Instinct told him he wasn’t going out to play squash. He thought to go and get his phone which was with his laptop, but then decided against leaving the room.
“Can you sit down?” She looked at the racket in his hand. “Are you going out?”
No. He was going nowhere. He pulled out a chair at the table, and sat down facing her. She fingered her glass of wine as they sat for a moment. Mark could hear a lawnmower and children squealing in play a few gardens away.
“I was offered a position back in March.” She seemed to be talking to the wine glass. “A year-long professorship at Edinburgh University. I declined it. I wasn’t even going to mention it. But now.” Her phone beeped in her pocket, and she checked it and pushed it away across the table. “I’ve decided I’m going to go. I wasn’t sure if they’d still want me, but they do. I spent the day in the Dean’s office, getting things sorted. He’s been very accommodating.” She looked up at Mark who sat in silence listening. His head felt hot. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back today. I just, I wanted to be able to confirm all the arrangements before we spoke.”
“And now they are?”
“What?”
“The arrangements. They’re confirmed?”
“Well, yes. I’ll finish up here next week. Once my papers are all corrected, I can leave. I’ve already looked into renting in Edinburgh. The college will pay for it.”
He stared at her glass of wine for a moment, before reaching over and taking a swig from it. Eugh. Chardonnay.
“Mark?”
“Yes.”
“This is the best thing to do. Mark?”
“Is it?”
“Yes. It is. I’m not sure I want to, to break up,” the words seemed not to come out of her mouth right, and she had to swallow. “But I don’t want to stay here right now. With you.”
Somewhere in his head, this all made perfect sense. In fact, it was the perfect way forward. They could try living apart under these circumstances. They wouldn’t have to make any confessional explanations to friends and family. Although her sister Sheila would most certainly know. That was probably her, texting to see how the news had gone down with him as her phone beeped again. He would stay here, she would go to Edinburgh. For a year. They’d have a year to see what it meant not to be together.
But another part of his brain was castigating him for being the instigator of all this. He could have kept his mouth shut.
And yet another part of him felt something else. He looked across at the woman he had shared ten years with. The person he had most loved in the world. He looked at her, and he saw soft brown hair and serious eyes. He saw the face that had loved him back. A face more familiar to him than his own.
And he felt hurt.
He stood up, the chair making a loud scraping noise on the tiled floor.
“Where are you going?”
He picked up his racket and bag. “I’m meeting Tom at seven thirty.” He looked at his watch. “I’m going to be late.”
Six“Wow! No hanging around for you guys, huh?” Emily squealed down the phone at Christine.
“Yeah, well. As you yourself told me, I’m too old for playing games.” She switched on her PC, and stuffed her bag into her desk drawer. “Anyway, it was he who phoned me.”
“So where are you going?”
“Dun Laoghaire.”
“Ah,” Emily put on her best wistful tone. “Myself and Jack had some very romantic early dates in Dun Laoghaire. A walk on the pier. Hot whiskies and fish pie snuggled up by an open fire in a cosy pub.”
“It’s July, Emily.”
“Okay, so cocktails looking out over the sea.” Emily continued her rhetoric. “Skinny dipping at the Forty Foot.”
“Hopefully not in that order.”
“Of course, of course. Anyway, whatever you get up to, it’ll be back to your place for a repeat of last Saturday night, I suppose?”
“Emily! Just because he stayed over once, does not mean he will again. I’m not completely easy, you know.”
“Of course you’re not, of course you’re not. Well, I’m all for it. You’re just making up for lost time, girl. But now, if you’ll excuse me, the sun and my book are waiting for me in the garden. Enjoy your day in the office.”
“I’m going to write to someone to complain about all the layabout teachers around. Giving bad example to their students. Get yourself a summer job, you slacker.”
“Now, now,” Emily never rose to the bait. “You’re just jealous. See if you still want my job when September comes around again.”
“Hmm.”
“Anyway, gotta go. Kisses to Craig. Tell him if he needs a break, I’m home in the garden. The parents are gone west for a few days, and Jack will be at work til at least six. No chance of us getting caught until then.”
“And you call me the floozy?” Christine smiled down the phone. “Later. Don’t get sunburned.”
“I’ll try not,” Emily said.
Christine sat trying to prioritise the items on her to-do list. Wednesday. She had a conference call later in the afternoon with the UK and US offices which she needed to prepare for. She had a report to finish for Mark before that. And she had to make ready for a trip to London the following week. She had decided to fly out on Sunday evening, rather than face the four AM wake-up call on Monday morning. She’d be there until next Wednesday night. Her birthday was Tuesday, but there was nothing she could do about it. The meeting involved staff from the US and Singapore offices, so she couldn’t have rescheduled it, even if she had wanted to. Which she hadn’t. Turning twenty-nine was nothing to celebrate. Although it was a little different now. If she had been here, she might have gone for dinner somewhere nice with Gavan. But less than a fortnight ago, she had expected to spend the evening having cocktails with Emily and maybe some of the other girls. Which wouldn’t have differentiated it from any other Tuesday night. Anyway, she would be seeing Gavan on Friday. And if he wanted to celebrate her birthday with her, they could always make some arrangement for when she got back.
She decided to get a coffee and get the report for Mark finished first. Walking to the coffee room, she noticed Marcus Wells going into Mark’s office. As he closed the door behind them, Mark turned and looked straight at her. He looked worried, more so than usual. But he had given her the smallest hint of a wave. Weird. Unlike Mark. Christine wondered why Marcus Wells would be here. If there was trouble in the UK office like she had heard, then it was more likely that he would be engaged over there. Unless the trouble had involved the Irish office too. But there had been no suggestion of that. Christine made two coffees and strolled over to the reception desks.
“Hey Amanda. Fancy one of these?”
“Aw great, Chris, you are a total star. I’m gagging for a coffee, and a pee actually. I’m on my own this morning, and things are a little hectic.” The low buzz of the phone interrupted them. “CarltonWachs, Amanda speaking. Of course Mr. Radcliff. One moment.” She clicked her mouse. “Luke, Charles Radcliff for you. Okay, no problem.” She glanced up at Christine. “Sorry Chris.”
The phone buzzed again. Christine drank her coffee, watching Amanda filter calls for Mark and Shay with great efficiency. “Thanks again for this,” Amanda raised her mug. “I really needed it.”
“No problem. You’re busy. I’ll go. But hey, do you know why Marcus Wells is here? I saw him in with Mark.” Christine couldn’t be certain, but she thought that Amanda reddened slightly.
“I’m not sure, Chris. I think they might be a bit concerned about the institutional desk. I don’t really understand it.”
“I thought the question mark was over the UK desk, though?” Christine looked at Amanda. Amanda just shrugged. The phone buzzed again. Christine gave her a silent wave goodbye, and walked back over to her office. She observed the institutional desk as she passed. There didn’t seem to be anything different or unusual about it. She caught Damien Forde’s eye, just as his gaze dropped to its usual level, halfway between her neck a
nd her umbilicus. She ignored him, and looked over to Craig’s desk. No one there. He was probably out schmoozing clients. When she saw him walking back to his desk from the direction of the men’s washroom, she turned and met him at his chair.
“Quick lunch later? I won’t have much time, but we could run to the pub?”
“So you’ve forgiven me for outing your secret lover?” He grinned at her, but there was a hint of admission in his eyes.
“It appears I have.” Christine leaned against Craig’s desk, trying to peer into Mark’s office. “What do you think is going on in there?”
Craig glanced over. “Dunno. Look, I’m actually a bit snowed under here, sweet-cheeks. I’ve got a golf outing in the morning and I’ll be away all day, so I’d better stay here and get my desk sorted. Sorry.”
“No worries.” Christine drained her coffee. She lifted a coffee cup from Craig’s desk, and checked to see it was empty before taking it with her own back to the coffee room.
~
The weather was still good on Friday when Christine arrived in Mallin Station at eight o’clock. After what had been the hottest June in Dublin for years, July was showing no signs of cooling down. The restaurant was adjacent to the train station, so she ran to the station washroom to check her hair and make-up before walking out on to the street. She could see Gavan waiting for her, looking out at the sea. Dun Laoghaire harbour was protected by granite piers which stretched out like two strong arms, holding the small boats that traversed the still waters within their embrace. Twenty or more little sail boats were there that evening, most likely a sailing school’s beginners’ class, while larger boats and windsurfers littered the waters on the other side of the pier walls, making the most of the fine weather. Gavan seemed to be engrossed in the spectacle. She walked up behind him, unsure how to greet him, but as she approached he turned and a big smile lit his face.
“Hey there,” he said. He stood before her. They were almost touching, but he paused, almost as if to savour the moment. She was about to say something innocuous like ‘hello’, when he took her face in his hands and kissed her.
And there it was. The feeling they had shared on Saturday night. It had continued through to Sunday morning, but when he had left, Christine had been uncertain of its authenticity. He had texted her on Sunday evening, and phoned her on Tuesday to arrange this date. But she hadn’t been certain that he had felt it too. Until this moment. Wow – was this how it worked when you were grown-up? She remembered second dates being generally more awkward than first – now, it appeared if you knew, you knew. There was no pretence. No games. After the kiss, standing there on the steps of the restaurant enveloped in his arms, Christine had the crazy thought that if she and Gavan were to run off and get married, right now, if it were possible, they would probably stand as good a chance as any couple. She sniggered into his linen jacket at the thought of it, and then pulled away, leaving a small damp patch on his lapel.
“Sorry!” She giggled and tried to wipe it.
“Lovely. Spitting on me already? I’m glad you feel that comfortable.” He took her hand away from his jacket and kissed it. He didn’t let it go, and he led her up the steps to the restaurant door. “Would you rather sit outside?”
It was warm, but there was a strong breeze blowing intermittently. And the room inside was dimly lit by candles. Candlelight would be nice.
“Let’s go in.”
They sat at the bar while their table was made ready. Christine was conscious of how much leg she was showing, sitting up on the high stool. She knew her dress was on the shorter side of decent, but she had planned on the table covering her modesty. Gavan took a menu from the barman and opened it. He looked over to Christine with a serious expression.
“I’m thinking you are a mojito kind of girl?”
She laughed. “I like mojitos. What makes you say that though?”
“Well, you’re too sophisticated for something like a cosmopolitan, or a martini.” He stood down from the stool to remove his jacket. The maitre d’ appeared out of nowhere and took it from him with a nod. “And nothing so vulgar as a Sloe Screw, or Sex on the Beach.”
Christine shivered involuntarily.
“A mojito is fresh, but it’s not a fad,” he went on. “It’s strong, but it’s sweet. And it takes a bit of work. A bit of effort. Sugar syrup, crushing ice, all that mint to wash.”
They both laughed. The barman stood before them with a questioning look at Gavan.
“Two mojitos please,” Christine smiled at him.
Gavan raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you think you know me now, do you?” he asked.
“Well, I wasn’t going to make him go to all that effort just for one drink.” Christine clasped her hands on her lap in an effort to cover some exposed thigh. Their knees were almost touching as they sat at the increasingly busy bar. He reached out and took her right hand in his. It was very deliberate, and it meant she had to lean forward slightly. She rested her left arm on the counter so as not to fall off into his lap. He just sat there, looking at her, holding her hand. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed but she couldn’t help feeling so. The fact was they had spent the night together. Less than a week ago. On their first date. It felt like the proverbial elephant, creating an awkwardness that they had to stumble over. But Gavan seemed to be very aware that they had been so intimate so fast, and he didn’t seem to find it in the least bit awkward. He seemed like someone who wanted to take up where they had left off. The thought suddenly crossed Christine’s mind that this could be all about getting her back to her place again. A re-run of Saturday. She’d allowed it before, he could safely assume she would again. She sat up straight on her stool, pulling her hand away, just as the barman placed two bar-mats down for them. She wasn’t sure if Gavan had noticed the flicker of doubt in her eye, but she avoided looking at him, and concentrated on the not-unremarkable mojitos which had been placed before them.
“Wow,” she lifted her glass to him, and he reciprocated.
“Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers.”
“So,” she wanted to get back to where they had been. “If I am a mojito, what is she?” She tilted her head slightly towards a tall, stylish lady in her fifties standing behind Gavan. She had her long fingers clasped around the stem of a white wine glass, the beads of condensation threatening her painted nails. Gavan feigned a need to look towards the front door, glancing over at the lady as he did so.
“I’d guess a Pouilly-Fumé.” He said quietly. “Expensive and showy. But actually as common as muck.”
Christine giggled into her straw. “And her husband?”
This time Gavan turned in his seat to face the bar. He cast his eyes to his right at a balding man who had one hand on the lady’s waist, the other tipping a bottle of sparkling mineral water into a tumbler of ice.
“That’s easy.” Gavan removed the straw from his own glass and took a mouthful. “If he’s an Irishman in his fifties, and he's drinking sparkling water, he's an alcoholic.”
They both collapsed into guilty sniggering. Christine noticed the couple looking at them, but they were saved by the maitre d’ who informed them that their table was ready. He asked if they would prefer to finish their drinks at the bar, but they simultaneously shook their heads, and hopped down from their stools to escape. A waitress appeared with a tray. She took their drinks from them, following them to a table in the main dining room.
The restaurant had high ceilings with tall windows, and the many candelabras cast shadowy light across the walls. The animated chatter of larger parties mingled with the intimate tones of couples' conversation. As they sat, the waitress introduced herself, told them the specials, and left them alone with the menus and their drinks. Christine could feel her heart in her chest. She needed to calm herself down a little. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. She just wanted to enjoy the evening. She stopped a passing server and asked him for some water.
“You okay?” Gavan looked
at her, concerned.
“Yeah. Just want to pace myself, you know?” She smiled at him. He reached out across the table for her hand. Again.
“Look Christine. I just wanted to say something. Before it’s later, and you think I’m saying it for a reason. My parents are flying in tomorrow. Early. From Frankfurt. They’ve been away on a trip to South Africa. Anyway, they’re coming straight to me at, like eight-thirty AM or something like that. They left their car at my place while they were away. They’ll drive back down to Wexford then later tomorrow. My point is,” he took a breath. He looked uncomfortable. “I have to be there. At my place. Alone, obviously. So, so I’ll be going home later.” He looked down into his menu. “I don’t want you to think I was assuming I could have stayed with you of course, but I just didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want to stay with you.” He looked up at her again. “Because, of course, I do.”
Christine thought her heart might explode. She took a drink of the water that had been left discreetly on the table.
“Last weekend was the best weekend,” he paused, “possibly of my life. Anyway,” he sat back as the waitress arrived over with a pad and a pen and a questioning smile, “I just wanted to say it now. Before you thought I was trying to… anyway. I’m going for the steak.”
The last announcement was directed at the waitress, who turned to Christine expectantly. Christine didn’t know what she wanted on the menu. All she knew was that she wanted to lean over and kiss Gavan. And that if she had any friends in air traffic control she would have asked for the early morning flight from Frankfurt to be diverted to Shannon.
SevenMark checked his watch as he walked through the arrivals hall at Gatwick and towards the escalators to the Gatwick Express. He stopped to look up at the timetable suspended above him. There was a train due in ten minutes. Perfect. He pushed the handle of his case down, lifting it past the metal bars, and made his descent through the thickening air to the platforms below. Five minutes later he was sitting in the air-conditioned first class carriage with the newspaper and a coffee in front of him. He had so much going on in his head, he didn't know how to begin to process it. He had hoped to spend the flight working through his strategy for his meeting with Marcus Wells. The London office sometimes had a superiority complex when it came to the Irish branch of the business, and Mark would have to tread carefully. He had no intention of being bullied by his English colleagues. It was not going to be an easy afternoon.
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