Mr Right for the Night (22 page)

She sat rigidly in her seat under  the scrutinizing  gaze  of her interviewe
r,  whose  forbears,  she imag
ined, could have sat on the Spanish Inquisition. His questioning was thorough.

‘We have  over  fifty internal   applicants for  this position,   Miss  Allstone.  Tell  me  why  we  should choose  you  over  all
these  highly  competent appli
cants?’

Fifty applicants! Jesus,  she  didn’t  have  a  hope.

‘Because I badly  want  it, Mr  Walton.’  Anna  strove to put into her voice t
he professionalism and enthusi
asm that she knew were called for. ‘Because I assure you I’m the best person  for the job and  if you give me this position  I won’t let you down.’

Mr Walton looked vaguely satisfied by this response. He  adjusted  his spectacles  once more,  leaned  back and carefully contemplated his interviewee.

‘How do you feel about  relocating?’  he threw  at her.

‘I’d welcome the change,’ Anna replied levelly. ‘It would  broaden my horizons  and  give me a chance to discover a different  side of Lolta’s. I’m willing to learn all that  I can.’

‘Do you believe you can sufficiently cope with the enormity  of this particular challenge?’ he asked  as if he  were  sizing  her  up  for  the  position  of  chief executive.

‘I’ve never been more sure of anything  in my life,’ said  Anna  and  prayed  hard  that  this  man  would believe her.

Ten minutes  later  found  her shivering  at the bus stop, willing the number  13 to arrive.  She
thought
the interview had gone okay, but she couldn’t tell for sure. After all, the last one had felt pretty disastrous and she’d got it. Mr Walton  said they’d be in touch before the end of the week. But his face had remained  blank.  She  buttoned up  her  coat.  An  unforgiving wind whipped her ears. God, it was cold. A bus with a sign saying
Out of Service
raised false hopes.

Eventually  Anna  r
eached  the empty  house.  Wea
rily she pushed  the door  open,  glad that  Steve was studying  so hard  that  she wouldn’t  have  to  bump into him. What was it with her and men? What  did she do to push them away? If she were thinner would it make  a difference? Not  that  she was particularly large or anything but thin girls weren’t used and then discarded like empty beer cans. Thin ruled.

Anna sat alone in front  of the TV seeing nothing. She poured  herself a well-deserved glass of wine and opened  a  box  of  sour  cream  and  onion  Pringles. She  popped  one  and   then   another.  It  was  true what  they  said  about   popping   and  not  stopping. She  lit  a  cigarette.   Puffing  away,   she  pondered her  luck  with  men.  Or  ill  luck  rather. Claire  was lucky.  She’d  never  really  had  any  problems   with men,  didn’t   know   what   it  was  like  to  pine  for someone,  didn’t know  what  it was like to lie awake all night praying  for some man to notice her. Anna knew all about  that.  She knew  what  it was like to be choked with pain when men failed to reciprocate your  feelings, and  to know  that  although  the ones you desperately  wanted,  would court you, snog you, sleep with  you  even,  the  woman  they’d  ultimately choose as their steady girlfriend/wife, would be a lot more  sophisticated, more  self-assured  and  perhaps  a lot prettier than  you.

Of course Claire
had
been dumped. And regularly. But  the  reasons   had  usually  been  because   she’d absolutely refused to sleep with  them.  Not  because they thought she was unattractive in any way.

At  least  Anna  couldn’t  ring  Steve and  beg  for  a second  . . . 
sorry
  . . .  third   shot  at  making   their
‘relationship’   work.   Not   unless  she  went  out  to a  payphone to  do  it.  Ah  well,  she  wasn’t  going to  waste any  more  time  thinking  about  him.  She had  her  possible  promotion to  think  about.   That was  some  compensation. If she got  a transfer  she wouldn’t   have  to  bump   into   the  likes  of  Steve, Jake or  Elaine  for  a very long  time.  It was  a very comforting thought.

The front  door  bell rang,  making  her start.  Who could it be? Perhaps  Grainne  or Sandra  had locked themselves out. Or Steve. Well, he could bloody stay out! It rang again.  A long ring this time.

‘Mark, you’re back.’ Anna couldn’t help breaking  into a smile.

‘London  was  too  busy,’ he grinned.  ‘Too  many people.’

‘Right.’ Anna wasn’t fooled.  ‘Whatsername must have kicked you out.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Mark protested. ‘Anyway you’ve got that  all wrong  as I told you before.’

‘Come in,’ Anna widened  the door.

‘Actually –’ he paused ‘– would  you mind coming over to me? My fridge is crammed  with food . . . too much for one man to eat alone.’

‘Uh . . .’ Anna started.

‘Unless you’re doing  something  with  that  young lad of yours.’

‘No,’ Anna retorted. ‘I’m not doing anything  with him . . . tonight.’

‘Good. Right. You ready?’

‘Sure.’

She followed  him across the road,  delighted  with the  prospect   of  some  company.   Sitting  all  alone for  one  more  night  was  not  something  she’d been looking forward to.

Mark’s  house  was  as always  a pleasure  to walk into. Thick carpets  and a roaring  – or was it a fake? – fire in the sitting room.  Anna  removed  her jacket and let him hang it up. No seriously,  this place was cool with abstract art stuff which she couldn’t make head or tail of, and oriental-looking rugs. She should be living in a place like this at her age. She was too old to be living in a crap place. She should  be living in a nice three-bedroomed  house  with  a Labrador and maybe a husband. To rent a place anyway  half decent on your own in Dublin cost a bloody fortune.  Mark  was so so lucky he’d bought before property prices had gone through the through the roof.

‘Sit down  and relax.’

It  was  exactly  what   Anna  intended   to  do.  She installed  herself on the purple-and-white-striped sofa. There was an ambient pleasure about the front room, a certain pride in it. Not to show off or impress, but for its own sake.

Mark  was back with the wine. ‘Vino?’ he offered.

‘I’d murder  a glass.’

He poured. She drank. Immediately  Anna  began to relax.  This was far
far
better  than  sitting  in her own  flat  or in Steve’s for that  matter. No  wonder  women  fell  for  Mark.   It  was  probably the  house that  did it.

He removed  his own jacket,  revealing the outline of his shoulders  and  slim waist.  Again Anna  could see why women  might fall for Mark.

This time it had nothing  to do with the house.

She really should  invite him to the dreaded  party. Mark would  pass  the  strictest  Victoria  Reddin test.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked suddenly.

‘Nothing,’  Anna  sighed,  ‘it’s been  a  long  day, that’s all.’

She told him about  the interview.

‘When will they let you know?’ he enquired.

‘Dunno,’  she answered  glumly.  ‘The sooner  the better really.’

‘Why the sad face? I’d say you’ve nothing to worry about.’ He placed a hand  around hers and gave it a squeeze.  ‘They’re lucky  to  have  someone  like you working  for them.’

He disappeared into the kitchen to grab the food, returning with two pl
ates containing something deli
cious.

‘What is it?’

‘Wild mushroom risotto.’

‘Hey, I didn’t know  you could cook.’

‘You’d be surprised at what I can do.’ His eyes met hers. She looked  away  first. He’d better  be careful and remember  this wasn’t  a date.  If Mark  thought he could suddenly win her over with a bottle of wine and some grub, he’d better think again. The food did live up to its smell, however.  Home  cooking  beat  a ready-to-go-meal-for-one any day. And the company  lived up to usual expectations. Anna sipped her wine and  studied her  companion, congratulating herself on being able to sustain a platonic  relationship with such an attractive man. Weaker women would have snapped  under  the  strain  of it all.  She was  proud of  herself.  After  all it was  easy to  be friends  with a dog.  Most  women  had  at  least  one  male  friend with  a ‘lovely’ personality. Mark  was Anna’s male friend, though some doubted the friendship. Namely Claire. Then again  what  would  Claire  know  about  anything?  The only men she knew were those  idiot friends of Simon.

‘Let me take your plate,’ Mark  said after a while.

‘Are you full or could you manage  a piece of Black
Forest gateau?’

‘I could, yeah. Have you been baking  all morning  or what?’

‘As if.’

‘Who made it so?’

‘A lovely man in a lovely deli.’

‘I give up,’ Anna laughed.

‘So how’s the love life?’ Mark  asked suddenly  as she dug her fork into the cake.

‘Great,’ Anna replied nonchalantly and wondered why  he  always  brought  up  this  silly  topic,  over and  over  again.  ‘Not  a bother,’  she added  with  a plastic grin.

‘Are you in love?’

‘I might be.’

‘No, you’re not,’ he contradicted. ‘You don’t have that glow about  you.’

‘Glow?’

‘Yeah . . . you know, when you’re in love and you don’t  need to eat or drink  and  you forget  to sleep and forget to ring your mates. And it doesn’t matter  if it’s raining outside because your own world is full of sunshine . . .’

‘Jesus, you’re some poet.’

‘Thanks.’ Mark’s  eyes twinkled  with merriment.

‘I’m perfectly happy,’  Anna insisted.

Mark  put  down  his dessert  spoon.  He seemed to suddenly drift into space. Then he was back again as Anna began to speak. ‘I don’t know if I’ve ever truly been  in love,’ she said.  ‘I mean  at the time I think I am  but  once  it’s all off then  I think  I definitely wasn’t. Does that  make sense?’

‘Does to  me.  When  I was  in first year  college I was  in love with  three  girls all at the same time.  I remember wondering how I’d ever be able to choose. In second year I didn’t fancy any of them.’

‘You heartbreaker, you,’ Anna giggled.

‘Do you think  we’ll ever get married?’ Anna nearly choked.

Mark  resumed  eating  like he’d said  nothing  out of  the  ordinary. Just  like that.  As if he’d casually mentioned that  it might rain later. Or asked if she’d any  holidays  booked  for  this  year.  Anna  searched his face  for traces  of sarcasm  but  found  none.  She stopped  toying  with  her  piece  of  cake.  She  had suddenly  lost  her appetite. ‘Excuse me?’ she asked in a puzzled voice.

‘Well, just out  of interest  like, have you thought about  it?’

‘Marrying  you?’ Anna was shocked.

‘Me?’ Mark  looked equally shocked.  ‘God no not me ha ha ha you and me ha ha could you imagine!’
It’s not that  fucking  funny
,  Anna  silently fumed. What  was  going  on  here?  Did  he  think  this  was some idea of a joke? ‘What’s wrong  with you?’ she snapped.

‘Nothing.’  He looked  apologetic. ‘Sorry.’ They sat for about  a minute  in silence.

‘What  I meant  was  . . .’ he began  again. 
Christ, couldn’t he just drop it
? ‘What I meant  was, do you think either of us will ever tie the knot  . . . like with anyone?’

‘It’s not something I’ve really ever thought about,’ Anna replied coolly.

‘But you’re thirty.’

‘So?’ She glowered  at him.

‘And everybody  else is doing it.’

‘Mark,’ she sighed, ‘if everybody else was running down  Dún Laoighaire
  pier in a bid to throw  them
selves off the end, do you think  I would  be running along in the middle of them? I don’t want  to be like everybody  else. And to be quite honest  I think  a lot of people get married  just ’cos they’re bored.  Their jobs  are  boring,  their  nights  out  are  boring,  their twice-weekly   trip  to  the  gym  and  Sunday  drives aren’t enough  to  keep  them  going.  So  whey  hey they  get engaged.  Now  they’ve a wedding  to plan. It’s something  to do, you know?’

‘God, you’re cynical.’

Anna  shrugged.  ‘I think  I’m just  being  realistic. There’s  no  way  I’d walk  up  the  aisle looking  like a meringue  in front  of a bunch  of relatives  I don’t know just because everybody  else is doing it.’

‘What  about  your  biological  clock?  Is that  not ticking?’

‘No,’ Anna  remarked dryly, ‘I think  the batteries must have fallen out.’

Mark  laughed.  ‘So you’re serious, you don’t want to get hitched,  have a family and that?’

Anna stared  at him. ‘If I were a man I’d probably want  seven kids,  but  I certainly  don’t  want  to  be pregnant like for ever. Mind  you,  I wouldn’t  mind one,  you  know,  for  the  experience.  It  could  look after me  in  my old age. Anyway  if I was planning  on getting  married  any time in the near  future,  do you  not  think  I’d  be  going  out  with  someone  a bit older  than  Steve? Someone  with  prospects,’  she added  cheekily.

‘A suit?’ He grinned.