Alberta Clipper

by Lambert, Sheena

  “That's true,” Christine remembered.

  “Your Dad was in Oz with Aggie.”

  “That's right.”

  “That was when I first met Craig. Remember?”

  “How could I forget,” Christine gave Emily a look. “You were shameless.”

  “I did nothing. He was flirting with me.”

  “Yeah. Well, let's just be grateful that's all he did.” Christine looked around. “He's probably here today too. I think he usually comes on Stephen's Day.” The next race was about to begin outside, and the room seemed to coagulate into little groups, each turned to the nearest screen, heads lifted.

  “Oh, no.” Emily tried to hide her face with her hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Parents of one of my pupils.” She turned in her seat until she was almost facing the wall. “Gambling is not an appropriate pastime for schoolteachers.”

  “Oh, come on,” Christine laughed. “It's Christmas. And it's not really gambling. You're Irish. It's a race meet. It's like a national pastime.”

  “Yeah well, it doesn't look good.” The danger seemed to have passed, and Emily brought her hand down from her face. “Did I tell you I met one of the Dads out in town a week ago?” she said. “I was with the book club girls. He was at his office Christmas party. He was so plastered I'm surprised he recognised me.” Christine laughed. “And on the school run the next day he was green. Actually green. I was sure he was going to puke in the playground. And when he saw me I could tell he remembered meeting me the previous night, but not much more. He looked really guilty and embarrassed. Hilarious.”

  “You're mean.”

  “Oh yeah. I even winked at him, so I'm sure he thinks he did something to be embarrassed about.”

  “How come you were able to remember it all so well?”

  “Ah, I had a tame enough night.”

  “I don't know how you can socialise with that group. They're all so boring.”

  “Ah now, Chris, you never gave it a chance.”

  “I did too. But that one – Caitriona, Carmina -”

  “Carina,” Emily corrected her.

  “Carina. She was a total bossy cow.”

  “Who was a bossy cow?” Gavan appeared beside her, carrying one pint and one hot port.

  “Oh, no one important. Thanks.”

  A group of girls walked past at that moment, and one of them, a tall girl with a head of auburn corkscrew curls, said hello to Jack. She cast her eyes over Emily and Christine, before noticing Gavan. Gavan raised his pint to her and she smiled at him, but after hesitating a moment, she kept on walking.

  “Who was that?” Emily asked.

  “Oh, just a girl from work.” Jack looked at the screen above their heads. “Come on Titus May.”

  “Did you place a bet? I thought you went to the bar?”

  Emily was already starting to sound like a nagging wife, Christine thought, amused.

  “There's a cashier at the bar,” Jack said out of the corner of his mouth. “C'mon Titus May.” They all turned to the screen.

  “Go on. He might just do it, Jack,” Gavan said.

  “Come on Titus May.” Jack handed his glass to Emily who threw her eyes to heaven. He stood, neck craned, slapping his hands together, willing the jockey on.

  “He's got fifty quid on it,” Gavan whispered to Christine. “He got a tip from a mate in work.”

  “Jaysus, come on Titus May,” Christine said.

  Jack froze in mid-clap. “Come on Titus May,” and a huge cheer went up as Titus May edged in front of his nearest competitor and crossed the line first.

  “Woo hoo!” Jack spun around and high-fived Gavan, before lifting Emily off her stool in a bear-hug.

  “That's two hundred and fifty for me, thank you very much.”

  “What? How much did you bet?” Emily looked horrified.

  “Don't ask,” Christine said.

  “Dinner's on me tonight guys. Courtesy of Titus May.”

  “To Titus.” Gavan lifted his glass to the screen.

  Emily shrugged her shoulders at Christine. “To Titus.” They clinked glasses laughing.

  “Skaal.”

  ~

  “I'm really sorry. I know we had a big night planned, but I just feel awful. I couldn't face going out.”

  Christine looked at her watch. It was only six-thirty. She had just left Emily after the last race had finished at four. She had been in great form then, all excited about the night ahead. “Did you eat anything weird? It must be a twenty-four hour bug or something. Have you been sick?”

  “No,” Emily didn't sound weak. “But I might yet. Look I'm really sorry Chris. Will you and Gavan just do your own thing? I'd really like Jack to stay with me.”

  “Sure, of course, but do you want me to come over to you? I could mind you for the night. Jack and Gavan can go out by themselves.”

  “No.” Emily sounded insistent. “You guys go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow. I promise.” She paused. “Or phone me later if you need me, okay?”

  “Eh, okay. I'll be fine. You're the one who's sick.” Christine started to wonder if Emily wasn't hiding something. Surely she wouldn't drop her best friend for a romantic night with Jack? That wasn't her style.

  “I know. Look, we'll text later, or whatever, okay? I'm gonna go. I need to lie down.”

  “Okay, sweetie. Mind yourself. I'll see you tomorrow for sure.”

  ~

  Christine met Gavan outside the restaurant as planned. He walked right up to where she was standing and kissed her cheek.

  “Sorry I'm late. Are you cold? Will we go in?”

  The waiter rushed over as they walked in and he closed the door quickly behind them. “Only two of you tonight, isn't that right?” he smiled at Gavan. The four of them were regular patrons of the place since Gavan and Christine had met there for the first time nearly six months previously.

  “That's right,” Gavan nodded.

  The waiter led them to a table set for two in the middle of the restaurant. It was busier than usual, being one of the few restaurants open for the holiday. Most of the other tables were already occupied. Christine hung her coat and scarf on the back of her chair. “So what did Jack say to you? Was Emily okay on the way home from the races?”

  “Eh, she went back to her parents' place actually. It was just Jack and me back at their apartment.”

  “Really?” Christine was puzzled. “That's strange. I thought she was dying to get back to their place having spent a full twenty-four hours with her parents yesterday. Did she say why?”

  Gavan took the menu handed to him by the over-burdened waiter, who proceeded to plonk two empty glasses and a carafe of water down on their table.

  “So Jack went back to their apartment with you then?” Christine shook her head. “I thought she said that he was taking care of her at their place.”

  Gavan studied the familiar menu. “Eh, maybe you picked her up wrong. I don't know. Or maybe he's planning to go over to her parents' place later.”

  “But did he not tell you what he was doing?” She poured them both some water and took a sip. “This is all very weird. Don't you think this is very weird?”

  “Can we have another minute please, mate?” Gavan looked up at the waiter who seemed relieved to be discharged for the moment.

  “Don't you know what you want?” Christine smiled at him. “You always get the same thing. You've ordered the same thing almost every time we've been here.”

  Gavan put the menu down and looked straight at her. “Look Chris. I have to tell you something. It's nothing. But I just want to tell you. So you know.”

  “Yeah?” Christine felt instantaneously sick in her stomach. Maybe she had Emily's bug. “What?”

  Gavan shook his head at the waiter who was coming in for a second attempt. “Look,” he leaned forward and reached for her hand across the table. “It was nothing. At the, at my office Christmas party. I kissed someone. It meant nothing. I was drunk. It was ju
st a snog. It meant nothing.”

  Christine didn't hear the last few excuses Gavan made. Her mind had suddenly stopped functioning normally, as if no longer a speedy processor but a slow, clunking machine, trying unsuccessfully to make sense of the words she was hearing.

  “What?” was all she could muster.

  Gavan lurched over with his other hand, but she pulled her own back onto her lap. “It was nothing, Christine. It was a Christmas party. It meant nothing.”

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  “No!”

  Christine wasn't sure if she actually believed him, but she found it didn't matter either way. Shag, snog, it all meant the same thing. Gavan was a lying, cheating, bastard.

  The evening started to make sense to her. “Did Emily find out? Is that why she's not here?”

  Gavan shifted in his seat. “Yes. She told me that if I didn't tell you tonight, that she would.”

  “How long has she known?”

  Gavan massaged his forehead with his hands, leaving red marks behind. “Jack told her today.” He paused. “She's pretty mad with him.”

  Christine looked at him in disgust. Was he trying to be funny? And so typical of Jack to know and not to rat his pal out. Typical, stupid boys.

  “Why today? Why did he tell her today?”

  Gavan was looking increasingly like someone who knew he was losing a battle, but had no escape route planned. “That was her. The girl we saw today in the bar. At the races.”

  Christine tried to get her brain to bring up a picture of the girl. She hadn't really noticed her. She wished she had paid more attention. But then she hadn't had any reason to. She knew Gavan worked with lots of women, just like she worked with lots of men. It was the twenty-first century. You couldn't spend your time regarding every colleague of your partner as a potential threat. Although maybe she should have been less trusting. Well, obviously she should have been less trusting.

  “Emily thought Jack looked guilty about something, she thought he had been with someone else. So he had to tell her.” Gavan sounded like he was trying very hard to convince himself not to punch Jack later.

  “What a great mate,” Christine said.

  “Oh look, Chris, it meant nothing. Maybe I should have told you, but it meant nothing. That's why I didn't say anything. For all I knew, you were snogging someone at your office do. It's not exactly unheard of. We're not married.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Aw, Christine.”

  “And I didn't.”

  “What?”

  “Kiss anyone at my Christmas party. I thought I had a boyfriend. A serious boyfriend. Why would I have kissed anyone?” Christine took some small pleasure in the fact that Gavan now looked scared. She could tell he didn't want to lose her. It made it more satisfying for her as she stood and wrapped her scarf around her neck. “I'm going now. Don't follow me.” Her own calmness surprised herself. “Why would you have risked this? I really thought it was worth something.” For a second she thought she might cry, but then thought the better of it. “Bye, Gavan.”

  Without looking at any of the diners who were almost all staring at this forsaken blonde, Christine stalked to the door, held open for her by a shocked looking waitress. Afraid that Gavan might try and follow her, she walked as quickly as she could until she got far enough away from the restaurant that she felt safe to stop. She checked behind her. There was no sign of him through the throngs of people out celebrating. Their collective breath mixed with the smoke exhaled by coatless cigarette puffers, huddled outside the bars lining the street. Christine looked up at the gaudy Christmas lights strung along the buildings. She suddenly felt very alone. She stood in a shop doorway, and pulled her phone from her pocket. It answered after one ring.

  “Christine?”

  “Well, I didn't see that coming,” she said.

  “I'm coming to get you. Where are you now?”

  “I don't know Ems,” she said, the tears starting to flow down her freezing cheeks. “I don't know.”

  Standing on the street, in a doorway, waiting for Emily to come for her, Christine could see the depressing truth of her words. Where was she? And where was she going? Most twenty-nine-year-olds had plans, even vague ones. A general idea of the life they would like to have. And most of them had made some headway in their chosen direction.

  Christine felt like she was stuck on a treadmill. She was moving alright, but getting nowhere, making no progress. For a moment she had thought that Gavan might be the way off. She had really begun to consider opening up to him, holding out her arms and jumping, hoping he might catch her, hoping that she wouldn’t be thrown off in a heap on the floor. But clearly, she had been wrong about him.

  You can only stay on a treadmill for so long before your legs begin to give way. And Christine was beginning to feel very tired.

  EighteenMark took a deep breath and pressed his finger to the doorbell. Behind the coloured glass pane, he could see the shape of a man coming towards him.

  “Mark. Right on time. Good to see you.” Shay beamed at him. Mark held out a bottle of champagne and a huge bouquet of flowers. “Ah man, you shouldn't have.” Shay sniffed at the flowers. “And roses are my favourite.”

  “Funny. They're for your lovely wife.” Mark stepped inside and wiped his feet on the mat. Shay closed the door behind him. “Chilly out there.”

  “Well, let me take your jacket and go on inside. I've a lovely ten-year-old scotch that will warm you up in no time.” Shay set the bottle and flowers down on the hall table, and took Mark's coat from him. Mark suddenly felt very nervous. Christ, he had never done this before. Come on his own to a dinner party. He had always been with Jennifer. What had he been thinking? Everyone here would be with someone. He'd be the Bridget Jones at the table, with the other guests sympathetically trying to include him in their conversations. He stood rooted to the floor, watching Shay's back as it disappeared into the cloakroom.

  “You go on in, Mark,” Shay said when he re-emerged, nodding towards the sitting room door. “I'll just bring the flowers into the chef. She'll be delighted. Oh, Bollinger.” He looked impressed. “A Grand Année. I might have to hide that one away for myself. Cheers, Mark. I'll just be a sec.”

  “Sure, no worries.” Mark took another deep breath, and followed the sound of voices into the sitting room. A faint scent of pine mixed with cinnamon met him at the door. Inside the large, square room the fire was lit, and a tastefully decorated tree stood in the corner, quietly trying to hold on to its needles for just one more week. In the middle of the room, a couple of leather sofas were set opposite each other, either side of a glass coffee table. Three faces Mark didn't recognise looked up at him as he entered.

  “Hello,” a glamorous raven-haired woman waved gracefully at him. The man seated next to her stood and held his hand out to Mark.

  “Robert Whitely. Next door neighbour,” he grinned.

  “Mark Harrington. I work with Shay,” Mark gestured vaguely in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Mark. Good to meet you. This is Sandra, my wife.” The dark beauty stayed sitting, but held a hand up to Mark, her golden bracelets jangling as they slipped down her tanned, slender arm. Mark took her hand, but instantly forgot her name, as something in the corner of his vision caught his attention, and his stomach contracted involuntarily. He turned around, and there she was.

  Christine.

  She was standing up from her seat on the other couch, taking a step towards him, reaching over, kissing his cheek. Mark closed his eyes ever so briefly and breathed in her perfume. She was talking. What was she saying?

  Just then Shay walked into the room. “Right, so are we all introduced?”

  “Not yet,” said a younger looking girl who was perched on the arm of the Whitely's sofa, swinging her leg and smiling greedily at Mark.

  “Okay, well Mark, you know Christine. This is Robert and Sandra.” Mark nodded at them. “They live next door. This,” Shay gestured dramatically at the gir
l on the sofa arm, “is Laura. Nina's sister. And Fitz, her boyfriend.”

  “Pleased to meet you Mark.”

  Mark nodded at her and at the balding, bearded guy seated across from her.

  “And this,” Shay gestured to the woman next to Fitz, “is Erica, an old school friend of Nina's. Well,” Shay flustered, “not an old school friend, I mean of course a school friend of old. From her school days. You know what I mean.”

  “No offence taken Shay,” Erica laughed. “Even if I am old, you will always be older.”

  “Good point,” he smiled at her.

  “Hello Mark,” she stood and shook Mark's hand which he must have held out, but he couldn't be certain. The voice in his head was speaking so fast, he was finding it difficult to keep up.

  She's here. Don't make an idiot of yourself. Where's her boyfriend? He's probably skiing or something. So why isn't she with him? Oh Christ.

  “Mark?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I asked if you work in the same office as Shay?” Erica curled her short blonde hair over her ear. “Did you know Nina when she worked there?”

  Mark tried to ignore the voice in his head.

  “Yes, yes I did. I knew them before they were a couple, actually.”

  “Wow, it's strange that we've never met before, isn't it? I've known Nina for years.”

  Mark swallowed. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

  “Here you go, get that into you Mark.” Shay handed him a cut crystal tumbler a quarter full with a golden drink. It smelled of turf and heather. He had to take it easy tonight. He could not risk a re-run of the Christmas party while she was here. But he definitely needed to take the edge off his nerves, so he lifted his glass to Shay and Erica in a toast.

  “Happy New Year, guys. Thanks for all of this.” The whisky burned his lips, and relaxed his thumping heart. The guy they called Fitz stood up and crossed the room to Laura. Erica sat back down. Mark had little choice but to sit in the vacated place between her and Christine.