Mr Right for the Night (29 page)

‘But where would  you go?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You can’t come here.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Ah  come  on,  Claire,   don’t  be  like  that.   You couldn’t  bring  Andrew  here.  Aoife’s  studying  for her finals.’

‘I see.’

‘No,  you  don’t  see at  all.  In  fact  you’re  acting pretty  weird at the moment.’

‘Of course I’m acting weird. My husband is having an  affair  and  I’m supposed  to
carry  on like every
thing is normal, am I?’

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘I am
not
being ridiculous. But I can’t expect you to help me. You’ve a man in your life now so everything is fine. The whole world can fuck off when there’s a man on the scene, right?’

‘Jesus, I can’t believe you’re being such a bitch.’

‘I can’t  turn   to  anybody   else,’  Claire  sounded distraught. ‘Everybody hates me. Even Tom doesn’t want to know.’

‘Who the hell is Tom?’

‘Just a friend.’

‘Claire, you don’t have any male friends.’

‘I do now.’

‘Are you trying to tell me something?’

‘No.’

‘Did  you  . . .  you  didn’t  snog  this  Tom  fella, did you?’

Claire didn’t answer.

‘Jesus Christ,  don’t tell me you slept with . . .’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Claire snapped.

‘But you thought about  it, didn’t you?’

‘I might have.’

‘Jesus, Claire, there
is
something  wrong. Don’t do anything  stupid until Friday. I’ll come up to see you at the weekend.’

‘Sure.’

Anna put the pho
ne  down.  It rang again immedi
ately.

‘Claire?’

‘I don’t  think  so,’ said  the  bemused  male voice.

‘Try again.’

‘Darren,’ she grinned.  ‘Good to hear from you.’

‘I’m taking  you to Paris.’

‘What?’

‘First-class tickets. Friday night.’

‘Friday? Oh no, I can’t go this Friday.’

‘Right,’ He sounded  disappointed.

‘Sorry, it’s just  that  something  urgent  has  come up.’

‘Bummer.’

‘I know.’

‘You can’t get out of it?’

‘No,’ was Anna’s firm reply. Difficult as it was to turn  him  down,  friendship  had  to  come  first.  She wasn’t  going to give Claire  the chance  to fault  her again. ‘I’m sorry, there’s no way I can go.’

‘Well, I’ll catch you again,’ he said. ‘Bye bye.’ Anna  stared  at the phone  in near  disbelief. Had
she really just gone and  turned  down  the trip  of a lifetime  with  Ireland’s  sexiest  man  in  favour  of a night in with the moaning  Claire? Jesus, she needed her head examined.

All her  life she’d waited  for  Mr  Right  to  whisk her off into  the sunset  and  make  her dreams  come true.  Tonight  was  the  closest  she’d  ever  come  to
that.  And  she’d  blown  it.  For  Claire.  Claire  who thought the  world  owed  her  a lot  and  spent  most of  her  life trapped in some  kind  of bubble.  Damn Claire and her silly hallucinations. A guy as solid as Simon didn’t just go off and have an affair.

‘I cancelled  the  trip  to  Paris,’  Darren  was  on  the phone   to  Anna   first
thing   the  following   morn
ing.

‘Not on my account, I hope,’ Anna replied coyly.

‘Paris can  wait.  But I can’t wait  . . . to see you. I miss you. I can’t get you out of my head.’

‘Really?’ Anna was flabbergasted.

‘Can I meet you Saturday  afternoon?’

‘Sure,’ Anna said coolly while hugging the phone in delight,  ‘Saturday  is fine.’

How   the  tables   have   turned   for   you,  Anna Allstone, she thought as she whizzed through Salthill in  her  newly  delivered  company  car.  Only  a  few weeks  ago  you  were  being  given  the  run-around by  a  bunch  of  useless  eejits.  Now   look  at  you. With  a  guy  like  Darren   practically   eating  out  of your hand.

But  back  to  reality  she  was  seriously  worried about   Claire.  Her  friend  was  obviously  suffering from  some  kind  of
post-natal depression  or some
thing. But in fairness  Andrew  had  been born  quite a while ago.  Surely that  couldn’t  be it.

Anyway,  whatever   it  was,  Anna  was  sure  she could  sort  it all out.

Anna was particularly good  at sorting  out  other people’s problems.

She wondered when  would  be  the  best  time  to invite  Darren   to  the  party.  It  was  important not to  scare  him  off with  too  many  invitations. Then again  it  was  just  a party,  wasn’t  it? It wasn’t  like she was dragging  him along  to meet her parents  or anything  like that.  And it was vital that  he kept the weekend  free.

Anna parked  outside  the side door  of Lolta’s and let herself in.

The store  was empty.

She  turned   on  the  lights  and   deactivated the alarm.

The phone  was ringing.

‘Good morning,  Lolta’s?’

‘Anna, is that  you?’ a sharp  voice barked  down the line.

Jesus, it was June bloody  Neelane.  Was there  no escaping  that  wagon?

‘Yes it  is.’ Anna  tried  to  keep  her  voice  even.

‘Slight  change   of  plans   I’m  afraid,   Anna.   Miss Browne  has   been   taken   to   hospital   due  to  
ill
ness  and  I’ve nobody  t
o  man  the  store  this  week
end  apart  from  you.  I trust  you’ll  do  a  good  job and  we’ll  owe  you   another  day  off  at   a  later date.’

‘But June,  I . . .’

‘You’ll be more than capable, Anna. This is a good opportunity to prove  yourself,  remember. I’ll be at the other  end of the phone  as always,  of course.’

The bloody bitch! Anna stared at the dead phone, stunned. It was  as if June 
knew
  she’d made  plans for the weekend.  This was a disaster.  Claire  would kill her  for not  meeting  her and  as for Darren  . . . well, she  could  more  or less kiss him goodbye.  He wouldn’t  be  sitting  in watching  TV while  she ran around like a headless chicken trying to run a store at the other  end of the country.

She rang  Claire  who  was predictably devastated and said something daft like not knowing  how she’d get through another weekend  on her own.

‘On your own?’ Anna wasn’t terribly sympathetic.

‘You’ve a  husband, Claire,  and  you  need  to  start communicating with  him.’

‘I’d communicate  with   him  if  he  was  bloody well here.’

‘Well, ring the Samaritans so.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I mean  it,  Claire,  they’re  brilliant. They’ll  just listen and  you can get everything  off your  chest.’

‘But I’m not  suicidal.’

‘You don’t have to be. Just ring them.  I’ll talk to you later,  okay?’

Anna  hung  up  the  phone  and  sighed.  If Claire worked  as  a  retail  manager  she’d soon  know  the true  meaning  of drama. She rang  Darren’s  mobile but  it was switched  off.

On Friday, everything that could have gone wrong, did. The computers went completely  ballistic and a record  eight  staff  called  in  sick.  A  lorry  load  of goods  was  delivered  and  lay scattered  around the stockroom  waiting for  someone  to  have  a serious accident.

But Anna  coped. Somehow.

Back at the flat she poured  herself a double  G&T and  switched  on T
he  Late  Late  Show
.  Her  aching stockinged feet deserved  a break.

Aoife had  gone  home  for  the  weekend  and  the place was strangely quiet. Anna settled into the sofa and listened to some Irish ‘lollipop’ singer crooning into  the  microphone.  The  singing  sensation   was horribly  made up with circles under  her eyes. Anna was afraid  her  ginormous  head  would  topple  over any  minute.   God,  there  was  terrible  pressure  on women  in the public  eye to starve,  wasn’t  there?

Come  to  think  of  it,  Anna  hadn’t  eaten  much herself  over  the  last  few days.  There  was  nothing  like  a  heavy  work   schedule  to  keep  the  calories at bay.

The singing head
left the stage and  suddenly  Pat
Kenny was shaking
some politician’s  hand.  Yawn!

Then  out  of the blue the door
bell
rang. Anna’s heart  leaped.

The clock said ten-thirty.

Who in the name
of God  was outside?

‘Hi, is that  Claire?’

‘Yes it is.’ Claire didn’t recognize the voice. ‘Er . . . who’s this?’

‘Alice . . . remember from
school?’

‘Alice Flinton!  How
could I forget? Are you back for a break  or what?’

‘I’m back for good actually,  five years of living in  the city that
never
sleeps wears you out eventu
ally.’

‘Where did you get my new number?’

‘Your mum.  She was saying you’re well married now with  a son and  all. I believe he’s beautiful.’

‘Yes he is,’ Claire said proudly. ‘You have to come over and  see him.’

‘I’d love to.’

‘Come over tonight, why don’t  you?’

‘I wouldn’t  be intruding, would  I?’

‘Ah no,’ Claire  said lightly.  As if !

‘I’m dying to meet Simon too,’ Alice enthused, ‘I
heard  he’s a wild thing.’

Wild? Simon? Ah no. She must be mistaking  him for someone  else. ‘Er . . . who told you that?’ Claire asked hesitantly.

‘Oh,  it’s  just  that  my  sister 
Ellie,  her  friend works  i
n  the  same  firm.  She raves about 
him  so she does.’

‘And what’s
her name?’ Claire  emitted  faintly.

‘Shelley, Shelley Riffley, a striking-looking girl I
must  say . . . tall,  long dark  hair,  long . . .’

‘I  know
her,’  Claire   cut  in.  ‘And  she  thinks
Simon’s great,  does she?’

‘Says it’s a pity  there  aren’t  more  men  like him about.  Poor  Shelley. Her  love life has always  been a bit of a disaster.  She––’

‘Did I hear you got married yourself, Alice?’ Claire suddenly  felt nauseous  and  was extremely  anxious to change  subjects.

‘Yes,’ Alice instantly  became quiet, ‘yes I did. I’m separated now  though.’

‘Oh  I’m  sorry,’  Claire   commiserated.  ‘I  really am.’

‘Ah well, unfortunately things  don’t  always  turn out the way you’d hoped.’

‘Yes.’
I know
.

‘Well, will I see you this evening then?’

‘Great,’ said Claire,  ‘See you.’

Good  old  Simon,  Claire  grimaced.   Wild,  huh? Not  with  his  wife  he  wasn’t.  Unless  you  meant wildly  boring.   Then  again,  maybe  he  really  was this  mad  thing   when   he  went   out   without  her. Maybe  he danced  on tables and mooned  at shocked onlookers. Nah,  that  was  ridiculous.   It  wasn’t  in Simon to behave  like that.  He was still fairly solid at  the  end  of  the  day.  People  didn’t  change
that
drastically.

She ran  Andrew’s  bath  and  sat on the toilet  seat as  steam   engulfed  the  room.   She  missed  female company. Adult  company.  It was  great  that  Alice was calling over to chat  about  the old days.

Andrew   shouted   joyfully,   throwing  gallons   of water  over the edge of the bath.  The car
pet  under
neath  was  getting   saturated.  Claire   wondered  if baths  had  been  as  exciting  for  her  when  she  was young. Children  were such simple creatures. It was a pity they had  to grow  up.

Her  son  squealed   with  unconcealed   delight  as
Claire rinsed his dark blond curls with warm water.

‘Mama,’  he shrieked,  ‘Mama.’

‘Baba,’ she cooed  back.  ‘Baba good boy, yes you are, yes you are.’

He  grabbed   his  yellow  duck  and  splashed   the bathwater even more.  Thankfully he’d no idea that his Mama  and  Dada  were involved in a silent war, Claire  thought  darkly.   No  idea  that   his  mother  had  lusted  after  anot
her man  while  he slept  inno
cently  in his cot  at  home.  No  idea  why  his father would choose  to  chase  the  knickers  off the  office tart.

Claire secured Andrew into his buggy. His mother had  seen a stunning  sequined  silver number  in the window of a chic Ranelagh  boutique. Maybe they’d have it in a size ten. It would  be absolutely  perfect for Victoria’s  party.

She took a critical look at herself in the hall mirror. Despite  wearing  full war  paint  and  cherry  blusher, she looked  worryingly  pale.  A few sunbed  sessions were badly needed. The silver dress wouldn’t exactly go with snow-white arms.