‘A suit with a three-bedroomed house.’
‘Ah well, that’s me out of the picture so.’ Mark stood up to reheat the kettle. ‘This place has only two bedrooms.’
‘So, Claire, what do you think he meant by all of that?’
‘Dunno.’
‘I mean, it’s pretty odd for blokes to start talking about marriage out of the blue.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Claire, I don’t think you’re listening to me.’
‘I am, I am. Now stop it, Andrew, stop that. Good boy.’
‘Do you think I’m reading in to it too much?’
‘Well, kind of. But you know what I think. I think you fancy each other like hell. You really should think about having a relationship with someone at this stage. A proper relationship like. Not one of those silly flings that you’ve been having recently. With all those unsuitable people.’
‘Do you know who you sound like?’ Anna laughed,
‘Your mother.’
‘Oh no, do I?’
‘Don’t worry, we all turn into our mothers some day.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Claire said doubtfully.
‘I’m beginning to think Simon sees me as some old mother hen these days.’
‘Ah nonsense, your imagination is in overdrive,’ Anna said dismissively.
Claire decided not to divulge any information regarding her husband’s late nights. Nor mention the planned trip to the National Art Gallery with Tom. Anna would only get the wrong idea. It was better to tell nobody her business. Then they couldn’t be jumping to ridiculous conclusions. Anyway it was obvious Anna had a lot on her plate at the moment. The pressure of this interview and all this sudden daft talk about marriage . . .
‘Claire, are you still there?’
‘Sure. Listen, Anna, that’s Andrew crying. I’m going to go and put him down. Talk to you soon.’
She was gone.
Anna headed back up to her room. Claire had it so wrong about herself and Mark. She didn’t fancy Mark. And even if she did she’d never ever let him know. Men like Mark would run a mile if they thought you were seriously interested. Men were hunters. That’s why M
ark (between short inter
vals) was always single. Hadn’t she already made one mistake with Anthony Lorcan? Remember him? She gave an involuntary shudder. Would she ever forget?
She sat alone in her sitting room thinking it was very small after Mark’s place. It was cold too, and cheerless.
Anthony Lorcan, eh? He had chased her. Ran around UCD after her. Waited outside her lectures for her. Stared at her constantly in the library. She hadn’t really fancied him at all. At first. But she was flattered. Flattered that someone who didn’t look like a complete p
ig actually fancied her. Imag
ine someone decent fancying her – Anna Allstone! Flattery of course though was her big downfall. She began to take notice of this Anthony fella. She began to feel disappointed the days she didn’t see him hanging around. Then she took it upon
herself
to hang around his lectures. To catch him coming out. Not that she let on of course. Oh no! She’d make a point of turning her back once he’d spotted her. This drove him wild. Anna was delighted. It was so much nicer for someone to be mad about you than the other way around.
He wasn’t a Brad Pitt or anything. But he was cute. Even Claire admitted she wouldn’t say no. That gave Anna an enormous sense of power. A friend of
his
had told a friend of
hers
he had the hots for her. Only he thought she was too hard to get. This made Anna determined to live up to this wonderful illusion.
Nobody had ever thought Anna hard to get. It was fun.
The game had started.
Anna was going to play it for all it was worth. She started to make serious eye contact with him in the UCD bar in the afternoons, over the pool tables. His sandy-coloured hair would flop into his green eyes and she’d catch him flicking it and looking over far more than was necessary.
But she always left the bar first. Even if she was having a whale of a time and desperately wanted to stay on.
She always left the bar first.
And then one day for some reason she didn’t leave. She stayed on in the
bar with a crowd from her phi
losophy class and got drunk. Plastered. Wasted. In fact she became so twisted that she didn’t recognize herself in the Ladies’ mirror.
When she stumbled out Anthony was standing beside the door. She fell. He caught her. They snogged for half an hour.
And then she did something she’d never done before. Without a word she disentangled herself from Anthony’s golden arms and made a beeline for Mark. Told him she was so sick she was going to die. And made him escort her from the bar.
What Anthony Lorcan saw leaving the UCD bar that evening was the most blasé woman he’d ever met in his life. Nobody had ever walked out on him like that. On the arm of another bloke too!
Instead of being insulted, Anthony was intrigued. The girl must have tons of confidence to be able to take or leave guys as she pleased. In Anthony’s short nineteen years he’d never met a girl who carried on like that. The lads did it all the time and it was usually hilarious. But now the lads were taking the piss out of him and wondering where his bird had disappeared. Nobody treated Anthony Lorcan like that, he decided. Nobody. As though his life depended on it he was determined to get Anna Allstone.
What Anthony Lorcan did not see, however, was the unobtainable woman of his dreams, puking her guts out into a pretty b
ed of flowers. Less than a hun
dred yards from the bar, Mark Landon was holding Anna’s shoulder-length hair within safe reach of it getting saturated with sick. But Anthony was spared the unpleasant sight.
He didn’t hear Anna wail, ‘Oh my God, what have I DONE!’ before bursting into hysterical drunken tears and collapsing under a tree, convinced that she could never ever face Anthony Lorcan again.
But face him again she did. And although (due to tremendous willpower) she turned him down again twice, eventually she succumbed under the strain of his relentless pursuit.
You see somebody had spotted him over in the canteen. Chatting to Victoria Reilly. And that had put the fear of God into her. Because Victoria wouldn’t be bothered playing hard to get with a guy like Anthony. Victoria got whatever she wanted with an irritating toss of her bleached blonde bob. And so, after a couple of sleepless nights, Anna decided she was going to say yes to Anthony.
The following day when Anthony yet
again approached her after one of her lectures for a date, she said yes.
Though she desperately wanted to say no. Because by saying yes she also knew she was saying GAME OVER.
Of course, it didn’t finish the following evening over dinner. Or during the week when they snogged all the way through a boring film despite violent kicks to their seatbacks by two teenage boys. It lasted, say . . . about three weeks. And then one afternoon he failed to meet her at the ‘blob’ on the Arts concourse. She thought she must have got the time wrong and rang him. And he sounded distant, saying he’d forgotten. She only half believed him.
The next day she tried to get him to talk. It was a complete disaster. She’d never forget his panic
-
stricken face when she tried to discuss their ‘future’.
‘It’s best if we take things slowly,’ he said, fidgeting furiously with his beer mat in Madigan’s pub one Tuesday night.
‘Do you think I’m rushing things?’
‘A bit.’ He stared at the ceiling as if Michelangelo himself had painted it. ‘We’ve only been seeing each other three weeks.’
‘Yeah I know but . . . but you’ve never once told me how you
feel
about me.’
He said nothing. God he was infuriating!
‘Sometimes I think you don’t even like me,’ she continued. It was true. Anthony, on the few occasions he wasn’t trying to rip her clothes off, usually looked like he’d rather be with anyone in the world other than her.
‘Look, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t like you,’ he sighed resignedly.
‘Maybe we should split up,’ she suggested, not meaning a word of it. She’d no intention of parting company with him. But the idea of losing her might shake him up a bit, she thought craftily.
‘Actually I was kind of thinking along those lines myself,’ he said.
Anna couldn’t have been more surprised if he had slapped her face. She was flabbergasted! This wasn’t what she wanted at all. Not at all!
What was she going to do? She couldn’t very well just turn around now and say, ‘Ah no I was only messing.’
So she said nothing.
All words escaped her. She was miserable.
‘But we can be friends,’ he squeezed her thigh. ‘I’d like that.’
God, she’d never get over the embarrassment.
So that’s why Claire had
no business giving her advice about men. Anna had already learned her lesson.
The hard
way.
Claire got ready as soon as Simon left the house. Fortunately Fiona had agreed to babysit. Andrew had reached the stage where one eye looking over him was an eye too short. Pulling phone wires and reaching for creepy-crawlies were great fun. Thank God for
Rugrats
!
Fiona arrived and settled herself and her books in the kitch
en with a cup of coffee and a C
lubmilk.
A golden opportunity for a bath, Claire thought as she relaxed in a mountain of bubbles. She couldn’t wait to catch up with Tom. It was always nice to meet a friend. Friend. Hmmm. Could she really call Tom a friend? Sure she barely knew him. Ah, hang on, what harm was it? They were only looking at paintings, for God’s sake!
She swiped a bath towel off the boiling radiator and wrapped it around her damp, fresh-smelling skin.
It was going to be a great day.
She slipped out without Andrew noticing. Tears were avoided that way. The sun was high and the bright light stung her
eyes. Donning a pair of sun
glasses solved that problem.
At the gallery Tom looked pretty anxious.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Parking’s a nightmare in this city and those bloody clampers are everywhere.’
‘Tell me about it. Why do you think I work night shifts?’
He looked well. But
she didn’t tell him this.
Obviously
. After all it wasn’t a date or anything.
The morning passed pleasantly. Tom was a bit of an expert in art history and through his extensive knowledge was someho
w able to bring the paint
ings to life.
Afterwards over coffee and carrot cake Claire discovered she’d a lot in common with Tom and they chatted easily for hours. Just before twelve Tom apologetically announced that he had really better get going. Where had
the time flown, Claire won
dered. Reluctantly she stood up, not sure what she could do with herself for the rest of the afternoon. There was no point going home when Fiona had been booked for the entire day. Suddenly an idea hit her. If she called into Simon’s office now she might catch him for an early lunch. And sure why not? She was all dressed up with nowhere in particular to go.
Claire strode into Simon’s office unannounced. She flinched at the sight of Simon and Shelley, their heads bent earnestly over some documents on his desk. Her long sleek mane of hair hung over her right shoulder. Her short suede skirt revealed far more than was necessary for work on a Monday morning, and her tight-fitting cashmere cardigan strained against her ample bust.
‘Hello, Simon.’ Claire tried her best to sound bright and breezy but her voice sounded more like a squeak.
‘Claire.’ The expression on Simon’s face was a mixture of surprise and alarm. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Sure,’ Claire was determined not to waver under Shelley’s menacing stare, ‘I’ve come to treat my hubby to a slap-up lunch. Hello, Shelley.’ She nodded curtly to the other woman.
‘God, this is a surprise,’ Simon sounded both pleased and relieved. ‘The only thing is . . . we’re fairly snowed under at the mo––’
‘Don’t you worry ab
out a thing,’ Shelley inter
rupted, patting Simon’s arm. ‘You go off and enjoy your lunch,’ she cooed and Claire felt a resentment she had not thought was possible.
‘You’re a star,’ Simon called over his shoulder as they left the large office with its futuristic pieces of furniture, potted plants in abundance and secretary sitting moodily on the enormous mahogany desk, biting her manicured talons.