Alberta Clipper (22 page)

Mark opened his eyes. 
“What did I say to her?”
  His voice was a whisper.

Shay
fiddled with a pen on his d
esk.  “I don't really know exactly
.  You weren't talking to her that long.  You may not have said anything.”  Mark could sense that
Shay
's optimism was minimal.  “But she did text me to come and get you.  I just think it's better
that
you know.” 

Mark closed his eyes again. 

“You were fairly juiced.” 
Shay
focused on the pen again.  “Look, Mark
-” 

Mark stood up and walked over to the window. 

“
Mark. 
You can tell me to feck off if you want to.  But, it's not a crime to fall for someone you wo
rk with.  Sure, look at me!”  Shay
seemed delighted with himself to have thought of the comparison. 

Mark watched the traffic crawl past on the street below.  He didn't want to imagine what state he had been in talking to Christine, or what he might have said to her. 
He had obviously told Shay how he felt about her.
  There was no point in pretending now. 
Shay knew.

“It doesn't really matter now though, does it?  I've rightly fucked it up now anyway.”
  He turned to look at him.  “She must think I’m a total ass.”

“No, no you haven't.
  And I’m sure she doesn’t think that.
” 
Shay
stood and went over to him.  They stood side by side, hands in their trouser pockets, looking out the window at nothing in particular.  “
Nina
thinks that this might be the best thing to have happened.  Bring it out in the open.”

Mark turned to him.  “
Nina
knows?”

“
Nina
has known for months.” 
Shay
nodded to himself.  “Months.”

Mark tried to get things straight in his head.  What might he have said?  Had he tried to kiss her, or something worse?  Oh God.

“Anyway,” he said after a moment.  “I should have never been in that state at the Christmas party.  I'm her boss,
Shay
.  I can't act like that.”  He frowned.  “I just can't.”

“Look, mate,”
Shay
put a hand on Mark's shoulder.  “You have been under a lot of stress lately.  I can't imagine the state I'd be in if
Nina
and I broke up.  Give yourself a break.”

“I appreciate that
Shay
.  But Jennifer and I were never like you and
Nina
.  We never had what you guys have.”  Mark suddenly felt overwhelmingly sad.  “And you know something?  I actually really like her.  Christine.  Really.”

“I know Mark.  I know.  Tough times.  Tough times.
” 

They stood in silence for a few moments.
 

“
Look,”
Shay
said
at last
, “I really don't think there's any damage done.  When she gets back from London tomorrow, just sit her down and apologise for being drunk.  Then just see what she says.  She'll probably be totally fine about the whole thing.  And then you can take it from there, yeah?  I doubt she'll make a big deal of it either way.”  He paused.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 
Mark sighed. 
Principal Ball's office was going to be nothing compared to this.

~

“So you're sure you're okay?”

“Mark, you just bought me a drink, and we chatted for a few minutes about work.  That's it.  Really.  Then
Shay
arrived in, and I headed back to the party.”

“You're sure?”

“I only texted him because he said he was looking for you.  I'm sorry if I made you feel embarrassed or whatever.”

“But I shouldn't have
-”

“Look,” she lowered her voice slightly, “it was our Christmas party.  You were entitled to have a few drinks.  As was I.  So please, forget about it now, okay?  You did nothing wrong.”

“Okay, well I appreciate that.  Thanks Christine.”

“Well thank you for a great party.  The London office were all complaining that they only got brought out for lunch.  They all want to relocate to Dublin.”  She smiled at him, and pulled his office door closed after her.

~

Christine sat back down at her computer.  Poor Mark.  The knot that had been growing in her stomach since Friday seemed to untie itself.  She picked up the phone and dialled Craig's desk.  “Bringing me for lunch?  C
’
mon, it's Christmas.”

~

The office was almost devoid of people that Christmas Eve. 
Those who had shown up were
busy
checking off Christmas shopping lists, tidying their workspaces, filing, shredding.  For every dealer that had come into work, there was another abandoned cubicle, and the usual buzz
and din of the fourth floor
had been replaced
by the gentle sound of merry laughter and happy anticipation.  Christine was tidying her own desk, in preparation for an orderly return to work in the new year, when Craig appeared at her door.

“Coffee?”

“Yes.  Definitely.”  She followed him across the floor into the coffee room.  It seemed half of the few staff members that had come to work were
in
there,
discussing plans for the holiday
.  She sat at a table near the window as Craig uncustomarily set about making their coffees.

“So, you should know Christine.  Are we going to have a white Christmas?”  Dave the
company
solicitor grinned at her like he might be the first person to have thought of asking.  “They're giving three to one odds on it, might be worth a flutter, excuse the pun.”

“Oh, are we?”  A young receptionist joined in
the conversation
.  “That would be so cool.”

“It would be a disaster,” Petra had just walked in with Mark
.  She
stood next to Craig
,
shaking her head at his coffee-making technique
.  E
ventually
he
stood aside and let her finish the job for him.  “Everyone's holiday travel plans disrupted.”  She gave two filled cups to Craig, and started making two more.  “Anyway,” she glanced out the window, “it's not going to snow.  It's not cold enough.”

The young receptionist looked disappointed.

“Don't be a kill-joy, Petra,” Craig said, sitting down next to Christine.  “Anyway, you're not the meteorologist in the room, last time I checked.”

Petra glared at him.  Christine reached over and patted Craig's arm.  “Never mind,” she said.  “Santa will still make it through.”

“Har, har.”

“I got snowed into the Chicago office one December,” Mark sat
down
at the table too.  Christine noticed Craig sit up just a little straighter.  “It came out of nowhere.  I only made it out two days before Christmas.  Thought I was going to have to spend the holidays there on my own.”

“Alberta Clipper,” Christine said.

“Pardon?”  Mark looked at her with a smile.

“It c
ould have been an Alberta Clipper.  It's a low pressure system that comes down suddenly from western Canada at this time of year.  It can cause fairly major, sudden snowfalls in and around Chicago.”  She sipped her coffee and looked back at the faces staring at her.  “It's just a weather thing.”  She was starting to feel a little uncomfortable.

“Alberta Clipper,” Craig said softly.  “Sounds like a porn-star.”

Christine whacked him.

“Craig,” Petra took a seat at the table between Mark and Dave.  “Really.”

“Oh, your ring is so beautiful,” the junior receptionist reached across the table and touched Petra's engagement solitaire.

Petra beamed.  “Thanks.”  She rubbed at the diamond.

“So what will Mr. Petra have wrapped for you under the tree tonight, I wonder?” Craig said.

“We're not buying presents this year.”  Petra folded her arms.  “We're saving for the wedding.”

“Oh, I bet he'll have a little surprise for you,” Craig smiled into his coffee, “if he knows what's good for him.”

“What have you got Rachel?” Christine asked before Petra had a chance at riposte. 

Craig seemed to blush.  “Oh, just something small.”

Christine's eyes widened.  “Something small?  Something small and sparkly?  Something small and sparkly and min
ed in sub-Saharan Africa?”  Every
girl around the table looked up, even Petra. 

Craig looked like a cornered animal.  “It's none of your business,” he stood smiling, and drained his coffee.

“Make sure you wash that, Craig,”  Petra called as he walked away.  “The cleaners are off now for the holidays.”

Christine saw Craig make a rude gesture behind Petra's back, and she tried not to laugh.  Could Craig really be getting engaged?  Wow.  She was thrilled for him.  But a little shocked too. 

“Who knows Christine?”  Dave said with a genuine smile.  “Maybe Sant
a Claus
will bring you something sparkly too.  I got engaged to my wife at Christmas time.”  He sighed and stood up to go. 

Christine hardly noticed Mark standing up suddenly
also
.  What if
Gavan
did propose?  The thought hadn't crossed her mind.  She knew Emily was secretly hoping that Jack would ask her to marry him, but even while they had been considering that, and planning her reply, it had never occurred to her that she might be asked. 

But surely not.  They were only dating six months.  They weren't even living together yet.  Christ, if
Gavan
asked her to marry him, what would she do?  She'd have to say no.  It would be awful.  They were so not in a getting married place.  Not yet.  Christine began to feel sweaty, and the breath seemed to go from her lungs.

“Christine?”

She looked up.  “Yes?  Sorry?
”

“I just said have a good Christmas.  I'm heading off now.  You should too.  They'll be locking up the place at one.”  Mark was standing, holding the door, with one foot outside in the hallway.

“Okay Mark.”  Everyone else was helping Petra at the sink.  “Thanks.  Happy Christmas.  See you in the New Year.”

He smiled at her and nodded, and walked off towards his office.

~

She met
Gavan
in town at five, on her way to her father's house where she had planned to stay the night.  She didn’t want Matt to be alone on Christmas morning.  The day was difficult enough with her mother gone.  Nor did she want to be alone herself.  They would go to midnight mass together, and have Christmas day to themselves.

Gavan
was on his way home to Wexford.  He had suggested they met in a city pub for a
quick drink before he left
.  Town was busy and festive, and they each had a hot whisky and basked in that special feeling that belongs exclusively to Christmas Eve.  The bag with his camera in was at her feet as she sat on the stool
in the bar
.  She could see no sign of his inevitable gift to her.  Was it possible that it was a small box?  Small enough to fit inside his jacket pocket?  She was concerned for about thirty seconds.  But only thirty seconds.  She knew better. 
Gavan
wasn't going to propose.  He wasn't that dumb.  He just probably had a voucher for a nice spa or a weekend away in an easily concealed envelope somewhere.  So when he reached inside his jacket and took out a long slim parcel, tastefully wrapped in gold paper with a silver ribbon, she was both surprised and thrilled.  When she unwrapped it and opened the plush leather hinged box inside, she hesitated before gasping in delight.

“Do you like it?”  He looked concerned.

The watch was gorgeous.  Fashionable, but abidingly elegant.  A chunky silver strap that would make her wrist look tiny and gorgeous too.  And she knew from the box and the brand that it had been expensive.  “It's beautiful.”  She looked up at him.  “Too much.” 

“Put it on.”

“Wait, open yours.”  She lifted the bag from the floor, and he took out the box wrapped in snowman paper and tied with a red bow.  He laughed at the paper, and tore it away.

“I don't believe it.”  He examined the box.  “It's amazing.  Thank you so much.”  He leaned over and kissed her, almost knocking the empty glasses on the table.  “I'll miss you tomorrow,” he said.

“I'll phone you after dinner.”  She ran her finger along the length of the smooth box on the table before her.  “Do you eat turkey and cranberry sauce in Wexford on Christmas Day?”