“Emily,” came the reply.
“Emily?” Christine forced a big smile. “My best friend is called Emily. How cool is that?”
Little Emily managed a half smile, and wiped her snotty nose on her sleeve.
“Well Emily, where were you last with your Mum? Can you remember? Was she looking at clothes?”
“Santy,” Emily said, and her face started to crumple again. “Going to see Santy.”
Christine felt her chest tighten a little. “Okay,” she said, taking Emily's hand and standing up. “Why don't we find Santy, and maybe your Mum will be there, okay? And we can ask the nice shop lady to call her on the loudspeaker too. And then she'll know where you are.”
Emily just looked up at Christine.
“Is that okay?”
Emily nodded.
“Well, let's go back to the escalator anyway.” Christine wanted to move to where there might be more people. She was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic between the clothes rails. “This way, sweetie.”
As they walked hand in hand towards the escalators, Christine kept looking for any shop employee. So typical. When you didn’t want one, they were all over you like ants.
“So Emily, have you brothers and sisters?” She could hear the false joviality in her own voice.
“Bruder,” Emily said, staring straight ahead of her. As they approached the escalator, Christine spotted a guy with an earpiece and a walkie-talkie, and was about to approach him when she felt Emily pull her hand away.
“Mammy!”
“Emily,” a woman in her thirties ran towards them and slid to her knees in front of the child, grabbing her to herself. “Where were you? I looked around and you were gone. What are you doing on this floor?” The woman looked up at Christine with an uncertain expression.
“She was wandering through the clothes over there,” Christine pointed back to where they had been. “Calling for you. I was bringing her over to the security guard.” She pointed at the man who hadn't left his post, but was looking over at them with all the concern of someone who was about to go on his coffee break.
The mother looked hard at Christine, and must have seen no malice. “Thank you,” she said into the child's hair. “We were going up to the top floor to see Santa. She must have gotten off here without my noticing.” She pulled away from her daughter, and looked at the phone which had been in her hand all the while. “I'd better ring Daddy,” she said to Emily. “He's searching for you downstairs.”
Christine decided she was no longer needed, and had an overpowering urge to get away. The mother was engrossed in her phone, and didn't acknowledge her again as Christine started towards the escalator, all thoughts of shopping gone. As she stepped onto the first stair, she looked back. Emily was standing, holding the end of her mother's long cardigan. She looked straight at Christine, and waved. Christine's gaze was glued to her little face, until the stairs carried her away, and she could see her no more.
Outside on the street, her legs kept walking, although her head had no idea of where they were taking her. She just wanted to be away from the store, from Emily and her mother. She battled her way through the throng, clutching her bags to her. She needed to get out of town. Everywhere she looked now, she could see parents with small, wide-eyed children, staring at shop window displays, gazing at the street decorations, queuing for sham Santas. She didn't want to go back to her apartment, and she couldn't phone Gavan. If she went home, her Dad would worry, and start talking about doctors and counselling and taking a nice long holiday again, and she couldn't bear that. She just wanted to sit with someone and cry, and be hugged in silence. She thought of little Emily, and wished she could just sit on the ground right here herself, hide her head, and sob.
She stopped next to a lamp-post, took her phone from her bag, and dialled a familiar number.
“Emily? Are you at home? Can I come over?”
~
“No, really, I'm feeling much better now. It was probably just something I ate. Sorry for missing dinner Gavan. I'll call you tomorrow.”
Christine felt increasingly guilty about Gavan. He had been so good to her. Maybe it was time to talk to him. Really talk to him. But no sooner than she considered it, she knew she wouldn't. Couldn't. Not yet. What if he hated her for it? And he would. How could he not. She dropped down on the sofa and wrapped her dressing gown around her. A beeping noise came from the cushions somewhere. A text from Aggie.
RU HOME? FREE 2 SKYPE?
Christine put the phone back under the cushion. She couldn't face Aggie and her ever-increasing bump. Not today. She looked at her watch. It was very early in Sydney. She must be having difficulty sleeping still. Jamie was probably on a trip. Poor Aggie, she probably just wanted to talk to her sister. Christine knew she should phone her. But she couldn't. She just couldn't.
Just some more guilt to add to the load she already carried with her every day. Staring at the television, Christine found she had no more tears to shed that day. She just sat, watching fatuous, would-be millionaires being goaded onto international television for her entertainment.
Fourteen“I suppose I'd better go 'round and open the door for you.” The taxi driver winked at her as he passed her change over from the front seat. “We can't have Cinderella opening her own door now, can we?”
Christine was about to object but he was too fast, and before she knew it, he was standing at her door, holding out a hand to her. She snapped her purse closed and took a deep breath.
“Have a good night, now. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, wha.” He laughed at his own hilarity as he walked back around his car and got in.
The hotel fronted grandly onto the city street, and the taxi had deposited her right at the main entrance. Her fifties style dress fell neatly back into place in a swirl of black netting and silk. She looked good. At least, she thought she looked good. She had bought the dress and the delicate lace shrug especially for this night. The CarltonWachs Christmas party was a lavish affair. Last year she had felt totally under-dressed. This time, she was going to show off a little.
“Woo hoo. Looky here. It's Sandra Dee.” Craig came walking towards her in the lobby.
“Shut up, monkey boy,” she said, but she was glad of his attention. She followed him through to the main bar where she spotted some of the other dealers standing, all dressed identically in black tuxedos. They raised their glasses to her, and she smiled back. “I need a drink.”
“Yes ma'am. What'll it be?”
“I'll have a glass of bubbly if you're buying?” She smiled sweetly at him.
“Good choice. And whereas you know I would buy you a Jeroboam if that was what you wished for, Mark has already put his card behind the bar. So this one's on the mother ship.” He beckoned the barman over and pulled out a stool so that she could sit. The barman poured a glass and handed it to Craig. “Enjoy it.” Craig said to her. “I'd say it'll be more Cava and less Bolly when we go inside to the function room.”
Christine put her purse on the bar, and hopped up onto the bar stool as daintily as she could while negotiating her net skirts. She took the glass from him. “Cheers Craig. Happy Christmas. I'm glad you decided to come.”
“Cheers.” He took a long swig of his pint. “Yeah, well, it would have been a shame to miss out on a free bar. If I'm not getting a bonus this year, at least I can get something out of them.”
“So gracious. As always.” She raised her glass to him. “So who else is here? I thought I was going to be late, but I don't see many.”
“Most of our floor is here. There's a gang of them out in the courtyard having a smoke. They'll be back in soon enough.” Craig drained his glass and ordered another. “Wait til you get a load of Petra.” He winked at her. “Wow. She's some dark horse.”
“Have you seen her?” Damien Forde appeared beside them, having apparently tuned into their conversation at the mention of Petra's name. “She is a goddess.” Damien seemed to have been making the most of the free bar. �
��Who knew? I always thought she was a bit tarty.” He belched. “And a bit of a bitch.”
Craig raised an eyebrow at Christine who was trying not to involve herself in the conversation. She spotted Shay standing with his back to her, and was about to call his name, when her attention was annexed by a group entering through the side door of the bar. She recognised a handful of CarltonWachs PAs and some administrative staff from other floors, followed by three or four of the dealers, all clad in tuxedos. And Petra was leading the way. Christine had to check herself in order that her mouth didn't fall open. Petra looked stunning. Her long hair was wound in a lustrous knot at the top of her head, and she wore a sparkling floor length black gown, cut all the way down to her navel. She must have been wearing six inch heels, because she almost looked tall, and her eye make-up was feline and smoky. The total ensemble certainly made an impression. Christine was suddenly glad that Gavan wasn't there. As she turned away, she glimpsed Mark leaning against the bar, gawping at Petra. Christine felt her cheeks tingle. So typical. Men really were all the same. All it took was a little cleavage, and they were sold. She straightened her back and smiled straight at Craig who seemed to be the only man in the room not staring at Petra.
From his vantage point just further along the horseshoe-shaped bar, Mark had watched Christine arrive into the room. He shrank down behind Melanie and Shay who thankfully were seated such that they inadvertently shielded him from her. If he caught her eye, she might come over and he'd have to talk to her. He necked the remains of his second gin and tonic, and nodded at the barman, who nodded back.
“And then,” Melanie continued, “he says, I'm gonna be sick, Mom. And blahh.” Melanie re-enacted her six-year-old's earlier vomiting episode, much to Shay's amusement. “And the taxi was waiting outside. So I had to change into this old thing.” She pulled at her dress like it had done something to disgust her. “And my shoes still have vomit on them.” Shay looked down at her feet and laughed even harder. “Anyway, thank goodness Andrew wasn't coming out too, because I just left him there to deal with it all.”
“And is Tommy okay?” Mark pretended to be listening when he was in fact watching Craig air-kiss the love of his life just feet away from them. He wanted to kill Craig.
“Oh God, yeah.” Melanie leaned back on the bar like someone without a care. “If you're going to eat three bowls of coco-pops in a row, you're going to puke. I'd already warned him.”
Mark watched Christine drink the champagne Craig had got for her. He definitely hated Craig.
“Can you get over herself?” Melanie elbowed Shay, and all three of them turned to see Petra enter the bar like a queen with her loyal subjects teetering after her. “Doesn't she look amazing? Although, of course, I looked like that before Tommy puked on me.” She laughed hysterically.
“I'm sure you looked fabulous,” Shay said. “And you still do, of course,” he added.
“Oh, I know it's been a while since I had those stats,” Melanie smiled, looking over at Petra who seemed to be surrounded by men in bow-ties.
“Well, I think everyone looks great,” Shay said almost proudly. “Don't you think so Mark?” Mark was finishing his third drink watching Christine watching Petra. Shay regarded him with the look of someone who was trying very hard not to worry.
“Mark does too,” he said under his breath.
At nine PM, Petra sashayed around, stopping at any CarltonWachs staffer she saw, letting them know that it was time to go to the function room for the sit-down meal. Christine watched her from her perch at the bar. Petra was glowing with the aura of someone who was very much on-duty and enjoying her role. She had a small group of helpers, some of the younger administration staff and one of the marketing juniors, but she was in control. Christine noticed more than one man stop her as she walked through the bar. She admired how she seemed to bat them off without causing offence, each encounter a small confidence boost to be noted down and stored away.
Craig gathered his jacket and Christine’s purse from the bar. “Shall we?” He held out his arm to her. They wandered into a room off an adjoining corridor, and found seats at a table next to a couple of the analysts. Christine left her champagne glass down and excused herself while Craig went over to the bar in the corner of the room, past the dance-floor. In the ladies' room, she checked her make-up, and checked her phone. No text from Gavan. He was also at his office Christmas party, but they had gone to Galway for the night to meet with their sister office there. She was a little disappointed that her dress was wasted in that respect. Had he been out in Dublin also, they would very likely have met up later on. A stall door opened up behind her.
“Hey Chris. You look fabulous.” Amanda still had her skirt up around her hips and appeared to be pulling at the lining. “Not used to these bloody stockings,” she laughed. “Have you seen the Queen B? B for bitch.” Amanda rummaged through her bag and took out a mascara.
“She certainly knows how to make an entrance.” Christine cast a quick eye around the room to make sure Petra was not within ear-shot. “It is a great dress though.”
“Hmm.” Amanda kept focused on her own reflection. “Who are you sitting with?”
“Craig and I are at Harry's table.”
Amanda squealed. “Great. So am I. Come on. Let's get out there before some of the lads steal our seats.”
Christine checked her phone again quickly before slipping it back into her purse and following Amanda.
~
Mark had the sensation of floating rather than walking as he left the bar and headed for the function room in the company of Dave from the legal department. He felt sure that he was listening intently to what Dave was saying, but he found it somewhat confusing that he could somehow see himself listening as he walked. And when he tried to recall what Dave had said in order to involve himself in the conversation, he found that his mind was blank.
It seemed most of his staff were already seated when he entered the big room. He looked around to see where she was. Maybe, just maybe there was a chair empty next to her, at her table. And maybe, just maybe, she would turn and see him, and wave him over. And he would sit next to her, and it would seem like the whole room had vanished, and they would be served their three course meal with petit fours, and then they would dance, and it would be all so beautiful because she was so beautiful. Mark felt himself sway to the music in his head, and then he was being steered towards a table, and when he looked up it wasn't Christine holding his arm, or even Dave, it was Shay.
“Shay. I was just looking for Christine.”
“Ah yeah, well, sure have a seat here next to me, and we'll sort that out afterwards.” Shay seemed to be smiling animatedly at no one in particular. Before he knew it, Mark was sitting at a large, circular table, a small plate of prawns already in front of him, and Shay seated beside him. “Why don't you have a couple of these.” He poured Mark and himself a large glass of water each, and passed the jug on. When Mark looked up, he could see Melanie watching him. The rest of the table was filled with guys from Shay's team, all of whom seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations and their own prawns.
Mark drank the water back. The fog that had been all around and inside his head seemed to clear a little bit, and he tried to focus. Christ. He was hammered. And it was early. He coughed, and pulled at his bow-tie, before reaching over and taking Shay's water and drinking that too. For some reason he noticed that he was the only one at the table still wearing his dinner jacket, so he tried to remove it as inconspicuously as possible.
Shay reached over and helped him hang it on the back of his chair. “Just have something to eat. You'll be fine,” he said without making eye contact, and Mark did as he was told. Only when he had finished his prawns did he notice that the seat next to him was occupied by Freddie.
“Oh, Fred. Didn't notice you there.”
“No worries, Mark.”
Mark was mortified. He searched for something computer-related to say, but could think of nothing. “Y
ou wouldn't pass me the bread rolls there, would ya Fred? Thanks mate.”
After eating two bread rolls and his roast beef main course, Mark felt a little less drunk. Although he had attempted to involve himself in some of the conversation at the table, he knew that he hadn't been saying much, and was in no doubt that the others were aware of the state he was in. Various colleagues had come up to him during the course of the meal, but thankfully Shay had done most of the chatting. As the many waiting staff circled, leaving cups and saucers at each place, he stood up and put his hand on Shay's arm.
“I'm just going outside for some air. Thanks mate.”
Shay looked up at him. “You're sure you're okay?”
“Sure.”
Without making eye contact with anyone, he walked from the room, through the lobby, and out of the front door of the hotel onto the street. He couldn't go to the courtyard for fear of meeting half of the company out there enjoying their post-prandial ciggies. He longed for a smoke himself, and decided to walk as far as the convenience store down the street. Outside it was cool. Refreshing. The relative quiet of the road buzzed in his ears after the noise of the dining room. As he walked, he felt a vibration against his thigh. He stopped and reached into his pocket.
Shit.
Two missed calls from Jennifer.
Shit, shit, shit.
He looked at the times. She had tried to call him at eight twenty, and again at eight thirty-five. That would have been while he was getting shit-faced at the bar. Marvellous. There was also a text. He clicked on it and massaged his eyes, trying to clear the remaining gin-fog away. The text was from her too. Even before Scotland, Jennifer had not liked texting. And when she did text, she never abbreviated anything.
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