‘Safe home now,’ the bouncer said as she braced
herself for the freezing night air.
‘Thank you.’ She gave him a watery smile. That’s
exactly where she wanted to be. Safe. Home. Now.
She wished she’d worn a comfortable pair of boots.
These heels were a killer. She tottered up to the
traffic lights. And waited. Nothing. She decided to
keep walking to prevent her feet from freezing into
two blocks of ice. She looked around desperately for
a glowing yellow taxi sign. A couple of occupied cabs
seemed to be hurrying in the opposite direction, the
occupants staring sadistically out of the windows.
None stopped for poor Anna.
‘I hope Anna’s okay.’ Claire was full of concern as
her husband drove them home to the comfort of their
three-bed semi, minutes from Ranelagh village.
‘Anna’s fine,’ Simon said matter-of-factly. ‘She’s a
big girl now – well able to look after herself.’
‘I hate leaving her alone in that place, you know,
with all those sleazes.’
‘I would have given her a lift if she’d wanted.’
Simon stopped at the red lights, laid a gentle hand
on his young wife’s knee and gave it a reassuring
squeeze. ‘Don’t worry about her,’ he smiled. ‘She’s
probably talking to the man of her dreams this very
minute.’
Claire genuinely doubted it. She couldn’t remember
the last time Anna had met a man who was
even vaguely suitable. She did it on purpose, Claire
reckoned. She shunned security. Now and again
she’d go through phases of claiming to crave love
and marriage, yet at the mere mention of kids,
Anna’s eyes would glaze over as she suppressed
yawn after yawn.
Simon pulled up slowly outside the front door.
It wasn’t even two a.m. yet and they were safely
home.
Mr And Mrs Married
. Claire gave a short
laugh. Anna wouldn’t want this for the world.
Fiona, the eighteen-year-old babysitter, was relieved
to see them.
‘I didn’t think you’d be home so soon,’ she said
brightly, gratefully pocketing her twenty quid. ‘The
other couple I babysit for don’t come home till all
hours.’
‘Ah, sure we don’t see the point in staying out half
the night.’ Simon handed Fiona her coat. ‘Come on,
I’ll walk you home.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Claire muttered as her husband
closed the front door. She couldn’t help but
feel slightly peeved at his throwaway remark. What
about her? Maybe
she
might have liked to stay out
half the night. Simon often had a night out with
the lads. God knew, she rarely got the chance. It
would have been nice to spend a bit more time
with Anna. To have got a little hammered. Maybe
carried each other home, unintentionally popping
into Abrakebabra for a kebab and chips . . .
Claire climbed the stairs wearily. Those days were
well and truly gone now. Simon had seen to that.
It was all about responsibility these days. Mortgages
and money matters. Promotions not emotions.
Stockmarkets and supermarkets. Aiming high and
DIY. Computing and commuting. It was all so . . .
so . . . like the way her father had lived. Only worse.
Much worse in fact. When her father had joined the
bank in the late sixties, he’d simply had to keep
his head down and patiently wait for promotion. It
would come to him in good time, her mother would
remind him as she baked the daily bread.
All that was done away with now. The roar of
the Celtic Tiger and all that. No waiting around
these days, thank you very much. Except for office
colleagues waiting to cut your throat. Or hang you
by the balls. Or stab your designer-clad back. It was
all so horrible. In a way Claire was glad Simon had
talked her out of going back to work. She didn’t
know if she could cope with all that pressure.
She opened the baby door quietly and smelled the
familiar baby smell that filled the tiny blue boxroom.
The light flooded in from the hall. Andrew, asleep
in his little yellow babygro with the duck on it,
was breathing evenly. Fluffy, his favourite teddy,
was tucked in beside him, one paw covering half
of Andrew’s face. Claire tiptoed gently towards his
cot and moved Fluffy slightly away. She bent down
and kissed the soft warm skin of her baby’s cheek.
Happiness surged through her.
Nothing, not all the nights out and wild times
could ever replace the intense love she felt for her
little boy. She heard Simon’s footsteps on the stairs.
No wonder he was always working hard for his
family. He loved Andrew as much as she did. That
was why he spent those long laborious hours in the
office, bent over his computer. Because of his wife
and child. Because he was aware of his responsibilities.
Because he was a good Daddy.
Anna woke in a sweat. Somehow her blanket was
strewn across her bedroom floor. Sunbeams streamed
through a crack in the check curtains.
What time had she finally got a taxi home? Had
she even got a taxi in the end? She vaguely remembered
having had an argument with
someone
about
the shocking lack of taxis around the place at night.
But who cared anyway? She’d got home somehow
and besides her head was hurting too much to try to
figure out what had been dreamed and what hadn’t.
The whole night had been a bloody nightmare. A
complete waste of time. Anna considered spending
the whole afternoon in bed feeling sorry for herself,
but a deep thirst forced her out of the bed. Her
t
ongue felt like an old piece of carpet.
Never again, she told herself as she sipped from
a half tin of flat lemonade. Yuck. Her insides were
craving from the lack of food. Her poor bewildered
stomach. She wondered if models always felt this
bad. God, it was no great shakes being a waif
with your tummy screaming at you, accusing you
of abuse. How could one live with the guilt? She
fired her empty can at the bin in the corner and
missed. Feck it, she wasn’t going to pick it up
now. If she bent down she’d never get up again.
She’d pick it up tomorrow. In fact she’d do a big
clear-out. Tomorrow after work. Jesus, work. Ugh!
Anna slumped herself down on a red-paint-spattered
stool and rested the side of her face on the cool
kitchen table. The chilly surface was a welcome
sensa
tion against her fiery flushed cheek. Thank
God it was Sunday.
‘So, Anna,’ Elaine sipped her carrot juice as they sat
in a veggie restaurant on George’s Street, ‘have you
written out your application letter yet?’
‘For what?’ Anna looked surprised.
‘Don’t you know? Your form for the post of
assistant manager has to be in by tomorrow.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Anna stabbed her veggie burger with
her fork. She
had
thought about applying for the
post – after all she’d no intention of being a mere
department manager all her life. But what in the
name of God would she do in a one-horse town
where if you sneezed everybody would be talking
about it? She didn’t fancy packing her bags to go
off and move to such a town just to exercise a bit
of authority in a two-man shop. No, thank you
very much. At least in Dublin she was right in
the heart of things. And near Claire, of course.
Not that she saw much of
her
these days though.
Unfortunately, Claire was too busy being the perfect
wife. Then there were her parents to consider. They’d
miss her dreadfully. Or would they? Anna forced
herself to consider it.
Get real here
, she finally
chided herself. They probably wouldn’t notice if
she was abducted by aliens and whisked off to
Timbuktu. Who else was there? Mark? Well, he
would just have to find someone else to torment. In
fact, when she thought about it, was there anybody
who would, like, really
really
mind her going at all?
It probably wasn’t the best thing in the world to
think about.
‘I’d love to get it,’ Elaine’s eyes glittered with
emerald eye shadow and enthusiasm. Her whole
face lit up when she smiled. She really was a striking-looking
woman, Anna thought. It was terrible to
think her husband had just skedaddled off like that.
For no reason. But there was always a reason, wasn’t
there, Anna thought darkly. No wonder Elaine was
throwing herself into this whole promotion lark.
Like someone throwing herself off a burning ship.
Women did that sometimes. Got involved in lots of
different stuff. To get over men. Ridiculous, when
you thought about it really. All that energy. Anna
wondered what men did to get over a woman.
Moved on to another one, she supposed.
‘I’m sure you’ve got a very good chance,’ Anna
said kindly. ‘You’re so enthusiastic.’
‘I have very little choice,’ Elaine said, her eyes
hardening, her mouth set in a straight line. ‘It’s got
nothing to do with enthusiasm.’
‘Yes, I know, I know.’ Anna dipped her spoon into
her dessert, an orangey chocolatey mousse, laden
with naughty calories. ‘Listen,’ she said, eager to
change the subject, ‘how about next Friday, you
and me head out on the town? You know, go on
the complete rip.’
‘Sure.’ Elaine’s face softened. Anna meant well.
Always looking out for other people. It was such a
pity she lacked such direction in her own life. Anna’s
answer to everything could be found in a bottle of
something. Or a cream cake. Still, she wouldn’t say
no to a night out. They might even meet a few
men! Not that she’d ever seriously consider getting
involved with anyone ever again. No, she’d never
ever do that again.
They decided to have their after-dinner coffee somewhere
else. Somewhere more sociable. As in a pub.
‘So, Elaine,’ Anna glanced around the pub to see
if she could spot anyone interesting, ‘where do you
reckon we’ll go on our night out? The Sugar Club?
The River Club?’
‘What was that I heard about a night out?’
Elaine looked up in surprise. The owner of the
deep masculine voice stood behind Anna. Tall and
well built, he exuded an unmistakable air of affluence.
He had the most mischievous and merry green
eyes she’d ever encountered. Anna swung around,
her face turning a crimson colour. ‘Mark,’ she said,
with a sharp intake of breath. Elaine laughed. It was
unlike her colleague to be at a loss for words.
* * *
‘Thanks for sticking up for me in there,’ Anna
whispered to Elaine as they walked back to Lolta’s
twenty minutes later. ‘Mark’s always slagging me
and I’m sick of it.’
‘But what exactly
did
happen last weekend?’
Elaine was bursting with curiosity, ‘’Cos you sure
weren’t with me.’
‘I went to my parents,’ Anna admitted, feeling
absolutely ridiculous.
‘That’s hysterical,’ Elaine laughed. ‘Thank God I
copped on in there and said we’d had a great night.’
‘Yeah cheers,’ Anna answered sheepishly.
‘So do you fancy him then or what?’
‘No!’ Anna practically barked. ‘Mark is not my
type
at all
.’