She sat rigidly in her seat under the scrutinizing gaze of her interviewe
r, whose forbears, she imag
ined, could have sat on the Spanish Inquisition. His questioning was thorough.
‘We have over fifty internal applicants for this position, Miss Allstone. Tell me why we should choose you over all
these highly competent appli
cants?’
Fifty applicants! Jesus, she didn’t have a hope.
‘Because I badly want it, Mr Walton.’ Anna strove to put into her voice t
he professionalism and enthusi
asm that she knew were called for. ‘Because I assure you I’m the best person for the job and if you give me this position I won’t let you down.’
Mr Walton looked vaguely satisfied by this response. He adjusted his spectacles once more, leaned back and carefully contemplated his interviewee.
‘How do you feel about relocating?’ he threw at her.
‘I’d welcome the change,’ Anna replied levelly. ‘It would broaden my horizons and give me a chance to discover a different side of Lolta’s. I’m willing to learn all that I can.’
‘Do you believe you can sufficiently cope with the enormity of this particular challenge?’ he asked as if he were sizing her up for the position of chief executive.
‘I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,’ said Anna and prayed hard that this man would believe her.
Ten minutes later found her shivering at the bus stop, willing the number 13 to arrive. She
thought
the interview had gone okay, but she couldn’t tell for sure. After all, the last one had felt pretty disastrous and she’d got it. Mr Walton said they’d be in touch before the end of the week. But his face had remained blank. She buttoned up her coat. An unforgiving wind whipped her ears. God, it was cold. A bus with a sign saying
Out of Service
raised false hopes.
Eventually Anna r
eached the empty house. Wea
rily she pushed the door open, glad that Steve was studying so hard that she wouldn’t have to bump into him. What was it with her and men? What did she do to push them away? If she were thinner would it make a difference? Not that she was particularly large or anything but thin girls weren’t used and then discarded like empty beer cans. Thin ruled.
Anna sat alone in front of the TV seeing nothing. She poured herself a well-deserved glass of wine and opened a box of sour cream and onion Pringles. She popped one and then another. It was true what they said about popping and not stopping. She lit a cigarette. Puffing away, she pondered her luck with men. Or ill luck rather. Claire was lucky. She’d never really had any problems with men, didn’t know what it was like to pine for someone, didn’t know what it was like to lie awake all night praying for some man to notice her. Anna knew all about that. She knew what it was like to be choked with pain when men failed to reciprocate your feelings, and to know that although the ones you desperately wanted, would court you, snog you, sleep with you even, the woman they’d ultimately choose as their steady girlfriend/wife, would be a lot more sophisticated, more self-assured and perhaps a lot prettier than you.
Of course Claire
had
been dumped. And regularly. But the reasons had usually been because she’d absolutely refused to sleep with them. Not because they thought she was unattractive in any way.
At least Anna couldn’t ring Steve and beg for a second . . .
sorry
. . . third shot at making their
‘relationship’ work. Not unless she went out to a payphone to do it. Ah well, she wasn’t going to waste any more time thinking about him. She had her possible promotion to think about. That was some compensation. If she got a transfer she wouldn’t have to bump into the likes of Steve, Jake or Elaine for a very long time. It was a very comforting thought.
The front door bell rang, making her start. Who could it be? Perhaps Grainne or Sandra had locked themselves out. Or Steve. Well, he could bloody stay out! It rang again. A long ring this time.
‘Mark, you’re back.’ Anna couldn’t help breaking into a smile.
‘London was too busy,’ he grinned. ‘Too many people.’
‘Right.’ Anna wasn’t fooled. ‘Whatsername must have kicked you out.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Mark protested. ‘Anyway you’ve got that all wrong as I told you before.’
‘Come in,’ Anna widened the door.
‘Actually –’ he paused ‘– would you mind coming over to me? My fridge is crammed with food . . . too much for one man to eat alone.’
‘Uh . . .’ Anna started.
‘Unless you’re doing something with that young lad of yours.’
‘No,’ Anna retorted. ‘I’m not doing anything with him . . . tonight.’
‘Good. Right. You ready?’
‘Sure.’
She followed him across the road, delighted with the prospect of some company. Sitting all alone for one more night was not something she’d been looking forward to.
Mark’s house was as always a pleasure to walk into. Thick carpets and a roaring – or was it a fake? – fire in the sitting room. Anna removed her jacket and let him hang it up. No seriously, this place was cool with abstract art stuff which she couldn’t make head or tail of, and oriental-looking rugs. She should be living in a place like this at her age. She was too old to be living in a crap place. She should be living in a nice three-bedroomed house with a Labrador and maybe a husband. To rent a place anyway half decent on your own in Dublin cost a bloody fortune. Mark was so so lucky he’d bought before property prices had gone through the through the roof.
‘Sit down and relax.’
It was exactly what Anna intended to do. She installed herself on the purple-and-white-striped sofa. There was an ambient pleasure about the front room, a certain pride in it. Not to show off or impress, but for its own sake.
Mark was back with the wine. ‘Vino?’ he offered.
‘I’d murder a glass.’
He poured. She drank. Immediately Anna began to relax. This was far
far
better than sitting in her own flat or in Steve’s for that matter. No wonder women fell for Mark. It was probably the house that did it.
He removed his own jacket, revealing the outline of his shoulders and slim waist. Again Anna could see why women might fall for Mark.
This time it had nothing to do with the house.
She really should invite him to the dreaded party. Mark would pass the strictest Victoria Reddin test.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Nothing,’ Anna sighed, ‘it’s been a long day, that’s all.’
She told him about the interview.
‘When will they let you know?’ he enquired.
‘Dunno,’ she answered glumly. ‘The sooner the better really.’
‘Why the sad face? I’d say you’ve nothing to worry about.’ He placed a hand around hers and gave it a squeeze. ‘They’re lucky to have someone like you working for them.’
He disappeared into the kitchen to grab the food, returning with two pl
ates containing something deli
cious.
‘What is it?’
‘Wild mushroom risotto.’
‘Hey, I didn’t know you could cook.’
‘You’d be surprised at what I can do.’ His eyes met hers. She looked away first. He’d better be careful and remember this wasn’t a date. If Mark thought he could suddenly win her over with a bottle of wine and some grub, he’d better think again. The food did live up to its smell, however. Home cooking beat a ready-to-go-meal-for-one any day. And the company lived up to usual expectations. Anna sipped her wine and studied her companion, congratulating herself on being able to sustain a platonic relationship with such an attractive man. Weaker women would have snapped under the strain of it all. She was proud of herself. After all it was easy to be friends with a dog. Most women had at least one male friend with a ‘lovely’ personality. Mark was Anna’s male friend, though some doubted the friendship. Namely Claire. Then again what would Claire know about anything? The only men she knew were those idiot friends of Simon.
‘Let me take your plate,’ Mark said after a while.
‘Are you full or could you manage a piece of Black
Forest gateau?’
‘I could, yeah. Have you been baking all morning or what?’
‘As if.’
‘Who made it so?’
‘A lovely man in a lovely deli.’
‘I give up,’ Anna laughed.
‘So how’s the love life?’ Mark asked suddenly as she dug her fork into the cake.
‘Great,’ Anna replied nonchalantly and wondered why he always brought up this silly topic, over and over again. ‘Not a bother,’ she added with a plastic grin.
‘Are you in love?’
‘I might be.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he contradicted. ‘You don’t have that glow about you.’
‘Glow?’
‘Yeah . . . you know, when you’re in love and you don’t need to eat or drink and you forget to sleep and forget to ring your mates. And it doesn’t matter if it’s raining outside because your own world is full of sunshine . . .’
‘Jesus, you’re some poet.’
‘Thanks.’ Mark’s eyes twinkled with merriment.
‘I’m perfectly happy,’ Anna insisted.
Mark put down his dessert spoon. He seemed to suddenly drift into space. Then he was back again as Anna began to speak. ‘I don’t know if I’ve ever truly been in love,’ she said. ‘I mean at the time I think I am but once it’s all off then I think I definitely wasn’t. Does that make sense?’
‘Does to me. When I was in first year college I was in love with three girls all at the same time. I remember wondering how I’d ever be able to choose. In second year I didn’t fancy any of them.’
‘You heartbreaker, you,’ Anna giggled.
‘Do you think we’ll ever get married?’ Anna nearly choked.
Mark resumed eating like he’d said nothing out of the ordinary. Just like that. As if he’d casually mentioned that it might rain later. Or asked if she’d any holidays booked for this year. Anna searched his face for traces of sarcasm but found none. She stopped toying with her piece of cake. She had suddenly lost her appetite. ‘Excuse me?’ she asked in a puzzled voice.
‘Well, just out of interest like, have you thought about it?’
‘Marrying you?’ Anna was shocked.
‘Me?’ Mark looked equally shocked. ‘God no not me ha ha ha you and me ha ha could you imagine!’
It’s not that fucking funny
, Anna silently fumed. What was going on here? Did he think this was some idea of a joke? ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she snapped.
‘Nothing.’ He looked apologetic. ‘Sorry.’ They sat for about a minute in silence.
‘What I meant was . . .’ he began again.
Christ, couldn’t he just drop it
? ‘What I meant was, do you think either of us will ever tie the knot . . . like with anyone?’
‘It’s not something I’ve really ever thought about,’ Anna replied coolly.
‘But you’re thirty.’
‘So?’ She glowered at him.
‘And everybody else is doing it.’
‘Mark,’ she sighed, ‘if everybody else was running down Dún Laoighaire
pier in a bid to throw them
selves off the end, do you think I would be running along in the middle of them? I don’t want to be like everybody else. And to be quite honest I think a lot of people get married just ’cos they’re bored. Their jobs are boring, their nights out are boring, their twice-weekly trip to the gym and Sunday drives aren’t enough to keep them going. So whey hey they get engaged. Now they’ve a wedding to plan. It’s something to do, you know?’
‘God, you’re cynical.’
Anna shrugged. ‘I think I’m just being realistic. There’s no way I’d walk up the aisle looking like a meringue in front of a bunch of relatives I don’t know just because everybody else is doing it.’
‘What about your biological clock? Is that not ticking?’
‘No,’ Anna remarked dryly, ‘I think the batteries must have fallen out.’
Mark laughed. ‘So you’re serious, you don’t want to get hitched, have a family and that?’
Anna stared at him. ‘If I were a man I’d probably want seven kids, but I certainly don’t want to be pregnant like for ever. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind one, you know, for the experience. It could look after me in my old age. Anyway if I was planning on getting married any time in the near future, do you not think I’d be going out with someone a bit older than Steve? Someone with prospects,’ she added cheekily.
‘A suit?’ He grinned.