as she sat in the bus with the fogged-up windows and the disgusting smell of wet clothes drying. Mind you, what was Valentine’s supposed to feel like? Were you supposed to wake up with a loving feeling? Oh God, no.

  Anna was tired and feeling unbelievably unromantic. Thank God Steve was cooking and she didn’t have to go out to a restaurant and compete with lots of other couples in a who looks the most in love? contest.

  She pushed open the door of the flat. A strong smell of curry came from downstairs making her stomach rumble. She absolutely adored curry!

  She’d better slip upstairs to make herself look presentable. There was no way she was arriving in his flat still dressed in her work clothes. In her cubby hole she found a big white envelope. She brought it upstairs and tore it open. It was a card with a big gaudy gold and pink rose on it. She opened it up.

  To my Valentine,

  You’re beautiful and clever and I still can’t

  believe you’re mine.

  Love, Jake

  Very romantic not. Anna tossed the card across the kitchen counter. The cheek of him writing a message like that! Who did he think he was?

  And by the way, where the hell was Rich’s card?

  Anna slumped down on a chair. Valentine’s day was depressing.

  She began to get ready.

  She hadn’t even shaved her legs and it was almost eight o’clock.

  An unexpected knock on the door made her jump.

  She opened it slightly, aware that only one leg was shaved, the other resembling a small forest. Surreptitiously she moved the forest behind the door.

  It was Steve. He was carrying the most enormous bunch of roses she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Anna was so overwhelmed her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Steve,’ she sighed, ‘you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘They’re not from me. Someone delivered them earlier on but you weren’t here so I offered to take them in for you.’

  Who are they from, Anna wondered as she struggled to find a vase for the roses that seemed to have taken on a mind of their own. Rich. They must be from him. How sweet!

  ‘Anyway, dinner’s ready. Are you?’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Anna winked. She had to shave the other leg and make sure the iron was unplugged and the heater was switched off.

  After all, she had absolutely no intention of coming back to this flat tonight.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Elaine was busy, busy, busy. No time for chitchat.

  ‘What are you doing for lunch?’ Anna asked her eventually, cornering her in the stockroom.

  ‘I’m meeting a friend,’ Elaine said coldly.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Nobody you know.’

  ‘Is there something bothering you?’

  ‘Why did you lie to me?’ Elaine was blunt.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think you know exactly what I mean.’ Elaine’s eyes danced dangerously in her head. ‘You lied to me about your interview.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Anna, come off it. You said you made a balls of it.’

  ‘I did,’ Anna raised her voice higher than she intended. ‘I honestly did.’

  ‘Well, they obviously didn’t think so in head office, did they?’ Elaine’s voice was brittle.

  ‘I don’t know what happened. You know as well as I do that I didn’t even particularly want the friggin’ job. If it was up to me I’d give it to you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Elaine looked at her with steady contempt. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to be done,’ she snapped before turning on her heel.

  Anna ate lunch alone.

  But the food lay practically untouched on the plate in front of her.

  What was Elaine’s problem? You’d swear she’d just gone and got herself a top government position the way Elaine was carrying on.

  After lunch, she wandered around Grafton Street killing time. She was in no hurry to get back to Lolta’s. A fresh breeze danced with her hair and lifted her spirits slightly. Why was she so afraid of the promotion anyway? Was it the change? But didn’t they say a change was as good as a rest?

  After all, once Steve finished his finals he’d probably vanish from her life. Anna wasn’t a complete fool. She knew Steve wasn’t the kind of guy to hang around a rented flat in Ranelagh for the rest of his days. And anyway the promotion wouldn’t do her bank balance any harm. Best of all, she wouldn’t have June at her throat like a ravenous Rottweiler.

  Anna paced up Grafton Street thinking hard. Yes, it would definitely be worth it. Even if it meant living in a field in Ballydehob, she was going to take this promotion very seriously. Imagine the look on her ex-classmates’ faces when she, Anna Allstone, announced she was
an assistant manager. That’d give them something to put in their pipes.

  The atmosphere in Lolta’s was fraught with tension. Elaine was buzzing around the store as if a wasp was stuck to her ear. Anna continued to work mechanically. The sooner she got out of this place the better, she conceded, redirecting queues at the checkouts. Why had she ever considered staying in the first place?

  She was home early. An Indian takeaway flyer was pinned to her door. On it was scrawled a message.

  Rich rang from London. Says he’s a speaking part in Casualty. What’s the story? Grainne.

  Anna whipped it down and shoved it into her bag. She knocked on Steve’s door. No answer. Of course, she suddenly remembered, he was studying late tonight. He wouldn’t be home till at least ten. No harm, Anna thought. She quite fancied a night in for a change. The last few nights had been seriously hectic. She dragged herself into her flat. A damp, depressing, early evening mist had found its way into the flat and hung gloomily in the air. Anna made a beeline for the electric heater, whipped the curtains closed and switched on the kettle. She sat on the sofa and removed the RTÉ Guide from her briefcase.

  The place was eerily quiet. She turned up the volume on the telly and hoped the nurses weren’t trying to sleep. She’d soon know if they were, of course – Grainne and Sandra weren’t shy about hammering on the ceiling.

  The kettle gave a brief whistle and snapped itself off. Anna tore herself away from the comfort of the sofa and poured herself a cuppa. She pushed the sofa nearer the telly, grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and a box of Pringles from the press. Now she was all set. What was on the box at all? Coronation Street was wrapping up. Damn. She hadn’t seen Corrie for ages. Now she wouldn’t have a clue what the girls in the canteen were yapping on about. She flicked channels. RTE´ news was on. Sure she might as well watch that. Keep herself up to date on current affairs. She yawned lazily as some politician droned on and on about something irrelevant. Well, irrelevant to Anna anyway. It was funny to watch people in the background pretending to be interested. One man stood beside the politician, frowning as the rain fogged up his glasses. He probably wasn’t listening at all but was acutely aware that people at home might see him. It was a gas. Two young inner-city type boys were jumping up and down madly. A couple hurried past under a big umbrella. The man’s arm was wrapped protectively around his wife’s waist. He looked a bit like Jake. Jesus flipping Christ, it was Jake! Anna knocked over her tea, scalding her lap. She screamed. The prick! Jake was supposed to be out of town. That’s what he’d told her anyway. But according to RTÉ he was very much in town. The two-timing rat!

  Raging, she rummaged through her little black book. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this. She found his number and, fired up with anger, she stomped down the stairs not quite knowing what she was going to say to him.

  She let her fingers fumble for the digits.

  He answered. She let two twenty-pence pieces fall into the slot. This was very uncool, she decided. It was time to get one of those rotten little mobiles.

  ‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said, which was ridiculous really because she knew full well her number was flashing on his phone.

  ‘It’s . . . er you,’ he answered foolishly. Anna gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming at him. She could hear loud traffic. They must have been heading towards Stephen’s Green.

  ‘Thanks for your card.’ She stuck in a fifty and another twenty. Jesus, calls to mobiles ate money.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, his voice filling with alarm. ‘Listen, can I ring you back?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Anna explained dangerously, ‘I miss you. I want to hear your voice.’ She was enjoying this. ‘Can you come over?’

  ‘No,’ he gave an odd-sounding screech, ‘I can’t, I’m just outside Dundalk,’ A blatant lie. ‘It’ll take me a while to get over.’

  ‘Right,’ Anna played along, ‘because I’m in bed and I’m bored.’

  ‘I can come over later though,’ Jake explained eagerly.

  ‘Oh, that’ll be too late,’ Anna gave a mock sigh.

  ‘But tell you what, if you get home before the late edition of the RTE´ news be sure to tune in. If not, get your mother to video it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh you’ll see,’ Anna said sharply. ‘Goodnight and good luck.’

  She cut him off. Dead.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘You did not. I don’t believe it.’ Claire nearly dropped the phone.

  ‘Too right I did,’ Anna began to chuckle. She couldn’t help it. She tried to picture Jake’s face confronted with his five minutes of fame.

  ‘You know, I never really trusted Jake,’ Claire admitted. She’d always thought Simon’s colleague was too smooth for his own good. Well, Anna was well rid of him now.

  ‘Thanks for telling me,’ Anna said huffily.

  ‘Well, it’s not like I shoved you into his arms,’ Claire retorted. ‘Anyway, in a way you’ve a bit of a cheek being angry with him. Aren’t you supposed to be going out with thingumajig?’

  ‘Rich?’

  ‘No, the student.’

  ‘Steve?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s different,’ Anna said defensively.

  Claire giggled. She couldn’t help it. Anna was so unbelievably self-righteous. She blamed men for everything yet was just as bad as them. Worse even. Oh well, she was right, wasn’t she? Pity there weren’t more women like Anna about. Men like Jake needed a kick up the ass. Soon Claire was laughing loudly down the phone.

  ‘Fair play to you, Anna.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m well rid of that eejit. Besides I’ve still two more options for the party,’ she said wickedly.

  ‘In the form of Rich and Steve?’

  ‘Yeah . . . thing is, I don’t think either of them is particularly suitable for Victoria’s party.’

  ‘So we’re back to square one,’ Claire said dryly.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Something occurred to Claire as soon as she put the phone down. Did Simon know about Jake’s other woman? And if he did, why hadn’t he said anything? Did he think it was better for Anna not to know? Or did he think ‘Good on ya, Jake, it’s well for some’? She’d have to ask him when he got home. If he did come home of course.

  She rang his mobile and cursed the voice that said, ‘Your call has been diverted. Please hold.’ What was the point in having a mobile if you didn’t keep it switched on? His office line was worth a try.

  It rang out.

  Well, feck him anyway.

  He could starve tonight.

  Sleep didn’t come easily. Andrew started to cry and Claire rushed to the baby room to soothe him back to sleep. She was wide awake after that. Her throat was dry She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, opened the fridge door and removed a two-litre bottle of 7-Up. A half litre of vodka sat in the middle of the fridge. It seemed to be pleading drink me please. Nah, Claire banged the door shut. Only alcos drank alone. She thought of Simon getting pissed somewhere with Jake. Who else was with them? Perhaps Jake’s floozie had a friend? God, it didn’t bear thinking about. She opened the fridge door again and snatched the vodka. Sure, one drink never killed anyone.

  She poured a tiny bit. Added six cubes of ice, then drowned the vodka with 7-Up. She brought the glass to her lips. No, no good. She couldn’t even smell the alcohol. She poured another bit. This measure was more generous. She gulped some down and winced as the fluid burned her throat. Heaven. She ambled round the kitchen, drank some more vodka and tried Simon’s mobile once again. Your call has been . . . ‘Fuck off,’ she yelled, then rebuked herself for shouting while her son slept upstairs.

  She switched on the radio and danced angrily to JJ72. When JJ72 switched to Steps she pulled out the radio plug in disgust. As if she could dance to something as cheesy as Steps. She found an old ABBA tape lurking at the bottom of the CD holder. That would do.

  Her drink was finished, she noticed glumly. She’d promise
d herself just the one. Oh well, promises were meant to be broken. What would Anna think? Anna always said Claire was as solid as a rock. But rocks eroded over the years. She’d learned that in Geography. She pictured her old Geography teacher’s beady eyes, poodle perm and pursed lips, and gave an involuntary shudder.

  The phone rang, making her jump. She picked it up slowly. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Claire?’

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘Claire, listen I tried to call you earlier but the phone was engaged. I’m out with clients.’

  ‘Lucky them,’ Claire said dully.

  ‘It’s gone on longer than I expected, so it’s better that I stay at Jake’s.’

  ‘I thought Jake already had company.’

  ‘Sorry? Are you still there, Claire? The line’s pretty bad. Catch you later, okay honey?’

  Claire hung up. He was drunk. He only ever called her ‘honey’ when he was drunk. Why was he still out drinking? He hadn’t always carried on like this. Somebody must be influencing him. There was no other reason. But who?

  Claire poured herself another measure. Her head was feeling deliciously dizzy now. What would her mother make of all of this? ‘Be careful of men who’ve never lived,’ she’d once said. ‘Because one day they’ll snap and wonder what they’ve missed out on.’

  That was it, Claire gave a strangled cackle. Simon was trying to catch up. He’d spent all his twenties studying, going on courses and attending interviews. He’d only had sex with one other girl, his other long-term girlfriend. He’d rarely got out-of-his-face scuttered drunk and had never smoked (cigarettes or otherwise). He’d never jetted off to Tenerife on a bad lads’ holiday – in fact, it suddenly dawned on Claire, the only time he’d ever gone anyway mad was when his exam results had come out. It all made sense now. Simon hadn’t ever really lived. No wonder he was showing the beginnings of a mid-life crisis.

  Chapter Nineteen