Alberta Clipper (19 page)

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 da
y.  She just sat, watching fatuous
,
would-be millionaires
being goaded onto international television for her entertainment.

“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 w
as 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 s
he spotted some of the o
ther 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 ag
ainst 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 f
urther 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 f
rom 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 t
able 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
.