Mr Right for the Night (4 page)

‘From the phone,’ he explained. ‘Your mother’s
always looking for you.’

Great, Anna thought, that will be terrific for my
street cred. But why would her mother be ringing
her when she knew she’d be at work? Checking
up on her as usual, the nosy cow. Making
sure Anna was at work and not ‘pulling a sickie’!
Typical.

‘I’m Steve.’ He shook Anna’s hand. He’d the
longest, darkest eyelashes she’d ever seen. He looked
her up and down, taking in her smart navy suit and
briefcase. ‘We just moved in a few weeks ago, so
excuse the state of the place. We haven’t exactly got
round to buying furniture and stuff.’

‘That’s okay,’ Anna said coyly.
She could always sit on his knee
.

‘So what do you do with yourself?’

‘Retail manger.’ She blushed without knowing
why. ‘And you?’

‘Student,’ he laughed, ‘in case you hadn’t noticed.’

Anna laughed too. ‘Er, what year?’ she asked
cautiously. If he said first or second she’d be out
of there so fast, sore foot or not.

‘Fourth year,’ Steve said as Anna breathed a short
sigh of relief. ‘Actually I should have finished already
but I took a year out to travel around France.’

‘Do you speak French?’ Anna was delighted.

‘
Bien sû
r
.’

‘Do you like Paris?’ Anna was wildly conjuring
up images of the romantic city, leisurely walks
along the
Champs-E´ lyse´es, sipping
café au lait
in
Montmartre.

‘Oh yes,’ Steve said dreamily, ‘my girlfriend lives
there.’

‘Oh right.’

Anna turned towards the beauty on the sofa.

‘Not me,’ Suzie giggled, ‘I’m
Steve’s cousin, Martin’s
girlfriend,’ she explained.

‘Oh right,’ Anna said again a bit more enthusiastically.
So the girlfriend was in Paris. Oh well, not to
worry. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. Anna
began to relax. The beer was very good.

‘Actually we’re having a party tonight,’ Martin
said brightly. ‘You’re very welcome to come along.’

‘Thank you,’ Anna grinned. Tuesday night. Of
course they
always
had parties on Tuesdays. She
might as well stick around. No point in not going
to it. Sure wouldn’t she only be tossing and turning
upstairs trying to block out the noise?

Martin handed her another beer. He was very
plain, Lord love him. She wondered how he got
together with the lovely Suzie. Maybe he’d an engaging
personality. He seemed pretty decent anyway.

‘Do you want me to stick your groceries in the
fridge?’ Steve went to pick up her stuff.

‘No, I er . . . no thanks, honestly.’
God, no
!

‘Shall I take your coat?’

‘Oh all right so.’ She handed it over reluctantly.
She wondered did her legs look big in the short
skirt. At least she was wearing thick black tights.
Marvellous!

There was a knock on the door.

‘That must be Grainne.’

‘Who’s Grainne?’ Anna asked.

‘Don’t you know her?’ Steve went to answer the
door. ‘She’s one of the nurses upstairs.’

Great.

Grainne was a plump girl with wild black curls
and a cheeky face. She bounced into the room with
a six-pack. ‘Hey, folks!’

She looked curiously at Anna. ‘Your face is awful
familiar,’ she said.

‘I live underneath you.’

‘Oh right. You do the
Mr Motivator
video sometimes,
don’t you? I’d know his voice anywhere.’

This created a bit of a laugh.

Another knock. Sandra. Another nurse. Where
were the men? What kind of party was this?

‘I didn’t realize the party was semi-formal,’ Sandra
said snidely, referring to Anna’s suit.

‘I’ve just come from work,’ Anna said, ‘I’m a
manager, I don’t wear a uniform, you know.’

‘Turn off that shit and stick on Britney,’ Grainne
shrieked. ‘Or ABBA.’

‘They always do this to me,’ Steve chuckled.
‘They’re always bossing me around.’

And you obviously enjoy it, Anna thought. If it
was my flat I’d have booted them out long ago.

Two more guests arrived. Eddie and Greg. Both
engineers. The party began. Conversations flowed.
Beer flowed. Anna relaxed. The nurses relaxed.
Maybe they weren’t so bad after all. Steve relaxed
but not as much as Anna would have liked. He kept
his hands to himself. Maybe he did fancy this bird
in Paris after all. Foreign women had a habit of
snatching vulnerable Irish men. It was their sallow
skin. And skinny hips. And the way they were totally
uninhibited about their sexuality.

‘So, are you going out with anyone yourself?’
Suzie asked sweetly. She seemed that sort of girl.
Sweet.

‘Not at the moment, no,’ Anna answered. ‘I’m
concentrating on my career.’

It wasn’t exactly the type of thing you’d normally
say to another woman. But she was a cousin of
Steve’s, which meant that anything she said could
technically be repeated to Steve.

‘I’m also very fussy,’ Anna added. Fussy was good.
It meant that she wouldn’t go with just anything. She
hoped that one would get back to Steve. She noticed
Suzie looking a bit miffed. Uh oh!
Fussy
wasn’t a
good word. After all, Martin was no oil painting.
Sugar! Best to change the subject. Fast.

‘So what age are you?’ Anna asked.

‘Twenty,’ Suzie smiled, all sweet again.

Good God! Twenty! Almost ten years younger
than herself. That meant that when Anna had been
twenty, Suzie had been ten. What age was Steve
then? What age were they all?

‘What age are you?’ Suzie wanted to know.

‘Twenty-six,’ Anna lied.

‘Are you serious?’ Suzie’s eyes opened wide. ‘And
you never married? No kids or anything?’

‘Don’t kill me off just yet,’ Anna gave a short
laugh. ‘Why, what age is er . . . Martin?’ She didn’t
want to be too obvious.

‘Twenty-two. Steve’s twenty-three,’ she addedmuch
to Anna’s relief. Thank God. Twenty-three was
young but better than say . . . eighteen. Still he’d
probably look too young at Victoria’s party. Unless
he wore a suit. And pretended he was a real engineer.
Then again, what if he met a real engineer?

It was all a bit complicated.

She’d think about it again in the morning. When
she was sober. She looked at her watch. Midnight.
The party showed no sign of slowing down. The
two nurses were dancing to Samantha Mumba. The
two engineers were smoking something with a strong
smell. Suzie was passing round a bowl of peanuts.
Steve was just sitting there. Divine!

The beer had run out and so had the fags.

‘I’ve some in my flat.’ Anna jumped up. No point
closing the party down just ’cos the ciggies had
run out.

She legged it up the stairs, grabbed the cigs and
a cheap bottle of wine someone had brought to
her last party. She was all set. She felt her way
downstairs, carefully. No point falling and breaking
a leg. Something grabbed her waist. She screamed.

‘Sssh,’ a soft sexy voice whispered. His breath was
warm against her face. His hands felt strong around
her waist.

‘Steve?’

‘Mmm.’

She pressed herself against him and ran some
fingers through his hair. It felt short. Steve’s hair
wasn’t short.

‘Who is this?’

‘Eddie . . . God, you’re gorgeous, so voluptuous,
so . . .’

‘Get lost would you,’ Anna pushed him out of the
way. The bloody nerve!

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled and slunk back down the
stairs.

Anna pulled herself together. This was a bit of a
disaster. She didn’t really feel like going back down
to the party now. Her head was spinning. She
should
go back down though. To Steve. She shouldn’t leave
him down there with those raunchy nurses. But then
again, she couldn’t turn in to work tomorrow with
a hangover. She went back into the room and lit
a cigarette. Steve was really something. If only she
looked like Brigitte Bardot and spoke in a seductive
French accent. If only she wasn’t pissed out of her
head. Sure no wonder she was feeling groggy. She
hadn’t had a bite to eat since lunch.
She kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on
the bed. She flicked her cigarette ash into an empty
teacup. She couldn’t think straight. For a second she
wished she was a student and didn’t have to get up in
the morning. Or a nightwatchman. Or a nurse who
worked the nightshift.

Somebody knocked on her door. God if that Eddie
hadn’t got the message, he’d soon get it now. She
jumped off the bed, stuck her shoes on and flung
open the door. It was Steve. Anna opened her mouth
and shut it again.

‘Are you making the cigarettes up yourself, or
what?’ He leaned on the doorframe and grinned.

‘Er no, not at all, I was just about to bring them
down.’

‘What’s the wine? Is it French?’

Anna checked the label quickly. ‘Yes it is,’ she
whispered, mesmerized, taking in his perfect mouth,
high cheekbones and dark eyes all at once. ‘And I’ve
two glasses,’ she added.

‘Have you any objections to drinking the wine up
here . . . together?’

‘Well no . . . But what about the others?’

‘They’re all right. Suzie and Martin have called
it a night. Eddie is snogging Grainne. Sandra is just
about to pass out and Greg has gone home.’

‘OK. Have you got a corkscrew?’

He produced one from behind his back. She
removed her jacket. He hung it up. They both
removed their shoes. He poured the wine. She drank
it. He lit her cigarette. She smoked it. He turned out
the lights. She . . .

They stood on top of the Eiffel Tower. She wore a
long, flowing, white viscose dress. He wore black
tie. She was thin. Very thin. And tanned. He held
her tight in case somehow she might escape from
him and shatter the lovely illusion. Somewhere in
the distance a phone rang . . . and rang and . . .
JESUS CHRIST!

Anna jumped out of bed like a shot. What time
was it? Oh no, oh God, no this wasn’t funny. Where
was her bloody watch? Her heart was racing as she
tore the sheets off the empty bed, desperately searching
for her watch. Steve was gone but that didn’t
matter right now. The sun was streaming through
the crack in the curtain letting her know that it was
very, very late. The phone rang. Jesus, her ass was
really on the line now. Eventually she caught sight of
the watchstrap sticking out from under the bed. She
picked it up. Oh Jesus, no! Ten past ten. An hour and
forty minutes late. The phone kept ringing. She threw
on her old dressing gown and slippers and headed
downstairs, trying to think of a good excuse.

‘Hello?’ she croaked into the phone. Her voice
sounded dreadful.

‘Anna?’ It was Mr Evans’s voice. Evans was
the store manager and reasonable enough most of
the time. But this morning
he
sounded none too
impressed.

‘Oh Mr Evans, is that you?’

‘Anna, are you sick?’