Mr Right for the Night (2 page)

‘Mind the bicycles,’ Anna pointed out. ‘They
belong to the lads downstairs.’

‘Oh yeah, you said one was cute, didn’t you?’

‘One’s cute, one’s not. They’re students.’

They climbed the stairs and were soon seated in
Anna’s minute one-bedroomed flat. It was ensuite
in that it had a shower, a toilet with an ice-cold
seat that didn’t encourage you to sit for very long,
and a ridiculously small basin dribbling cold water.
But the rent wasn’t ludicrously expensive and at
her age she needed privacy. It was comfy, and she
rented it by herself. It was untidy most of the time
except for about three evenings a year when she
entertained friends and was forced to throw most
of her stuff under the bed before the first guest
arrived.

‘So how’s little Andrew?’ Anna asked politely. Best
to get the baby talk out of the way before moving on
to more important things.

‘Oh, he’s as good as gold. Not like other babies
who cry all the time.’

‘Good, great.’ Anna poured herself a generous
glass of wine and put her feet up. ‘I’ll babysit for
you any time.’

‘Yes, thanks er . . . that’s very generous of you.’

Not in a million years would Claire let her best friend
look after poor Andrew; God, it didn’t bear thinking
about. Andrew would probably be force-fed tins of
Chum while bottles of luke-warm milk would have
to suffice for Blackie.

‘Anyway,’ Anna continued cheerfully, anxious to
hurry things along. ‘About that note from Victoria.
Isn’t it extraordinary? And I mean it’s a bit ridiculous
sending out invitations at this stage. The party isn’t
for nearly four months!’

‘Oh, I suppose she’s giving people who live abroad
the chance to fly over for the reunion. I shouldn’t get
too worked up about it,’ Claire said mildly. ‘It was
probably meant as a kind enough gesture.’

‘Kind, me foot!’ Anna tugged at a long strand of
fair hair. ‘That one was never kind. Can’t you see
the only reason she’s invited us is to torment us with
stories about how well she’s done.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘Of course I’m right. Well, we’re not going. She
can shove her stupid party,’ Anna said firmly.

‘It mightn’t be too bad.’

‘Too bad? It’ll be terrible. God, Claire, wild horses
couldn’t drag me along to something like that. First
of all I’m very much partnerless at the moment, and
second of all I’m not prepared to go along and sing
Happy Birthday to a girl who made my teenage
years hell.’

Anna picked up a box of Pringles and began to
munch defiantly. Claire sipped her red wine slowly.
Neither girl spoke for a while.

‘You know if you don’t go it will be worse,’ Claire
said eventually.

‘How?’

‘She’ll think you haven’t made a success of your
life.’

‘Don’t care.’

‘You don’t want her saying “Poor Anna”, now
do you?’

‘I never thought about it like that.’

But it was true. That’s exactly what Victoria Reilly
would say. Anna could imagine her standing in the
dining room surrounded by antiques and chandeliers,
clinking her champagne glass and laughing
loudly. Suddenly conversations would hush and
Victoria, the beautiful bitchy hostess, would exclaim,
‘I
knew
someone didn’t show up. Anna Allstone
didn’t. Remember that very peculiar girl . . .’ and
everybody would remember and shriek with laughter.
God, it was a horrible thought.

Anna drained her glass and promptly refilled it.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘so I’ll go.’

‘You might as well.’

‘But only under one condition. I must, absolutely
must, find myself the perfect partner for the
night.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Claire raised her glass for Anna
to refill.

Anna frowned. ‘Do you think it would be difficult
meeting the perfect partner in Dublin?’

‘Have you ever tried looking for a needle in a
haystack?’ Claire asked unhelpfully.

‘Mmmm, you could have a point. I mean he’d
have
to be decent though. I’m not dragging some
small balding dingbat salesman along to meet the
victorious Victoria and Vince.’

Claire laughed. Anna could really get herself
worked up over the most insignificant things. People
changed as they grew older. True, Victoria and her
gang had been particularly nasty at school but that
was years ago. It was time to let bygones be bygones.

‘He’ll have to be the right mix, of course,’ Anna
continued. ‘No NYCDs.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Not in your class dears.’

‘Right.’

‘He’ll have to be good looking, of course . . .
in a classy way . . . without sideburns, cheap
leather jackets, rings on thumbs, et cetera.’

‘Why don’t you make a list?’ Claire hooted with
laughter. This was great fun.

‘Good idea.’ Anna didn’t laugh. This was serious
business. Her reputation was at stake here. ‘Give
me a pen.’

Claire took another sip of her wine. She was really
beginning to enjoy herself. It was great getting away
from Simon and Andrew for the night. Mind you,
when she got back home and saw the pair of them
fast asleep, she’d be cooing in her drunken state and
thinking she was the luckiest woman in the world.
She
always
did that.

‘Right,’ said Anna after a while, ‘I’ve made one.
It’s quite short though.’

‘Show us.’

Anna reluctantly handed over the list. Claire read
aloud.

1. No moustaches.

2. No shirts with horses on them.

3. No stunning exes.

4. No overdrawn credit cards.

5. No clingy loser friends.

6. No female friends who are
like a

sister
to them.

7. No hairy backs.

8. No problem spending money.

9. No control over the relationship.

10. No daft ideas about settling down.

‘There’s a lot of noes here,’ Claire said.

‘Well, the yeses are obvious. Yes, he has to have
a high-powered job. Yes, he has to be tall, dark
and handsome or tall, blond and handsome. Yes, he
has to have a decent car. Yes, he has to be hysterically
funny without being crude. Yes, he has to respect his
mother and sisters (without quoting them the whole
time) and yes, he has to think Cindy Crawford’s
looks are only average compared to mine.’

‘And seriously, what do you suppose your chances
are of finding this . . . wonderful specimen?’

‘Nil and none,’ Anna answered matter-of-factly.
‘But hey, there’s no harm in aiming high.’

‘You should have no problem meeting someone,’
Claire said kindly. ‘Everyone I know thinks
you’re very attractive . . . not to mention extremely
funny.’

‘Well, don’t mention it please. My mother always
told me that funny women invariably end up being
funny all by themselves. Or end up telling jokes to
the cat who won’t laugh unless he knows he’s being
fed soon. Men hate funny women.’

‘Do you reckon?’

‘Of course. Victoria didn’t have a funny bone in
her body and all the guys loved her ’cos she was
blonde with big boobs.’

‘Maybe you’re right. Look at the girls in
Friends
.
They’re funny and they’re always having men
trouble.’

‘Exactly.’ Anna stood up and opened a second
bottle of red. She was beginning to perk up. The
list had given her some perspective on life. It was
important to focus on what you wanted. You had to
see the dim light at the end of the tunnel. But there
was only one problem. Where in the world was she
going to meet this man?

Anna sat at an empty checkout trying to figure out
her life. Of course she wasn’t being paid to do that.
She was being paid to tot up the previous week’s
sales in ladies fashions and make a list of the top
ten sellers. But all that stuff seemed pretty trivial
compared to her most recent crisis. Her head was
throbbing a bit after last night’s wine and the bright
lights in the store seemed especially bright. Thank
God it was Tuesday morning and there weren’t too
many customers about. The place looked like a bomb
had hit it. Anna hated the sales when everything was
thrown into big metal bins near the doors under
gaudy red lettering: everything 99p. Of course you
got the odd punter who claimed she’d found one of
the new bright-blue £20 shirts in one of the bins. But
Anna was well used to those types. After four years
in the retail business she’d met them all; pregnant
shoplifters who weren’t pregnant at all, women who
swore blindly they hadn’t worn the silky black and
pink 99p knickers and were therefore demanding
a refund, women who’d bought pedal pushers in
the seventies only to find out now they didn’t fit.
Women! They were a frigging nuisance.

June Nelson would be around after lunch to discuss
the sales report. Anna was trying to force herself
to get motivated before the woman arrived. June
lived for Lolta’s and seemed determined to become
head of the company no matter what the cost. A
manless, childless, lifeless woman; Anna had an
inner dread of ending up like her. Of course Anna
had ambitions of her own. She’d love to head a
store eventually. After all, there was nothing she
didn’t know about retailing. But she had her own
private ideas about how a store should be run successfully.
And she certainly wouldn’t live or die for
this company. No way.

Elaine appeared at the desk. Elaine was manager
of footwear and also company mad but not as
mad as June. But at least June had an excuse –
she was middle-aged and discontent. Elaine wasn’t
even thirty! She was far too young to be married to
Lolta’s. Not of course that you’d ever mention marriage
to poor Elaine. It was a sore point. Elaine had
married young. She was now a deserted wife. Wasn’t
that a horrible image? It always reminded Anna of a
half-naked, starving woman in a desert! Ugh!

‘How’s the old head?’ Elaine gave a slight smile.
‘Anna, you’re a million miles away.’

Anna sighed. There was no point telling Elaine
about her silly search for a man. Elaine would
only scoff at it and remind Anna that happiness
could only come from within and until you loved
yourself no one else could love you and all that
crap. She’d suggest that Anna take up spinning
classes on a Monday, yoga on a Tuesday, pottery
on a Wednesday and so on. At any given
time Elaine was doing about five different evening
classes, which meant that she had absolutely no
time to meet men,
which was exactly the point
,
as Elaine would point out. But she was a good
sort and a dedicated and non-aggressive department
manager.

‘I’m trying to sort out this sales report.’ Anna
frowned. ‘Sales are up on last year but are not
matching budget figures. It’s a bit worrying.’

‘It’s not like you to worry so much.’

‘No, but
June
will worry and therefore
I
worry
that my head will end up on a platter after lunch.’