‘But where would you go?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You can’t come here.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Ah come on, Claire, don’t be like that. You couldn’t bring Andrew here. Aoife’s studying for her finals.’
‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t see at all. In fact you’re acting pretty weird at the moment.’
‘Of course I’m acting weird. My husband is having an affair and I’m supposed to
carry on like every
thing is normal, am I?’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘I am
not
being ridiculous. But I can’t expect you to help me. You’ve a man in your life now so everything is fine. The whole world can fuck off when there’s a man on the scene, right?’
‘Jesus, I can’t believe you’re being such a bitch.’
‘I can’t turn to anybody else,’ Claire sounded distraught. ‘Everybody hates me. Even Tom doesn’t want to know.’
‘Who the hell is Tom?’
‘Just a friend.’
‘Claire, you don’t have any male friends.’
‘I do now.’
‘Are you trying to tell me something?’
‘No.’
‘Did you . . . you didn’t snog this Tom fella, did you?’
Claire didn’t answer.
‘Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you slept with . . .’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Claire snapped.
‘But you thought about it, didn’t you?’
‘I might have.’
‘Jesus, Claire, there
is
something wrong. Don’t do anything stupid until Friday. I’ll come up to see you at the weekend.’
‘Sure.’
Anna put the pho
ne down. It rang again immedi
ately.
‘Claire?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said the bemused male voice.
‘Try again.’
‘Darren,’ she grinned. ‘Good to hear from you.’
‘I’m taking you to Paris.’
‘What?’
‘First-class tickets. Friday night.’
‘Friday? Oh no, I can’t go this Friday.’
‘Right,’ He sounded disappointed.
‘Sorry, it’s just that something urgent has come up.’
‘Bummer.’
‘I know.’
‘You can’t get out of it?’
‘No,’ was Anna’s firm reply. Difficult as it was to turn him down, friendship had to come first. She wasn’t going to give Claire the chance to fault her again. ‘I’m sorry, there’s no way I can go.’
‘Well, I’ll catch you again,’ he said. ‘Bye bye.’ Anna stared at the phone in near disbelief. Had
she really just gone and turned down the trip of a lifetime with Ireland’s sexiest man in favour of a night in with the moaning Claire? Jesus, she needed her head examined.
All her life she’d waited for Mr Right to whisk her off into the sunset and make her dreams come true. Tonight was the closest she’d ever come to
that. And she’d blown it. For Claire. Claire who thought the world owed her a lot and spent most of her life trapped in some kind of bubble. Damn Claire and her silly hallucinations. A guy as solid as Simon didn’t just go off and have an affair.
‘I cancelled the trip to Paris,’ Darren was on the phone to Anna first
thing the following morn
ing.
‘Not on my account, I hope,’ Anna replied coyly.
‘Paris can wait. But I can’t wait . . . to see you. I miss you. I can’t get you out of my head.’
‘Really?’ Anna was flabbergasted.
‘Can I meet you Saturday afternoon?’
‘Sure,’ Anna said coolly while hugging the phone in delight, ‘Saturday is fine.’
How the tables have turned for you, Anna Allstone, she thought as she whizzed through Salthill in her newly delivered company car. Only a few weeks ago you were being given the run-around by a bunch of useless eejits. Now look at you. With a guy like Darren practically eating out of your hand.
But back to reality she was seriously worried about Claire. Her friend was obviously suffering from some kind of
post-natal depression or some
thing. But in fairness Andrew had been born quite a while ago. Surely that couldn’t be it.
Anyway, whatever it was, Anna was sure she could sort it all out.
Anna was particularly good at sorting out other people’s problems.
She wondered when would be the best time to invite Darren to the party. It was important not to scare him off with too many invitations. Then again it was just a party, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like she was dragging him along to meet her parents or anything like that. And it was vital that he kept the weekend free.
Anna parked outside the side door of Lolta’s and let herself in.
The store was empty.
She turned on the lights and deactivated the alarm.
The phone was ringing.
‘Good morning, Lolta’s?’
‘Anna, is that you?’ a sharp voice barked down the line.
Jesus, it was June bloody Neelane. Was there no escaping that wagon?
‘Yes it is.’ Anna tried to keep her voice even.
‘Slight change of plans I’m afraid, Anna. Miss Browne has been taken to hospital due to
ill
ness and I’ve nobody t
o man the store this week
end apart from you. I trust you’ll do a good job and we’ll owe you another day off at a later date.’
‘But June, I . . .’
‘You’ll be more than capable, Anna. This is a good opportunity to prove yourself, remember. I’ll be at the other end of the phone as always, of course.’
The bloody bitch! Anna stared at the dead phone, stunned. It was as if June
knew
she’d made plans for the weekend. This was a disaster. Claire would kill her for not meeting her and as for Darren . . . well, she could more or less kiss him goodbye. He wouldn’t be sitting in watching TV while she ran around like a headless chicken trying to run a store at the other end of the country.
She rang Claire who was predictably devastated and said something daft like not knowing how she’d get through another weekend on her own.
‘On your own?’ Anna wasn’t terribly sympathetic.
‘You’ve a husband, Claire, and you need to start communicating with him.’
‘I’d communicate with him if he was bloody well here.’
‘Well, ring the Samaritans so.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I mean it, Claire, they’re brilliant. They’ll just listen and you can get everything off your chest.’
‘But I’m not suicidal.’
‘You don’t have to be. Just ring them. I’ll talk to you later, okay?’
Anna hung up the phone and sighed. If Claire worked as a retail manager she’d soon know the true meaning of drama. She rang Darren’s mobile but it was switched off.
On Friday, everything that could have gone wrong, did. The computers went completely ballistic and a record eight staff called in sick. A lorry load of goods was delivered and lay scattered around the stockroom waiting for someone to have a serious accident.
But Anna coped. Somehow.
Back at the flat she poured herself a double G&T and switched on T
he Late Late Show
. Her aching stockinged feet deserved a break.
Aoife had gone home for the weekend and the place was strangely quiet. Anna settled into the sofa and listened to some Irish ‘lollipop’ singer crooning into the microphone. The singing sensation was horribly made up with circles under her eyes. Anna was afraid her ginormous head would topple over any minute. God, there was terrible pressure on women in the public eye to starve, wasn’t there?
Come to think of it, Anna hadn’t eaten much herself over the last few days. There was nothing like a heavy work schedule to keep the calories at bay.
The singing head
left the stage and suddenly Pat
Kenny was shaking
some politician’s hand. Yawn!
Then out of the blue the door
bell
rang. Anna’s heart leaped.
The clock said ten-thirty.
Who in the name
of God was outside?
‘Hi, is that Claire?’
‘Yes it is.’ Claire didn’t recognize the voice. ‘Er . . . who’s this?’
‘Alice . . . remember from
school?’
‘Alice Flinton! How
could I forget? Are you back for a break or what?’
‘I’m back for good actually, five years of living in the city that
never
sleeps wears you out eventu
ally.’
‘Where did you get my new number?’
‘Your mum. She was saying you’re well married now with a son and all. I believe he’s beautiful.’
‘Yes he is,’ Claire said proudly. ‘You have to come over and see him.’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Come over tonight, why don’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t be intruding, would I?’
‘Ah no,’ Claire said lightly. As if !
‘I’m dying to meet Simon too,’ Alice enthused, ‘I
heard he’s a wild thing.’
Wild? Simon? Ah no. She must be mistaking him for someone else. ‘Er . . . who told you that?’ Claire asked hesitantly.
‘Oh, it’s just that my sister
Ellie, her friend works i
n the same firm. She raves about
him so she does.’
‘And what’s
her name?’ Claire emitted faintly.
‘Shelley, Shelley Riffley, a striking-looking girl I
must say . . . tall, long dark hair, long . . .’
‘I know
her,’ Claire cut in. ‘And she thinks
Simon’s great, does she?’
‘Says it’s a pity there aren’t more men like him about. Poor Shelley. Her love life has always been a bit of a disaster. She––’
‘Did I hear you got married yourself, Alice?’ Claire suddenly felt nauseous and was extremely anxious to change subjects.
‘Yes,’ Alice instantly became quiet, ‘yes I did. I’m separated now though.’
‘Oh I’m sorry,’ Claire commiserated. ‘I really am.’
‘Ah well, unfortunately things don’t always turn out the way you’d hoped.’
‘Yes.’
I know
.
‘Well, will I see you this evening then?’
‘Great,’ said Claire, ‘See you.’
Good old Simon, Claire grimaced. Wild, huh? Not with his wife he wasn’t. Unless you meant wildly boring. Then again, maybe he really was this mad thing when he went out without her. Maybe he danced on tables and mooned at shocked onlookers. Nah, that was ridiculous. It wasn’t in Simon to behave like that. He was still fairly solid at the end of the day. People didn’t change
that
drastically.
She ran Andrew’s bath and sat on the toilet seat as steam engulfed the room. She missed female company. Adult company. It was great that Alice was calling over to chat about the old days.
Andrew shouted joyfully, throwing gallons of water over the edge of the bath. The car
pet under
neath was getting saturated. Claire wondered if baths had been as exciting for her when she was young. Children were such simple creatures. It was a pity they had to grow up.
Her son squealed with unconcealed delight as
Claire rinsed his dark blond curls with warm water.
‘Mama,’ he shrieked, ‘Mama.’
‘Baba,’ she cooed back. ‘Baba good boy, yes you are, yes you are.’
He grabbed his yellow duck and splashed the bathwater even more. Thankfully he’d no idea that his Mama and Dada were involved in a silent war, Claire thought darkly. No idea that his mother had lusted after anot
her man while he slept inno
cently in his cot at home. No idea why his father would choose to chase the knickers off the office tart.
Claire secured Andrew into his buggy. His mother had seen a stunning sequined silver number in the window of a chic Ranelagh boutique. Maybe they’d have it in a size ten. It would be absolutely perfect for Victoria’s party.
She took a critical look at herself in the hall mirror. Despite wearing full war paint and cherry blusher, she looked worryingly pale. A few sunbed sessions were badly needed. The silver dress wouldn’t exactly go with snow-white arms.