‘Sure.’
She followed him across the road, delighted with the prospect of some company. Sitting all alone for one more night was not something she’d been looking forward to.
Mark’s house was as always a pleasure to walk into. Thick carpets and a roaring – or was it a fake? – fire in the sitting room. Anna removed her jacket and let him hang it up. No seriously, this place was cool with abstract art stuff which she couldn’t make head or tail of, and oriental-looking rugs. She should be living in a place like this at her age. She was too old to be living in a crap place. She should be living in a nice three-bedroomed house with a Labrador and maybe a husband. To rent a place anyway half decent on your own in Dublin cost a bloody fortune. Mark was so so lucky he’d bought before property prices had gone through the through the roof.
‘Sit down and relax.’
It was exactly what Anna intended to do. She installed herself on the purple-and-white-striped sofa. There was an ambient pleasure about the front room, a certain pride in it. Not to show off or impress, but for its own sake.
Mark was back with the wine. ‘Vino?’ he offered.
‘I’d murder a glass.’
He poured. She drank. Immediately Anna began to relax. This was far far better than sitting in her own flat or in Steve’s for that matter. No wonder women fell for Mark. It was probably the house that did it.
He removed his own jacket, revealing the outline of his shoulders and slim waist. Again Anna could see why women might fall for Mark.
This time it had nothing to do with the house.
She really should invite him to the dreaded party. Mark would pass the strictest Victoria Reddin test.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Nothing,’ Anna sighed, ‘it’s been a long day, that’s all.’
She told him about the interview.
‘When will they let you know?’ he enquired.
‘Dunno,’ she answered glumly. ‘The sooner the better really.’
‘Why the sad face? I’d say you’ve nothing to worry about.’ He placed a hand around hers and gave it a squeeze. ‘They’re lucky to have someone like you working for them.’
He disappeared into the kitchen to grab the food, returning with two plates containing something delicious.
‘What is it?’
‘Wild mushroom risotto.’
‘Hey, I didn’t know you could cook.’
‘You’d be surprised at what I can do.’ His eyes met hers. She looked away first. He’d better be careful and remember this wasn’t a date. If Mark thought he could suddenly win her over with a bottle of wine and some grub, he’d better think again. The food did live up to its smell, however. Home cooking beat a ready-to-go-meal-for-one any day. And the company lived up to usual expectations. Anna sipped her wine and studied her companion, congratulating herself on being able to sustain a platonic relationship with such an attractive man. Weaker women would have snapped under the strain of it all. She was proud of herself. After all it was easy to be friends with a dog. Most women had at least one male friend with a ‘lovely’ personality. Mark was Anna’s male friend, though some doubted the friendship. Namely Claire. Then again what would Claire know about anything? The only men she knew were those idiot friends of Simon.
‘Let me take your plate,’ Mark said after a while.
‘Are you full or could you manage a piece of Black Forest gateau?’
‘I could, yeah. Have you been baking all morning or what?’
‘As if.’
‘Who made it so?’
‘A lovely man in a lovely deli.’
‘I give up,’ Anna laughed.
‘So how’s the love life?’ Mark asked suddenly as she dug her fork into the cake.
‘Great,’ Anna replied nonchalantly and wondered why he always brought up this silly topic, over and over again. ‘Not a bother,’ she added with a plastic grin.
‘Are you in love?’
‘I might be.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he contradicted. ‘You don’t have that glow about you.’
‘Glow?’
‘Yeah . . . you know, when you’re in love and you don’t need to eat or drink and you forget to sleep and forget to ring your mates. And it doesn’t matter if it’s raining outside because your own world is full of sunshine . . .’
‘Jesus, you’re some poet.’
‘Thanks.’ Mark’s eyes twinkled with merriment.
‘I’m perfectly happy,’ Anna insisted.
Mark put down his dessert spoon. He seemed to suddenly drift into space. Then he was back again as Anna began to speak. ‘I don’t know if I’ve ever truly been in love,’ she said. ‘I mean at the time I think I am but once it’s all off then I think I definitely wasn’t. Does that make sense?’
‘Does to me. When I was in first year college I was in love with three girls all at the same time. I remember wondering how I’d ever be able to choose. In second year I didn’t fancy any of them.’
‘You heartbreaker, you,’ Anna giggled.
‘Do you think we’ll ever get married?’ Anna nearly choked.
Mark resumed eating like he’d said nothing out of the ordinary. Just like that. As if he’d casually mentioned that it might rain later. Or asked if she’d any holidays booked for this year. Anna searched his face for traces of sarcasm but found none. She stopped toying with her piece of cake. She had suddenly lost her appetite. ‘Excuse me?’ she asked in a puzzled voice.
‘Well, just out of interest like, have you thought about it?’
‘Marrying you?’ Anna was shocked.
‘Me?’ Mark looked equally shocked. ‘God no not me ha ha ha you and me ha ha could you imagine!’ It’s not that fucking funny, Anna silently fumed. What was going on here? Did he think this was some idea of a joke? ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she snapped.
‘Nothing.’ He looked apologetic. ‘Sorry.’ They sat for about a minute in silence.
‘What I meant was . . .’ he began again. Christ, couldn’t he just drop it? ‘What I meant was, do you think either of us will ever tie the knot . . . like with anyone?’
‘It’s not something I’ve really ever thought about,’ Anna replied coolly.
‘But you’re thirty.’
‘So?’ She glowered at him.
‘And everybody else is doing it.’
‘Mark,’ she sighed, ‘if everybody else was running down Dún Laoighaire pier in a bid to throw themselves off the end, do you think I would be running along in the middle of them? I don’t want to be like everybody else. And to be quite honest I think a lot of people get married just ’cos they’re bored. Their jobs are boring, their nights out are boring, their twice-weekly trip to the gym and Sunday drives aren’t enough to keep them going. So whey hey they get engaged. Now they’ve a wedding to plan. It’s something to do, you know?’
‘God, you’re cynical.’
Anna shrugged. ‘I think I’m just being realistic. There’s no way I’d walk up the aisle looking like a meringue in front of a bunch of relatives I don’t know just because everybody else is doing it.’
‘What about your biological clock? Is that not ticking?’
‘No,’ Anna remarked dryly, ‘I think the batteries must have fallen out.’
Mark laughed. ‘So you’re serious, you don’t want to get hitched, have a family and that?’
Anna stared at him. ‘If I were a man I’d probably want seven kids, but I certainly don’t want to be pregnant like for ever. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind one, you know, for the experience. It could look after me in my old age. Anyway if I was planning on getting married any time in the near future, do you not think I’d be going out with someone a bit older than Steve? Someone with prospects,’ she added cheekily.
‘A suit?’ He grinned.
‘A suit with a three-bedroomed house.’
‘Ah well, that’s me out of the picture so.’ Mark stood up to reheat the kettle. ‘This place has only
two bedrooms.’
‘So, Claire, what do you think he meant by all of that?’
‘Dunno.’
‘I mean, it’s pretty odd for blokes to start talking about marriage out of the blue.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Claire, I don’t think you’re listening to me.’
‘I am, I am. Now stop it, Andrew, stop that. Good boy.’
‘Do you think I’m reading in to it too much?’
‘Well, kind of. But you know what I think. I think you fancy each other like hell. You really should think about having a relationship with someone at this stage. A proper relationship like. Not one of those silly flings that you’ve been having recently. With all those unsuitable people.’
‘Do you know who you sound like?’ Anna laughed,
‘Your mother.’
‘Oh no, do I?’
‘Don’t worry, we all turn into our mothers some day.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Claire said doubtfully.
‘I’m beginning to think Simon sees me as some old mother hen these days.’
‘Ah nonsense, your imagination is in overdrive,’ Anna said dismissively.
Claire decided not to divulge any information regarding her husband’s late nights. Nor mention the planned trip to the National Art Gallery with Tom. Anna would only get the wrong idea. It was better to tell nobody her business. Then they couldn’t be jumping to ridiculous conclusions. Anyway it was obvious Anna had a lot on her plate at the moment. The pressure of this interview and all this sudden daft talk about marriage . . .
‘Claire, are you still there?’
‘Sure. Listen, Anna, that’s Andrew crying. I’m going to go and put him down. Talk to you soon.’
She was gone.
Anna headed back up to her room. Claire had it so wrong about herself and Mark. She didn’t fancy Mark. And even if she did she’d never ever let him know. Men like Mark would run a mile if they thought you were seriously interested. Men were hunters. That’s why Mark (between short intervals) was always single. Hadn’t she already made one mistake with Anthony Lorcan? Remember him? She gave an involuntary shudder. Would she ever forget?
She sat alone in her sitting room thinking it was very small after Mark’s place. It was cold too, and cheerless.
Anthony Lorcan, eh? He had chased her. Ran around UCD after her. Waited outside her lectures for her. Stared at her constantly in the library. She hadn’t really fancied him at all. At first. But she was flattered. Flattered that someone who didn’t look like a complete pig actually fancied her. Imagine someone decent fancying her – Anna Allstone! Flattery of course though was her big downfall. She began to take notice of this Anthony fella. She began to feel disappointed the days she didn’t see him hanging around. Then she took it upon herself to hang around his lectures. To catch him coming out. Not that she let on of course. Oh no! She’d make a point of turning her back once he’d spotted her. This drove him wild. Anna was delighted. It was so much nicer for someone to be mad about you than the other way around.
He wasn’t a Brad Pitt or anything. But he was cute. Even Claire admitted she wouldn’t say no. That gave Anna an enormous sense of power. A friend of his had told a friend of hers he had the hots for her. Only he thought she was too hard to get. This made Anna determined to live up to this wonderful illusion.
Nobody had ever thought Anna hard to get. It was fun.
The game had started.
Anna was going to play it for all it was worth. She started to make serious eye contact with him in the UCD bar in the afternoons, over the pool tables. His sandy-coloured hair would flop into his green eyes and she’d catch him flicking it and looking over far more than was necessary.
But she always left the bar first. Even if she was having a whale of a time and desperately wanted to stay on.
She always left the bar first.
And then one day for some reason she didn’t leave. She stayed on in the bar with a crowd from her philosophy class and got drunk. Plastered. Wasted. In fact she became so twisted that she didn’t recognize herself in the Ladies’ mirror.
When she stumbled out Anthony was standing beside the door. She fell. He caught her. They snogged for half an hour.
And then she did something she’d never done before. Without a word she disentangled herself from Anthony’s golden arms and made a beeline for Mark. Told him she was so sick she was going to die. And made him escort her from the bar.
What Anthony Lorcan saw leaving the UCD bar that evening was the most blasé woman he’d ever met in his life. Nobody had ever walked out on him like that. On the arm of another bloke too!
Instead of being insulted, Anthony was intrigued. The girl must have tons of confidence to be able to take or leave guys as she pleased. In Anthony’s short nineteen years he’d never met a girl who carried on like that. The lads did it all the time and it was usually hilarious. But now the lads were taking the piss out of him and wondering where his bird had disappeared. Nobody treated Anthony Lorcan like that, he decided. Nobody. As though his life depended on it he was determined to get Anna Allstone.
What Anthony Lorcan did not see, however, was the unobtainable woman of his dreams, puking her guts out into a pretty bed of flowers. Less than a hundred yards from the bar, Mark Landon was holding Anna’s shoulder-length hair within safe reach of it getting saturated with sick. But Anthony was spared the unpleasant sight.
He didn’t hear Anna wail, ‘Oh my God, what have I DONE!’ before bursting into hysterical drunken tears and collapsing under a tree, convinced that she could never ever face Anthony Lorcan again.
But face him again she did. And although (due to tremendous willpower) she turned him down again twice, eventually she succumbed under the strain of his relentless pursuit.
You see somebody had spotted him over in the canteen. Chatting to Victoria Reilly. And that had put the fear of God into her. Because Victoria wouldn’t be bothered playing hard to get with a guy like Anthony. Victoria got whatever she wanted with an irritating toss of her bleached blonde bob. And so, after a couple of sleepless nights, Anna decided she was going to say yes to Anthony.
The following day when Anthony yet again approached her after one of her lectures for a date, she said yes.
Though she desperately wanted to say no. Because by saying yes she also knew she was saying GAME OVER.
Of course, it didn’t finish the following evening over dinner. Or during the week when they snogged all the way through a boring film despite violent kicks to their seatbacks by two teenage boys. It lasted, say . . . about three weeks. And then one afternoon he failed to meet her at the ‘blob’ on the Arts concourse. She thought she must have got the time wrong and rang him. And he sounded distant, saying he’d forgotten. She only half believed him.
The next day she tried to get him to talk. It was a complete disaster. She’d never forget his panic-stricken face when she tried to discuss their ‘future’.
‘It’s best if we take things slowly,’ he said, fidgeting furiously with his beer mat in Madigan’s pub one Tuesday night.
‘Do you think I’m rushing things?’
‘A bit.’ He stared at the ceiling as if Michelangelo himself had painted it. ‘We’ve only been seeing each other three weeks.’
‘Yeah I know but . . . but you’ve never once told me how you feel about me.’
He said nothing. God he was infuriating!
‘Sometimes I think you don’t even like me,’ she continued. It was true. Anthony, on the few occasions he wasn’t trying to rip her clothes off, usually looked like he’d rather be with anyone in the world other than her.
‘Look, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t like you,’ he sighed resignedly.
‘Maybe we should split up,’ she suggested, not meaning a word of it. She’d no intention of parting company with him. But the idea of losing her might shake him up a bit, she thought craftily.
‘Actually I was kind of thinking along those lines myself
,’ he said.
Anna couldn’t have been more surprised if he had slapped her face. She was flabbergasted! This wasn’t what she wanted at all. Not at all!
What was she going to do? She couldn’t very well just turn around now and say, ‘Ah no I was only messing.’
So she said nothing.
All words escaped her. She was miserable.
‘But we can be friends,’ he squeezed her thigh. ‘I’d like that.’
God, she’d never get over the embarrassment.
So that’s why Claire had no business giving her advice about men. Anna had already learned her lesson.
The hard way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Claire got ready as soon as Simon left the house. Fortunately Fiona had agreed to babysit. Andrew had reached the stage where one eye looking over him was an eye too short. Pulling phone wires and reaching for creepy-crawlies were great fun. Thank God for Rugrats!
Fiona arrived and settled herself and her books in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a Clubmilk.
A golden opportunity for a bath, Claire thought as she relaxed in a mountain of bubbles. She couldn’t wait to catch up with Tom. It was always nice to meet a friend. Friend. Hmmm. Could she really call Tom a friend? Sure she barely knew him. Ah, hang on, what harm was it? They were only looking at paintings, for God’s sake!
She swiped a bath towel off the boiling radiator and wrapped it around her damp, fresh-smelling skin.
It was going to be a great day.
She slipped out without Andrew noticing. Tears were avoided that way. The sun was high and the bright light stung her eyes. Donning a pair of sunglasses solved that problem.
At the gallery Tom looked pretty anxious.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Parking’s a nightmare in this city and those bloody clampers are everywhere.’
‘Tell me about it. Why do you think I work night shifts?’
He looked well. But she didn’t tell him this. Obviously. After all it wasn’t a date or anything.
The morning passed pleasantly. Tom was a bit of an expert in art history and through his extensive knowledge was somehow able to bring the paintings to life.
Afterwards over coffee and carrot cake Claire discovered she’d a lot in common with Tom and they chatted easily for hours. Just before twelve Tom apologetically announced that he had really better get going. Where had the time flown, Claire wondered. Reluctantly she stood up, not sure what she could do with herself for the rest of the afternoon. There was no point going home when Fiona had been booked for the entire day. Suddenly an idea hit her. If she called into Simon’s office now she might catch him for an early lunch. And sure why not? She was all dressed up with nowhere in particular to go.
Mr Right for the Night Page 14