He was sitting there, dreaming, tying his second shoe, when she came back into the room in a towel, her hair wet. She seemed to hesitate as she looked across the room towards where he sat.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Mmm hmm.” She had her back to him as she sat on the bed and pulled on her pants. The room was darker now. The sun outside had moved around to the side of the house. Mark stood up and opened the curtains a little.
“So how long is Jennifer gone for?”
He froze with the curtain in his hand. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, is she gone to Scotland for good?” She turned to look at him, and then turned away again.
“No. Well, I don't know. She's gone for a year.”
“A year?”
“Her contract was for a year.”
“So did you actually break up, or did she just get a job abroad?”
Mark's stomach began to churn. “Well, both. We were breaking up, and she got the offer in Edinburgh, and, and she left.”
“But is she coming back?”
“You mean here?”
“Yes, here.” She sounded as if she was losing patience with him.
“Christine, what are you trying to say? Are Jennifer and I broken up? Yes, we are. Broken up. She left me to go to Edinburgh. It's over.”
This time she turned around properly, and looked at him. “I'm not sure it is.”
“What do you mean?” Mark could hear his voice raising, but he couldn't help it. What the hell had happened in the shower? Had she slipped and hit her head?
Christine stood. “She's still here, Mark. Her stuff. In the bathroom. Lots of stuff. By the bed.” She gestured towards the locker on Jennifer's side. She walked over towards the open wardrobe, holding the towel tightly around her. “Even here.”
“What?” Mark looked inside. “There's nothing of hers there.” He recalled very clearly how those spaces had been emptied of any sign of her when he had come home one evening from work.
“No,” Christine's voice was also raised. “But there are empty shelves.” She pulled at a shallow door. “Empty drawers.” She pulled at another under a vanity mirror, and it rolled open, revealing some bottles of nail varnish and a small woven box full of cheap jewellery. Evidence. “She's been gone six months, Mark. Are you just waiting for her to come back? To move all her stuff right back in where it was before?”
She stared straight at him, waiting for an answer, but he couldn't speak. She turned and picked her clothes up from a chair where he had carefully folded them earlier, before he had made the coffee.
“I don't care Mark, if you and Jennifer get back together.” She walked towards the door. “It's understandable that you wouldn't want to just walk away from someone you have been together with for so long.”
“No.” Mark found himself unable to form a sentence in his head. “No.”
“But please,” she faced him with one hand on the doorknob, “don't tell me that I am all you ever wanted. That you care deeply for me. That you love me.” Her voice was almost unrecognisable to him, it was so hard and full of distrust. “Give me some credit. We had a nice night. You needed sex. I needed sex. But let's not pretend like it was anything more.” He could see her hand was shaking. “I don't need that.”
She stalked out of the room with her clothes in her arms, leaving Mark staring after her, aghast. He heard the door of the bathroom close, and he rushed out of the room.
“Christine?” He knocked. “Christine, it is not like that. Jennifer and I are over. Maybe I hadn't rearranged the house accordingly, but it has only been six months. Maybe I've avoided facing up to it, but it doesn't mean I don't feel what I do for you.”
The door swung open, and a clearly angry Christine pushed past him and down the stairs to the hallway.
“Christine.”
She took her coat up from under his, and opened the front door. Mark stood halfway down the stairs watching her leave, helpless. Then she stopped and stood back inside.
“Look Mark, I'm sorry,” she said. “I don't want this to be weird for either of us at work. Let's just, just forget that it happened.” She paused, as if she wanted to say more. Then she pulled the door open again. “Bye, Mark,” she said, and pulled it closed behind her. He heard the gate slam shut a moment later.
Mark's knees wouldn't hold him, so he sat on a stair, his eyes fixed on the black post-box hung on the inside of his front door. Five minutes. Five minutes was all it had taken for everything to turn, to fall apart. He stayed there, staring in shock for a moment. Then he stood quickly, and rushed back up and into his bedroom and straight over to his wardrobe, where he pushed his clothes across into the empty spaces left by Jennifer. He opened his sock drawer, and emptied half its contents into another, empty drawer Jennifer had used for her underwear. Then something occurred to him, and he rushed over to the window, just in time to catch a glimpse of Christine speed-walking down the street in her heels, and turning the corner towards town.
Twenty “Sweetie, you know you are not allowed scooter in the house.”
Mark didn't know how Nina could stay so calm, when all around her was noise and chaos.
“Lucy, pick up your dollies, good girl. Shay,” she hollered out the kitchen door. “Can you put a movie on for them or something? Sorry Mark.” She rubbed her temples. “I'm still a little delicate from last night.”
“What time did everyone leave?” Mark didn't really care what time anyone left.
“Robert and Sandra left around one. Not long after you guys. Erica and I stayed up talking until nearly four. Oh.” The recollection seemed to make her head throb even more. “I'm too old to stay up drinking til four. Laura and Fitz stayed over. They left this morning.”
“Right.”
Shay appeared at the kitchen door. “I'll just be two minutes Mark. I'll get them settled in front of the telly, and I just have to change Lucy. I won't be a sec.”
Nina looked proudly at Mark. “My husband is such a sweetie. He never seems to suffer as much as I do the morning after. Then again,” she took a sip of her restorative gin and tonic, “he didn't drink as much as I did. Or stay up as late.”
“Thanks again for all you did,” Mark said. “It was all great.”
“Never mind that.” Nina sat up straighter on her high stool. “Tell me what happened, now I can hear you properly. Did you go back to your place?”
“Have you spoken to Christine?” Mark asked.
“No, I haven't had a chance. It's been madness here all day. The kids are strung out after being at their Granny's for the night. Why? What happened?” She studied Mark's face. “What went wrong, Mark?”
“Nothing,” Mark said, looking at his glass of coke. “At first. It was all, it was all great.” He looked up at Nina. “Until this morning.”
“Did you, did she stay over so?” she said, her face lit up with excitement. It seemed that Nina didn't want to hear what had gone wrong, until she got a good picture of what had gone right in her head first.
“Yeah. She did.” Mark couldn't help grinning. “We did.”
Nina clapped her hands together. “I'm so pleased. I knew you two were meant to get together.” She squeezed Mark's knee. “That's so great. But wait. What happened this morning?”
The sound of Shay's voice promising popcorn to the children was getting closer. Mark and Nina looked up at the door. As Shay entered the kitchen, Mark caught a glimpse of the cloakroom door in the hall, and for a second he sat remembering the night before.
“So what's up? What's the conference about?” Shay stood at the breakfast bar and started to peel an orange from the fruit bowl beside them.
“Shh.” Nina waved her hand at him to silence him. “Go on Mark. What happened this morning?” She turned to Shay. “Christine stayed at his place last night.”
Her enthusiasm fuelled Shay's, and he smiled broadly at Mark. “Nice one, mate,” he said. “Shouldn't we be high-fiving right now?” He looked from his
wife to Mark and back. Nina glared at him.
“Please Shay, I'm only talking to you because, well because you are my friends. And you know her, and. Well, please, please -” Mark looked in desperation from one to the other.
“Not a word,” Shay nodded, pretending to zip his mouth closed.
Nina took a piece of orange from her husband’s hand. “So go on Mark. What happened?”
“It was all fine.” He glanced up at Shay. “Amazing, really. And then. And then this morning, she seemed to notice that some of Jennifer's stuff was still in the house, and she, well she went ballistic.” He took a swig of his coke. “That's what happened.”
Shay and Nina sat in silence looking at him.
“That doesn't really make sense,” Shay offered. “Why would she care if some of Jennifer's stuff was still around? It's understandable surely that some of her stuff might still be in the house.” He looked at Nina. “Right? I mean, she might be back next summer, she still owns half the house. I don't see the problem.”
Nina gave her husband a look that seemed to silence him, and she turned to Mark. “Do you expect Jennifer to move back in after her year in Edinburgh is up?” she asked.
“No.” Mark was emphatic. He shook his head. “We haven't really talked about what will happen next summer. But it's over. I know that. I've known that for months.”
A call came out from the sitting room for the forgotten popcorn, and Shay looked apologetically at Mark, and went to take down some bags from a press. He emptied them into a bowl, and left the room again.
Nina rubbed her hand up and down her glass which was wet with condensation. “Did you tell Christine how you felt about her last night?” She looked up at him. “I mean really tell her?”
Mark stared at his coke. “Yes,” he said. He searched Nina's face for a clue to what she was thinking.
“Well, maybe that rang a little hollow for her when she noticed Jennifer's stuff around the place this morning,” Nina said quietly. “She's obviously just been treated badly by Gavan -”
“What happened there?” Mark interrupted her.
“I don't know, but he did something wrong, I know that much. And if he did cheat, or lie, well…” She paused. “Maybe she felt like you were lying to her too.”
Mark tried to remember what she had said that morning, the words she had used. The way Nina described it, he could see how Christine might have thought he was playing her. Could he have fucked this up any better? Christ.
“I told her I loved her.”
Nina bit her lower lip, and squeezed his knee again.
“And do you know something?” He stared at a pineapple in the fruit bowl without seeing it. “I really do.”
Shay came back in at that moment. “So.” He looked at them. “Have we solved the mystery?”
“There's no mystery,” Mark said, hopping down from his stool. “I am just an ass. Mystery solved.”
“That's not true,” Nina looked at him. “You can sort this out, Mark. She went home with you. She clearly likes you. You just need to convince her that you are, genuine.”
“Yeah,” Mark shrugged his coat on and walked out to the hall. “I'm sorry for turning up like this guys. And it was a great night.”
“It was certainly eventful. Oh wait there a second.” Nina turned and went back into the kitchen.
Mark stood at the front door, trying not to make eye-contact with Shay. It struck him how these conversations were a lot easier when you were fifteen, and the only important part of the story would have been the fact that he had kissed Christine. It seemed things got more complicated the older you were.
“So we're off on holiday the day after tomorrow,” Shay said.
“Oh Christ, yeah, I'd forgotten all about that,” Mark nodded. “That'll be great. Two weeks of sun. I could do with that myself.” It had been two years since Mark had been on a sun holiday. He travelled so much with work, it was easy to forget what a real holiday was like.
“Well, it's never much of a break with the three loonies,” Shay tipped his head towards the sitting room door. “But the heat will be nice. And Nina is very excited about it.”
“It'll be great,” Mark said. “Although I could have done with a wingman first day back.”
“You'll be fine, buddy.”
“Here,” Nina returned with a plastic carrier bag and handed it to Mark. “Your dessert. You never had it last night.”
The three of them stood in silence for a second, before all sniggering like teenagers.
“Ah guys,” Mark smiled sadly, “I wish it were funny.”
“You'll sort it out, Mark,” Nina kissed him, as he opened the front door.
“And if not, there's always Erica,” Shay said, and winced as his wife’s fist connected with his shoulder.
Twenty One“Are you sure about this, Mark?” Petra turned a page of a large ring-bound diary which was propped on her lap. She shook her head and turned the page back again. “You'll have been away all the previous week. You'll only get in from Chicago on the Saturday, and this climate conference is in London the following Tuesday and Wednesday.”
She looked up at him over her black rimmed spectacles. They were a new addition on this first day back after the Christmas holidays. Mark wondered briefly if Petra's eyesight was actually deteriorating, or if she felt a more erudite look might foster a little respect from her colleagues.
“And the company strategy meeting is scheduled for the nineteenth and twentieth of this month,” she continued. “That’s the week prior to your Chicago trip. And two more days you will be unavailable.”
“Just book it please, Petra.” Mark closed his filofax and put it to one side. “I'll fly over to London early on the Tuesday morning so I can be here in the office the Monday before.”
Petra looked disapproving, but stood to go.
“Can you confirm where Christine is staying?” Mark could feel his face going red. “I presume she is staying at the conference hotel, and not the Hilton?”
“I believe so.”
“Well, book me in there too so.” The very important file Mark had opened on his desk to stare at was swimming before his eyes. “And I'll stay at the Hilton on the Wednesday night, and fly back to Dublin Thursday evening.” Petra was scribbling into her diary as he spoke. “See if Marcus can meet me in his office on Thursday morning.”
“Right.” She left the room.
Mark stopped pretending to read the text before him. He stood and went over to the glass wall of his office, and pulled the rarely used blinds, so the view out over the dealing desk was partially obscured. If he didn't, he knew he would spend the morning with one eye on her office door, hoping she might emerge. He sat down on a chair facing the window. He had a two day internal strategy meeting to prepare for. That was all he was going to think about. Nothing else.
~
“I don't care if the Queen of Sheba is attending that day, I am not available on the twentieth.” Christine stared Petra down. She used the full force of her more senior position in the company like an invisible army as she sat behind her desk, arms crossed, looking up at her adversary.
“But the agenda has been set.” Petra waved some paper at Christine. “The other analysts are all attending on the twentieth. You'll just have to change your plans.”
Christine's eyes were icy as she smiled up at Petra. “I won't be changing my plans. I won’t be in on the twentieth. Either you re-work the agenda, or I'll sit in on the meetings on the nineteenth.”
“But it's mostly financials on the nineteenth.” Petra looked like she might stamp her foot. “Mark wants you and the other analysts to give their presentations on the second day.”
Christine started shuffling paperwork on her desk, signalling that the discussion was over.
“I'll have to talk to Mark about this,” Petra said.
“You do that.” Christine clicked her mouse, and opened her email which she had already checked before Petra had walked in the door. Petra stood
staring at her for a second, before turning on her heel and leaving the room, closing the door behind her. Christine slumped back in her chair. She didn't like causing trouble, even for Petra, but there was no alternative. She could not give one of the most important presentations of the year on the twentieth of January. Maybe she would be fine. Maybe she'd wake that morning and be able out get out of bed and act like a normal human being for twenty-four hours. But based on the last few January twentieths, it was unlikely.
She couldn't risk it. She had planned to take the day off. It wasn't her fault if the HR department hadn't made Petra aware of that. Part of her reluctantly admitted that it wasn't Petra's fault either. But she didn't care. She couldn't care. It was what it was. And if Mark wasn't happy about it, well, Mark could shove it.
~
Mark sat in silence for a moment. “Well, just switch the agenda around then. Check with the analytical team and just move their presentations to the first day.”
Petra lifted a printed page she was holding, examining a second page stapled behind it. “But it'll throw the whole itinerary,” she said. “And I'll have to get the marketing department to agree to it.” She looked up from the pages and back down at them again.
“Look Petra,” Mark spoke in a low voice. “With all due respect to the marketing department, I don't give a fuck if they make their presentation on the nineteenth or the twentieth. If Christine isn't available on the twentieth, sort the analysts for the nineteenth. Just get it done, and issue the revised agenda to all the managers.”
Alberta Clipper Page 20