Mr Right for the Night (13 page)

Now. What was she going to wear? Something
conservative would be good.

She flung open her wardrobe doors, taking a
disdainful look at what was hanging there. Besides
her work clothes were six pairs of jeans, an unworn
lime-green mini two sizes too small, a pair of combats
with a faulty zip, and the
fuchsia
bridesmaid
dress she’d worn to Claire’s wedding. Swiftly she
declared her wardrobe a disaster area. What time
was it? A quarter to eight. Oh God, no! Why oh why
had she agreed to this? Finally she retrieved a pair of
black trousers from the bottom of her dirty basket.
She sniffed them. They stank of stale cigarettes. Oh
well, it was them or the bridesmaid dress. The black
trousers won hands down. She’d better give them
a rapid iron. At times like this she wished she’d a
trouser press. Or a maid. Or a wife. It would be so
handy. She wondered if Claire
did
know anything
about this date. She could give her a quick ring.
Another glance at her watch. Oops! Maybe not.

The front door opened. Someone was wheeling a
bike into the hall. Steve. Oh yes. Brilliant. What
perfect timing. Happy now and with a lightness in
her step she danced around the sitting room to Roy
Orbison’s ‘Pretty Woman’. Pretty was exactly how
she felt. Pretty chuffed. Pretty excited. And pretty
pleased about her new-found sex appeal. All these
men. Wasn’t it fab? Maybe she could invite a bunch
of them to the reunion. Maybe Victoria could build
a kind of harem cum marquee out the back for them
all. A loud banging on the door put an abrupt end
to her fantasies. What the hell . . . ? God, he hadn’t
wasted much time.

‘Just a minute,’ she called, the sweat-beads forming
furiously across her forehead. She rushed into
the bathroom and squeezed a generous blob of minty
toothpaste onto her toothbrush. A quick rinse with
mouthwash should finish the trick. She sniffed her
underarms. Oooh dear, a blast of Sure for Men
wouldn’t do any harm. The door hammered again.
Hang on, that couldn’t be him. Sure, who could have
let him into the house?

‘It’s me.’ Grainne’s big booming voice was unmistakable.

Jesus, that’s all she needed, Anna opened the door,
her mouth full of Listerine. If Grainne thought she’d
be spending another night with Anna and her date,
she could forget it.

The other girl barged in.

‘Guess who rang?’

Anna ran to the sink and spat out the Listerine. ‘Who?’

‘Rich.’ Her eyes were shining.

‘Great,’ Anna said, her tone of voice suggesting
that it was anything but.

‘He’s coming over tonight. He’s bringing us over
the video of
The Bill
, you know the episode he was
in, and a pop video he was also in and . . .’ Grainne
paused for breath as Anna sneaked a nervous look
at her watch ‘. . . and another programme he was
in with Elizabeth Hurley before she was famous . . .
and anyway it’ll be great. We’ve bought two twelve packs
and loadsa crisps . . . oh, and the lads from
downstairs are coming,’ she added.

Anna felt her
heart shoot up to her mouth.
The lads from downstairs
? She stood rooted to the spot
in her black trousers and white bra. ‘I can’t go,’ she
said stiffly.

‘Why not?’ The disappointment showed on Grainne’s
face. ‘Rich probably won’t stay if you’re not
there and he’s such good craic . . . and he’s promised
to introduce us to all his famous friends.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Anna said, her head swimming
with comical visions of Brad Pitt, Jude Law and Ben
Affleck all drinking beer in Grainne and Sandra’s
flat. ‘I’ve a splitting headache.’

‘Why do you look like you’re ready to go out
so?’ Grainne was as sharp as an eagle when she
wanted to be.

‘Oh okay so, I’ll tell you the truth, I’m actually
going on a date.’

‘Another one?’ Grainne practically choked. ‘Have
you joined a dating agency or what?’

Anna explained. Grainne listened open-mouthed.
‘So you see, you have to play along with me.’

‘I see,’ Grainne nodded. ‘Well, don’t worry, myself
and Sandra will look after Rich.’

Anna had no doubt that they would.

A loud horn hooted outside. Grainne rushed to
the curtains. ‘Is that him in the navy beamer?’

‘Yes,’ said Anna, delighted.

‘He looks nice,’ Grainne squinted to get a better
look. ‘He’s wearing a suit.’

‘You’d better go,’ Anna suddenly panicked.

‘Yeah . . . well, good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ Anna smiled. Then she thought of something.
‘How many people have you invited up there
tonight?’

‘Oh there’s a big gang of us.’

‘Don’t let any of your friends tempt Steve, do you
hear?’ Anna threatened playfully and reached for her
black cashmere jumper.

Grainne paused at the door, confusion spread
across her face. ‘Steve? From downstairs? What do
you mean?’

‘I know how wild those Tuesday nights can get.’

‘But Steve’s single again. Didn’t you hear? He split
up with the French bird when she was over here.’

The horn hooted again. Impatiently.

‘Simon’s not in the office right now,’ Shelley’s
smooth secretarial tones came down the line. ‘Can
I take a message?’

‘Er . . . no, thanks,’ Claire said awkwardly, wishing
she hadn’t called the office at all. Simon’s phone was
switched off and Shelley didn’t seem to know where
he was. Unusual for her, Claire thought uneasily.
Shelley usually knew everything.

‘Is that Claire?’ Shelley asked shrilly.

‘Of course,’ Claire managed to keep her voice
even. Who else would it be? She shouldn’t have
called. She only did it out of boredom. Her fingers
had dialled the digits before her brain even clicked
what she was doing.

‘Can I give him a message?’

‘No, thank you,’ Claire said wearily and hung
up. Images of Shelley in her impossibly short skirts
and skyscraper heels flooded her head. What was
wrong with her? She’d seen too many immoral soaps
recently – that was the problem. When Andrew slept
there was precious little else to do. She’d have to
get a job. Even a part-time one. Sure there were
millions of jobs going now. She’d
walk
into something.
Although she loved Andrew more than life
itself, she couldn’t limit herself to endless bizarre
conversations with Damien the Duck and Freddy
the Frog.

She was bored. And anxious to get out of the
house. Maybe she’d head into town and spend her
birthday money on something. Her mother had made
her swear she’d spend the money on herself. Not
on the kitchen. Not on the garden. Not even on
something cute for Andrew.

‘It’s for
you
.’ She’d been emphatic. ‘Just because
you’re a married woman doesn’t mean you can
let your appearance go. Your husband married an
attractive woman. He’ll expect to continue to be married
to an attractive woman. Sometimes wives who
let themselves go find themselves replaced before
they know what’s hit them,’ she’d warned. Claire had
laughed. Her mother was always overreacting. But
her smile had since vanished. She pictured Shelley’s
glamorous ‘PA to the boss’ image, all hair and
make-up with matching plum lips and nails, and
gave a slight shudder. Maybe her mother hadn’t
been so off the mark after all.

She’d ring Mrs Murphy next door to see if she
wouldn’t mind looking after Andrew for a while.
Mrs Murphy, a kind grandmotherly type, doted on
the baby. She couldn’t ring Fiona: Fiona would be
at her lectures in Belfield. Or hanging around the
Arts block giving blokes marks out of ten. Claire
remembered doing that with Anna. Those really
were the days – carefree and man-mad, worrying
only about the number of students she’d snogged
after ten cans of Ritz at The Suitcase Ball. That was
before she met Simon, of course. He was studying
commerce and could religiously be found on the
third floor of the library, head buried under a ton of
books. He was to be Claire’s last steady boyfriend.

Andrew’s faint whimpering from the bedroom
broke her thoughts. She opened the door gingerly.
His little face broke into a gurgling smile at the sight
of his mummy. She picked him up gently, noticing
how warm and soft his body was, wrapped in a blue
velour babygro.

‘Are you hungry?’ she cooed.

Andrew gave a baby chuckle.

‘You’re smelly, aren’t you?’ Claire wrinkled her
nose and carried him over to his changing board.
‘You’re a stinky dinky, that’s what you are.’ She
gave her son’s soft cheek a tender kiss. He answered
by reaching ten little fingers towards her face and
giving a curious sort of screech. She laid him on
the board beside Danny the Dinosaur to whom
he immediately turned his attention. People had
often told her that a baby would change her whole
perspective on life for ever. But nothing could have
prepared her for the intensity of love that she felt
for him. He was undoubtedly the most important
thing in her life. The product of a deep love shared
between two people. Nothing and nobody was ever
going to destroy that, she thought determinedly. And
certainly not some brazen floozie in a ridiculously
short skirt.

Outside a cloudless sky promised some sunshine.
It was unusually bright for early February. Claire
walked past Hallmarks, noticing its vivid window
display of vibrant red. Oh yes sure, Valentine’s was
next Monday, wasn’t it? She’d have to buy Simon a
card even though he thought the whole thing was a
cod. Of course it was, Claire agreed. Anyone would
be a fool to think otherwise. But it was fun. She gazed
longingly at the cute
I Love You
bunnies. There was
no harm in it. It was just a bit of craic. Ah well,
she crossed the street and strode into the cosmetics
section of Brown Thomas. Simon had given her the
gift of life commitment and wasn’t that better than
any amount of dead flowers and tacky heart-shaped
balloons?

The beautifully made-up assistant considered

Claire’s skin carefully before recommending an expensive
cream. It came with a free washbag. The girl
assured her that positive results would be evident
after a few weeks. Good, Claire thought. She wanted
to feel beautiful and rejuvenated for Victoria’s party.
She wasn’t going to have that snooty cow look down
her nose at a washed-out-looking Claire. Simon, of
course, thought she was making a big fuss over
nothing.

‘Sure it’s only a reunion,’ he’d said casually one
morning over his newspaper as Claire rabbited on
about what she was going to wear. ‘It’s not like some
really important do,’ he’d added.

Not to Simon, Claire thought. But he’d no idea
how much that girl had taunted Claire and Anna in
school. Claire shuddered as she remembered the time
she’d been in hospital getting her tonsils removed.
Victoria had spread rumours about her being treated
for anorexia. Half her friends had innocently come
to visit bringing boxes of chocolates and doughnuts
in an attempt to fatten her up.