Mr Right for the Night (24 page)

They  ate  lunch  in  Milano’s  on  Dawson   Street. Claire  ordered   pasta  and  found  it  difficult  to  eat after the huge slice of carrot  cake. But she decided not  to  tell  Simon  the  real  reason  for  the  trip  into town.  There was no point.

Arriving  home  later  that  evening  with  a couple of large Mothercare bags and  a couple  of Bewley’s cakes, Claire pushed open the front door. It had been a great day altogether and she was looking  forward to putting  her feet up and  enjoying  a nice relaxing evening with her family.

Fiona  stood  in  the  hallway  looking  completely worn out.  Andrew  was  lying on  the  floor  having the mother  of all tantrums, flinging toys all around the place.

‘Simon rang a second ago,’ Fiona told Claire. ‘He says not to leave out any dinner for him ’cos he won’t be home.’

‘He won’t be home,’ Claire echoed  parrot-like, ‘I see.’

June poked Anna’s shoulder blade roughly. ‘Did you not hear me calling for you? There’s someone on the phone.’

‘Who?’ Anna was up to her ears in dust trying to sort  out  boxes  of ladies  stockings  from  the  men’s briefs. All the numbers  on the boxes were higgledy- piggledy  and  they  were  three  staff  down,   Elaine was  on  holiday  and  the  computer system  had  just crashed. Again. In all a typical day at Lolta’s.

‘Head  office.’  June’s  beady   eyes  bore   through her.

‘Good news?’ Anna  asked  and  then  immediately regretted  it.

‘I don’t  know,’  June  snapped,  ‘news from  head office is confidential  information.’

Dazed,  Anna  made  her way to the phone  in Mr Evans’s  office.  ‘Anna  Allstone  speaking,’  she  said with a brightness she definitely didn’t feel. Then, as if in a distant dream, s
he heard Mr Walton’s voice con
gratulating her on her new position. She’d be starting  the following  Monday, he said. Anna,  half hugging the  receiver,  thanked him  politely  before  handing  it  back  to a vicious-looking June. She watched  the older woman  put th
e phone down and utter a stran
gled ‘Congratulations’.

‘Thank you very much,’ Anna said with saccharine sweetness. ‘I know you wanted this for me almost as much as I did myself.’

The rest of the week passed in a blur. A multitude of things had to be organized.  Her  landlord had to be  given notice,  her  new  company  car  had  to  be collected  and  her  parents   had  to  be  called  with the good  news.  Oh  and  God,  yes, she had  to  find somewhere new to live!

She  didn’t   contact   Mark.   She  just  avoided   it. Probably because she wasn’t sure what to say to him. In a way, she was afraid  he might make her change her  mind  or  something. And  she  was  determined not  to  let  anyone  do  that.  She’d  give  him  a  call when she was settled in Galway.  That’s what  she’d do.  Invite him  up  to visit her some weekend.  And she was  relieved  Elaine  was  out  of the  country  so she  wouldn’t   have  to  say  goodbye  to  her  either. Her  parents  were,  not  over  the  moon  maybe,  but somewhere  up there  with  the stars  anyway.  Claire had cried on the phone, her reaction somewhat over the top, Anna thought. She was going to Galway, for God’s sake, not the other  side of the fecking world!

She hooked  up  with  Rich  for  a  boozy  night  of celebrations in Lillies. He  swore  blindly  that  he’d miss  her,  ordered  a bottle  of champagne and  then remembered that he’d forgotten his credit card. Anna happily paid for it and for the subsequent taxi  fare back  to  her  place.  She felt sorry  for  Rich  tied  up in the  badly paid  world  of acting  while she, Anna Allstone, was heading for a major career in retailing. Sure wasn’t it only fair of her to foot the bill?

Stumbling  out of the taxi as he gallantly  held the door open  for her,  she tried  to recall  if there  ever had been a time he actually 
had
paid  for
anything
.  But  her  mind  was  blank.   Too  much  champagne and  all  that.  Then  suddenly  she  remembered. Of course!  He’d  sent  her  that   magnificent  bunch   of flowers on  Valentine’s,  hadn’t  he? How  could  she have  forgotten that?  Had  she  ever  got  round   to thanking him?

She tried  to  remind  him  and  thank  him  in  the bedroom as he unbuttoned the front of her shirt and showered  her neck with  butterfly  kisses. He didn’t respond  so she tried again.

‘Sorry?’ It suddenly  dawned  on him that  she was trying to tell him something. ‘What flowers?’

She withdrew from  his  embrace  and  eyed  him suspiciously.

‘You don’t know what I’m talking about,  do you?’
she asked coldly.

‘Nope.’  He  shrugged  and  went  to  unbutton  his jeans.

‘I think  you’d better  go,’ she said icily.

‘Why?’ he asked  foolishly,  his fly halfway  down.

‘What’s the matter, hon?’

‘Hon is sick,’ she answered  sarcastically.
Sick of being taken  for a ride by deadbeats  like you
. ‘Now please go.’

‘I’ve no  money  to  get  home,’  he  said  sulkily, dressing himself reluctantly.

‘No mon,  no fun . . . hon.’

‘What’s  the  matter   with   all  you  women?’   he spouted  angrily.  ‘You all turn  out  the same  in the end. You’re all users.’

‘Really?’ Anna showed him the door.  ‘That’s very interesting.  Though  what  exactly  we use you for I certainly  cannot  imagine.’

He  stormed  out,  slamming  the  door  behind  him. She heard him go downstairs. Another door slammed. Good. Good  riddance!

It all made  sense now.  Mark  had  obviously  sent the flowers. Of course he had. Sure God, why hadn’t she  seen  it?  Why  had  she  credited  Rich  with  the gesture  –  Rich  who  never  did  anything  but  watch other  people’s  TV  while  drinking   their  beer.  She was  a  silly girl  for  not  giving  him  the  boot  long ago.

The car wouldn’t be ready for another three weeks, Mr  Walton’s  secretary  apologized  but  she  was  to hang  on  to  any  travelling  expenses.  The  Dublin– Galway train was only half full. Anna settled herself into  an empty booth  and  flicked aimlessly through the 
Irish  Times
.  After  a  while  she  was  sorry  she hadn’t  bought 
Marie  Claire
or  some  trashy  novel. The
Irish Times
  was a bit  too  heavy this morning – she couldn’t  even manage  the simplex crossword!

As the train  rushed  towards the West, the clouds got  darker  and  the  drizzle  started.  Oh  good.  That must be a sign they were near Galway.

Nobody was meeting Anna at the train station  so, with the detached  curiosity of a tourist  stumbling  on unfamiliar territory, s
he followed  the other  passen
gers who seemed to be heading  towards town.

On Shop Street she
asked  a pedestrian for direc
tions  to  Lolta’s.  He  confused   her  with  so  many instructions that  she  reckoned  she’d  be  better  off just figuring it out for herself.

Eventually,  after  much  traipsing  around on tired feet,  she  stumbled   across  Lolta’s  Galway.   It  was a  large  grey  building   casting  a  shadow   over  its optimistically vast  car  park. 
A  building  with  eyes
, Anna thought uneasily.

Her heavy bag weighing on her right shoulder,  she wandered through the main door  and approached a rather colourless  woman  in a fading grey suit. This must be Miss Browne, she reckoned  and introduced herself.

Miss Browne shook  Ann
a’s hand  firmly and wel
comed her to the store as the shop assistants checked out their new assistant  manager  with interest.

‘I hope  you’ll  be  very  happy  here,’  she  said  in a  tone  that  seemed  to  say  ‘I actually  think  you’ll hate it’.

Anna was marched  around the large store  being introduced to staff who cautiously sized her up. They were well used to managers  coming  and  going – it was  part  and  parcel  of  retailing.  But  while  some managers could be right walkovers, others  could be weapons.  They reckoned  this well-dressed  girl with the pretty  face and fair hair  tied in a high ponytail would  be somewhere  in between.

The strange  thing  about  moving  store  was  that, no matter  how  competent and  confident  you were, you  still  felt  like  a  new  schoolgirl   on  your  first day  trying  to  find  out  where  on  earth  the  toilets were.

Fortunately Grainne  had given her the number  of her  sister  Aoife, a final year  student  in UCG  who happened to be looking for a flatmate at the moment.  Anna was currently  staying in a B&B where Lolta’s were putting her up for three nights.

She dialled Aoife’s number  later from the foyer of the  B&B.  She was  dubious  enough  about  sharing with  any  relative  of Grainne’s.  Would  Aoife be as mad in the head as her sister?

‘Hello?’ the warm  voice came through the line.

‘Hi . . . it’s er Anna,  I’m . . .’

‘Anna! I’ve been expecting your call. Listen, where exactly  are  you?  I’ll come  and  collect  you  if you like.’

‘Yeah, well that’s very nice of you.’ God, she was enthusiastic. Maybe she was a raving loony. Suppose her last flatmate  had  vanished  in the middle  of the night? ‘I’m in
The Seaside Inn
.’

‘Oh yeah,  that’s  in Salthill,  isn’t it? I’m not  far from  there.  The flat’s in Rahoon. I’ll be about  ten minutes?’

‘Sure. Thanks  a lot.’

Anna waited on the windy steps, facing the rough Atlantic  sea and  feeling severe bouts  of indecision. Rahoon was a good bit out from the centre,  wasn’t it?  She wasn’t  too  sure  about  living  that  far  out. Mind  you,  she  didn’t  want  to  be  too  near  work either. Then your  days off wouldn’t  really feel like days  off,  would  they?  And  she  didn’t  want  to  be ringing up people advert
ising  flat shares in the news
papers.  You  heard  so  many  horror stories,  didn’t you? Better the devil you know,  eh?

A battered green  Renault  5  screeched  to  a  halt outside  the B&B. A fresh-faced,  auburn-haired girl stuck her head out of the window.

‘Anna?’

‘Yes, that’s  me.’  Anna  smiled,  prised  open  the rusty passenger  door  and climbed in.

Aoife shook  her  hand  vigorously.  ‘Welcome  to Galway,’  she enthused. ‘How  was your  first day in the new job?’

‘Fine, fine.’ Anna  hoped  Aoife  wasn’t  someone who  would  want  her  to  talk  about  work  all  day long.  ‘You  don’t  look  a bit like Grainne,’  she said in an effort to change subjects.

‘That’s what everyone says,’ Aoife laughed. ‘Mammy must’ve kept herself busy,’ she winked.

Anna felt herself relax almost  immediately.  Aoife’s high hedonistic spirits were contagious. The apartment was fine. Included  all the basics.  And it wasn’t  far from the shopping  centre – an essential for hangover  and couldn’t-possibly-get-into-the-car-and-drive-to- the-shop days.

‘The rent  is pretty  reasonable,’  Aoife explained.

‘And  it’s  not  too  far  from  the  prom  –  great  for exercising,’ she continued hopefully.

Anna  drank  in her  surroundings  – clean  wooden floors,  cream-painted  w
alls,  a  modern-looking  fire
place  she  wasn’t  crazy  about  – but  hey,  you  can’t have everything!

There was a double
bed in her room.  ‘You’re wel
come to have guests of course,’ Aoife said hurriedly. Guests? Ha ha!

‘Great,’ Anna said non-committally.

‘Listen, do you want  to go away and think  about it?’ Aoife wondered. ‘You might want to take a look at a few more places and . . .’

‘No, I’ll take  it,’ Anna  answered  straightaway. ‘I kind  of want  to  settle  in as soon  as possible,  you know?’

‘Great,’ Aoife sounded genuinely thrilled. ‘Grainne said she’d a feeling the two of us would hit it off. By the way,  she said some fella was round  at the  flat asking for you earlier on. Does the name Mark  ring a bell?’

Victoria Reddin sat upstairs in the bar of the Westbury Hotel and  sucked  on a Marlboro Light. Where  the hell had Olive Lexon got to? This was
not
the place to be seen all on your own. The silly cow for making her wait around like this. Five more minutes and she was out of there.

She’d a  lot  on  her  plate  at  the  moment   what with  caterers  messing 
her  about   and  that  unreli
able  DJ  cancelling  at  the  last  minute  because  his daughter  had  gone  and  got  herself  involved  in  a road accident. What had happened to honest-to-God workers?  People  just  weren’t  grateful  for  a  bit  of work  any more.  There were now foreigners  and all kinds of riff-raff running around causing havoc! Not that  she’d ever really  consider doing  the odd  day’s work  herself mind.  No 
thank
  you,  she just wasn’t into  it at all. She didn’t agree with  these ambitious women  you met sometimes  who  boasted  about  all the hours they worked as if that was something to be proud  of ! Bloody fools, Victoria thought, privately.
Let the men do the work!