Alberta Clipper

by Lambert, Sheena

Nina hopped up, pulling Shay after her. Erica stood and smiled pointedly at Mark, and followed them out. Christine went quickly after her. In the hallway, Shay handed out coats from the cloakroom. “Doesn't matter if it's yours, just take one while we're outside. It's freezing. Oh, the champagne.” He threw a few coats at Mark, and rushed into the dining room.

  Mark turned to Christine. “Here,” he opened a coat, and she turned her back to him and slipped her arms into the sleeves. She closed her eyes and wished that he would scoop her hair up from inside the collar, but he didn't. She went outside after Erica and Nina without looking at him.

  Their breath turned to icy mist the moment they stepped onto the gravel, and it swirled and shimmered in the light from the porch. They walked out onto the driveway. Groups of voices wafted through the freezing air, other merry gatherings of friends and families close by, all ready to greet the New Year. Fireworks were being set off all around them now, individual rockets, only amateur displays, but enough to raise the feeling of exhilaration that was already bubbling within Christine. When she stumbled on the gravel and felt Mark's arms around her, catching her, she almost exploded herself. She didn't look at him, but she pressed herself nearer to him. There was a loud pop from inside the front door, and Shay dashed out with champagne flutes dripping from his fingers and a bottle of Moët under his arm. Mark's own arm didn't move from Christine, pressing into her through the thickness of Shay's lined Barbour, but he turned and took an empty glass from Robert who had followed Shay out. Christine did the same, and Shay tipped some fizz into each, not concerning himself with the pouring angle, the excessive foam. If he noticed how close they were standing, he didn't say, he just made his way over to his wife, and poured more shots of champagne into outstretched glasses.

  “Shh, listen,” Nina silenced them, and they could hear the sound of counting drift over the hedges.

  “Eight, seven, six -”

  They all turned to face the road, as if it was from there the New Year might come. Shay, Nina and Erica huddled together next to Robert, whose arm was around his wife's shoulder. They kept their backs to Mark and Christine, possibly for no reason at all, possibly because the electricity surrounding them was too powerful to look straight at. They stood, holding their glasses, counting down to just another moment, and at three, Mark pulled Christine’s body to his, and kissed her.

  And by the time the shouts of 'Happy New Year' could be heard from over the hedges, and Nina had released Erica from her embrace and was turning to her husband, Mark and Christine were standing apart, their faces alight as they moved towards their friends, new and old, to wish them luck and happiness in the twelve months ahead.

  “You might have waited for us,” a shivering Laura walked towards them, hand-in-hand with Fitz.

  “The New Year waits for no man,” Shay said as he reached out to shake Fitz's hand.

  “Happy New Year, little sister,” Nina hugged her with an admonishing glare. As she turned to kiss Fitz, Laura relieved her of her champagne glass.

  “Oh, it's freezing out here,” Laura said, and drained the glass. “So, what'd we miss?”

  Nineteen“Stop thinking about it so much. Where is she now?” Nina lifted a handful of blueberries from the large glass bowl in Mark's hands, scattering them delicately on individual cheesecakes which were sitting waiting on a row of dainty, floral plates.

  “I'm not sure.” Mark looked out towards the hallway. “In the loo, I think.”

  “Well maybe you should just take her home. Now.” She lifted a sieve from a bowl, and icing sugar descended on the blueberries like a light dusting of snow. “I'm finished with that.” She nodded towards the bowl Mark was still holding next to her.

  “What about dessert?” Mark didn't care about dessert, but he didn't want to be rude. Nina had gone to so much trouble.

  “Isn't that what you'll be getting back at yours?” she sniggered.

  “Nina, seriously. We can't just leave the party.”

  “Oh look.” Nina set the sieve down, and a cloud of sugar rose up from the worktop. “We've already had one couple sneak off. No one will care if a second one does.” She turned back to the cheesecakes. “Well, except maybe Erica.”

  Mark looked down into the blueberries. “I know. I'm sorry if -”

  Nina turned to him. “Forget it. It was just a naughty idea of mine.”

  “It was a good idea,” said Mark. “If things had been different.”

  “Well, I think you should strike while the iron is hot, or whatever. Take her home. Before she gets cold feet.”

  Mark's eyes widened. Nina was right. And she might get cold feet. He needed to get to her before she went back into the room to the others. He set the bowl down and headed for the door, before turning back around and planting a kiss on Nina's forehead. “If I'm not back, please say thanks to Shay and everyone.”

  “Sure I will.” She smiled.

  “I hope I'm not back.”

  “I know, Mark. I know.”

  ~

  The hallway was cool and still. Mark stood outside the cloakroom door for a second, before knocking gently on it with one knuckle.

  “Christine?”

  The door opened. She looked nervous. He took her hand and led her into the deserted dining room and shut the door. She didn't speak. All he wanted to do at that moment, was fall to his knees at her feet, but he stood where he was, her hand still in his.

  “I want to bring you home.” His voice was almost a whisper.

  She said nothing. The dying candlelight danced shadows against her beautiful face.

  “I want you to come home with me.” He was beginning to lose his nerve. “Christine?”

  “I want to come home with you too.” They stood there, apart but for her hand in his, and although he wanted to kiss her again, he knew he couldn't. He couldn't have stopped at just one kiss. His practical mind raced with plans for their escape, until some instinct took over, and he opened the door again and they went back out into the hall. He grabbed his coat from the hooks behind the cloakroom door, and she pointed out hers without speaking. He opened the front door quietly, and closed it again behind them without either of them uttering a word. They walked awkwardly, quickly, his arm around her shoulder, hers wrapped around herself, until they came to the main road.

  It was here Mark realised that his hastily formed plans had obvious holes in them. It was New Year's Eve. New Year’s Day. The chances of them getting a cab at twelve-thirty in the morning were slim at best. He cursed himself silently as he looked one way, then the other up the dark, silent road. He didn't want to verbalise his concerns, didn't want to break the spell that surrounded them. But after ten seconds, he could feel himself becoming frantic.

  And then, there they were. Not one, but three cars with yellow lights on their roofs, coming towards them. Mark could have cried for joy. The first cab pulled up beside them, and he had to let go of Christine as they sat into the back seat. He put his arm back around her, and she snuggled into him, her head under his shoulder, on his chest. He gave his home address, and the driver just nodded. The car travelled through suburbia, the roads getting busier as it got closer to the city. They didn't speak. She didn't look up at him. He hoped she wasn't falling asleep. But then she lifted her arm and rested her hand on his thigh, and he thought he might die.

  As the cab turned along the canal, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and she sat up straighter.

  “Almost there,” he whispered, and she smiled at him.

  Mark willed the taxi along the road until he saw the familiar green post box standing like a sentry outside his gate. “Just here.” He stuffed a twenty at the driver, and opened the door, holding it as she slid along the leather seat and swung her legs out and onto the pavement.

  “Cheers, mate. Happy New Year,” the driver saluted him.

  Mark took her hand again. He didn't want her to change her mind. He pushed the gate open and dug in his pocket for the door key. Inside, it was dark a
nd cold. They stood in the hallway, and he fumbled for the light switch.

  “I'm sorry. The heating's not on,” he said in low voice. He wasn't sure what to do. He knew what he wanted, but he didn't want to push, to upset her, to ruin it. “Do you want a drink?”

  “No,” she said, and she took off her coat and threw it over a chair that stood next to the hall table. She said no more, but she went to him, and put her arms inside his coat and around his waist, enveloping herself in him, her head on his chest.

  Mark needed no more encouragement. He pressed his hands along the length of her torso. She felt so slight to him, so slender. He shrugged his own coat off and threw it over hers, and led her up the stairs into the darkness.

  ~

  In all the best stories, the heroine is literally swept off her feet by the hero. It was the most accurate way Christine could describe what was going on as she climbed the stairs behind Mark and followed him through a white painted door, to what must have been his bedroom. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the moon visible in the sky outside the large sash window. The whole thing felt so like a fairytale, that she played along with her role, let him hold her, let him kiss her like she'd never been kissed, like he wanted to consume her, like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.

  Like he had waited two years for this moment.

  Maybe Nina had been right. But what was so totally unexpected, so startlingly apparent now, was that she wanted him too. She wanted to be held, and kissed, and her clothes taken from her, she wanted to stand in front of him, naked, while he looked on her like she was the most perfect being in the entire history of beings.

  She had wanted to cleanse herself of Gavan, to not look at herself and think only of him, and Mark was here to help her do that. But as he laid her down on his bed, with the most gentle of touches, she saw that this was more. She looked at him, into his eyes, and was taken aback with his want for her. A want that she felt the need to satisfy for him. For Mark.

  ~

  Mark was woken by the sunlight streaming through the window of his room. He lay on his back, almost afraid to look. Then he saw her bare leg, thrown over the duvet, and he knew it was real. He turned his head, hoping she was still asleep so he could just look at her, just savour the moment. Her bare back was to him. He could see her neck where her hair was pulled to the side beneath her. She seemed to be asleep. He turned his head slowly to steal a glance at the clock on his bedside locker. Nine thirty. Wow. He must have slept after all. He had been certain that he wouldn't have. Watching her fall asleep in his arms last night, he had wondered how he could ever actually sleep with her next to him, but he must have done. Every fibre within him wanted him to jump up, stretch his arms, bounce on the bed, open the window and whoop for joy at whoever would listen. But he stayed as still as he could, just to make it last as long as he could.

  But then she breathed in heavily, and pushed her arm out from under the duvet, and turned onto her back. Her eyes opened slowly, and she lay there for a second. Mark watched it all, afraid to move, to speak. Then she turned her head to him, and smiled, squinting in the bright sun, low in the sky, piercing through the pane of glass behind him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.” Mark knew he had to say something more. He needed to take control. Not mess this up like everything else in his life by behaving like a passenger. He needed to steer. Christine was here. In his bed. He wasn't sure how the hell it had happened, but it had, and he was not going to watch it as it ran away from him. Whatever it was.

  “Christine.”

  “Yes Mark,” she smiled.

  “Can we do something? Before we say anything else? Can we please just forget the fact that we're colleagues? Just for now? Can we just pretend that we're friends, and leave all that other stuff to one side? Deal with it later? Even just for today? Even just for this morning?”

  She propped herself up on one elbow on the pillow, facing him. “Whatever you say. You're the boss.”

  “That's not funny.”

  “Sorry,” she chuckled. “Okay. I never met you before last night. You are just some random friend of a friend that I met at a dinner party.”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “But doesn't that make me a slut?” She raised an eyebrow.

  He laughed, and pushed her loose hair behind her ear. “No.” He lifted her hand and touched each of her fingers in turn. “It makes you the girl I have wanted for the longest time, and it makes me the luckiest guy I know.”

  She looked down at him in silence.

  Mark willed her to say something. He needed to know how she felt. What she felt.

  Then she sat up in the bed, pulling the duvet up under her arms, and looked around her. “Nice room.”

  “Thanks. I would have tidied it if I'd known -”

  “That you'd be getting laid?”

  “Don't say it like that.”

  “Were you not expecting to bring Erica back last night?” She grunted. “She was certainly expecting it.”

  “No.” He didn't know what way to sit in the bed. He definitely didn't want to get out, but he didn't want to sit up next to her either like an old couple, so he stayed lying on his back. “I'd never met Erica before.” Mark knew that he had to take control. He was not going to let this get away from him. He had to be clear with her. “And I had no idea you were going to be there,” he said. He had to be totally honest about what he felt. That was the only way. “And I thought you were, attached,” he said, looking up at her.

  She fixed her gaze on something across the room. “I'm not attached to anyone,” she said.

  Mark ran his hand down her bare arm. “Good,” he said, and she turned to him, and after a moment lay down again with her head on the pillow.

  “And you're not attached?” she said.

  He hesitated. “No.” It almost felt disloyal saying it, here, in Jennifer's bed, in what was still half Jennifer's house. But he knew it was the truth. Well, the real truth, he could see now, was that he was attached, but only to the girl lying beside him. But he didn't think it was the right time to tell her that. He didn't want to scare her off. But then he didn't want to play games either. Definitely no games.

  “The truth is,” he whispered, “that I have wanted you for a long time. Maybe I only really saw it when Jennifer left, but, well, I think you are so beautiful, so gorgeous.” His eyes flickered over her. “I’m fairly sure that I've thought that since I first met you.”

  “You first met me two years ago,” she said. “You managed to keep it to yourself pretty well.”

  “I thought so too,” he turned on his back. “But apparently Nina has suspected all along. I think she saw it before I did.” Christine put her hand on his chest. He covered his eyes with his forearm. “This is all a little mortifying. Here I am confessing to having been in love with you for months, and you never looked twice at me before last night.”

  He knew she had heard the words, but it seemed she was choosing to ignore them. “You were practically married,” she said.

  “Never married.”

  “Well you were in a committed relationship, as far as I knew.” She was trailing her fingers through the hair on his chest, and he found it difficult to concentrate. “Of course I looked at you, but I just assumed you were someone else's.” She took her hand away.

  Mark ached for her hand to come back to him.

  “And there was the tiny detail of you being my boss.”

  He turned his head to her. “I'm not your boss today.”

  Her eyes looked dark, dangerous. She threw the duvet back and stood up. He wanted her so badly at that moment, it was causing him actual physical pain. She walked shamelessly around the bed to the window, and pulled the heavy brocade curtains over. His eyes followed her, but he didn't move. The room darkened, but the streaming sunlight still managed to find ways through to them, and she stood there, brazen, seeming to him like a haloed angel.

  “If you're not the boss to
day,” she said, pulling the covers back and sitting down next to him, her bare thigh touching his side, “then maybe I should take charge.”

  It wasn't even ten AM on January the first, and already Mark knew it was the best year of his life.

  ~

  It was more like lunchtime when Mark carried a breakfast tray of coffee and toast back up to his bedroom. He set it on the blanket box at the end of the bed, and sat down next to Christine, who was sleeping again.

  “Christine,” he stroked her cheek, her hair. “Coffee.” She opened her eyes. “I'm sorry, I haven't croissants or anything fancy, but -”

  “You weren't expecting guests,” she whispered.

  “Exactly.”

  She sat up and took a piece of toast and a mug of coffee from him.

  “I was going to hop in the shower, okay?” he said.

  “Sure,” she said.

  Five minutes later, he returned to find her flicking through a book he had been reading about bank collapses and global economic mismanagement.

  “Some light bed-time reading?” She laughed.

  “Yeah, well, that's Shay's actually.” He opened a drawer and took out a fresh t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

  “May I?” She pointed at his rarely worn dressing gown hanging on the back of the bedroom door.

  “Of course.” He took it down and gave it to her. She swung her legs out of the bed and pulled it over her arms. He tried not to stare. “Do you want to borrow some clothes? A t-shirt, or jeans or something?” It struck him that there were clothes belonging to Jennifer in the press in the spare room.

  “No, I'll just wear my dress. I have my coat. I'll be fine.” She stood up. “Okay if I grab a shower though?”

  “Of course, of course.” The atmosphere in the room suddenly felt awkward. He pointed out the door. “Just up the stairs there. On the return.”

  Mark tried not to giggle to himself as he searched the wardrobe for clean jeans. Christine Grogan was in his shower. Naked. He looked back at the tousled bed. No matter what, he had last night. That was forever. But he wanted so much more. He sat on a chair pulling on socks and tying the laces of his trainers, all the while staring at the bed. Remembering what had happened. Imagining what could happen. If this was it. If she loved him back. This could be like any Saturday morning, she would be in the shower, he getting dressed, getting ready to spend the whole day together. Every day, together. He thought briefly about work, but this was not the time for worrisome details. He could easily get another job. If it meant having her, he would gladly get another job.