‘Don’t let her bully you,’ Elaine said matter-offactly.
‘You know your stuff.’
Anna sighed, ‘That’s the problem. I
do
know what
I’m talking about but I often feel I’m bashing my
head against a brick wall. All June ever does is talk
down to me and slam my suggestions. I’m getting
pretty sick of being treated like a clown.’
‘Coffee?’ Elaine asked hopefully.
‘Absolutely, let’s go.’
She could always invite Mark from across the way.
He was good looking in a God-don’t-I-know-it kind
of way. He was well educated – boarding school,
commerce degree, masters in finance. And was sociable
– well, he was with women anyway judging by
the amount of female traffic going in and out of his
front door every weekend. Anna lived across the
road from Mark in Ranelagh. She had done for
years. The only difference was he owned his own
house, which by now was worth a small fortune,
and Anna rented hers along with four other people
she didn’t know. That’s because Mark had been
a good boy in UCD, playing his rugby, attending
all his lectures, evenings spent in the library, two
summers in Nantucket, Saturday nights in Kiely’s
and the rugby club. Perfect.
Anna, on the other hand, had studied Philosophy
and Greek and Roman civilization (very interesting
subjects but not ones that got you a lucrative job
in Finance), got completely sloshed in the UCD bar
four days a week (not including nights), hung around
alternative people who’d since disappeared off the
face of the earth, and then fecked around Europe
for two years before securing herself a pensionable
punishing position at Lolta’s.
Anyway perhaps Mark wasn’t the best bet. Anna
wanted someone sociable but not too sociable. Imagine
if he copped off with one of Victoria’s single
friends at the party. God it would be too humiliating
by far. No, Mark was not a good idea. Besides,
he’d only think she fancied him which would be
absolutely ridiculous when they both knew they
were strictly friends.
‘But you see people are far more fashion conscious
these days. And they’re also insisting on quality.
People know the value of a good pair of shoes.’
‘Yes indeed.’ Anna nodded vigorously as Elaine
wrapped up her ten-minute speech on modern footwear.
‘I completely agree, Elaine, I think you’ve hit
the nail on the head there.’
They went downstairs to find the staff gathered
in a circle chatting about their current flings. God,
you couldn’t trust them an inch. As Anna and Elaine
marched towards them the crowd dispersed. Wow,
the power of being a department manager!
Jeans were the most consistent sellers, Anna noted. In
fact they sold so well they were never reduced in the
sale. That made sense, didn’t it? Only the crap was
reduced, and to think grown women actually fought
over it! Mind you, June wouldn’t be impressed by
that fact alone. Anna went through the list.
Party wear was incredibly slow. Coats had shot
up since they’d been slashed to half price the week
before. The new spring collection hadn’t exactly
taken off, which wasn’t too surprising when you
considered it was still January and too cold to be
buying flimsy cotton twinsets.
‘What about knitwear?’ June barked, her beady eyes
bulging.
‘Knitwear’s fine,’ Anna was managing to remain
remarkably calm.
‘Be more specific.’ She picked up a chenille turtleneck.
‘What about these, how many units were sold
last week?’
‘Eighteen,’ Anna made a wild guess.
‘Twelve is the figure I have.’
Well, if you already knew why did you ask me, you stupid frustrated cow?
God the woman was so negative. Always looking
for a chance to catch Anna out. If she’d listen to her
suggestions about merchandising, it would be more
to the point. Anna knew she had a great eye for what
drew the punters in.
‘I want you to ring around Navan, Drogheda,
Dundalk and Kildare and find out how their knitwear
is selling in comparison. I’ll expect that report
on my desk by five.’ She stormed off.
Anna stared after her skinny little frame. She was
tempted to raise two fingers but was aware of her
position of responsibility as a department manager
and therefore refrained. June seemed to be on some
kind of mission recently to make Anna’s life hell. It
didn’t really matter how many polo necks Kildare
sold. There was much more to life. There was bound
to be a war going on somewhere in the world. Or
an earthquake. She was still single at thirty. Now
that was more serious than a few polo necks. The
retail business, which she normally thrived on, was
beginning to get her down. Oh how nice it would be
to win the lotto and set up her own fancy boutique
in somewhere like Spain, say, where she could dress
elegant women. Pick out clothes that would really
really suit them. To live in such a warm sunny place
would be bliss, wouldn’t it? Marbella, say. Lots of
Irish people were buying places down there. A place
where you couldn’t see your breath every morning
in the chilly hallway, where goddam students didn’t
let down the state of the place with their bicycles,
where fifty-pence pieces didn’t run away with your
hot water, where strangers couldn’t listen to your
phone calls because the communal phone was placed
strategically in the hallway within hearing distance
of all and sundry and where people didn’t have
parties full of other people who didn’t have to get
up in the morning.
Anna rang Kildare and waited for the department
manager to come back with the knitwear sales. Oh
to turn up one morning with sunglasses perched
on top of her head, a suitcase under her arm and
a one-way ticket to the sun. Then she’d tell June
Nelson to get all her knitwear and stuff it up her
you know what.
By the time the cleaners had gone Annawas exhausted.
It had been an excruciatingly long day with constant
deliveries and staff shortages. She set the shop alarm
and let herself out of the side door. It was a dull damp
winter’s night and the thought of sitting in her dark
damp dreary flat did nothing to raise her spirits.
God, she hated January. It should be abolished from
the calendar altogether.
She’d love to pop over to Claire’s. Claire’s house
was always lovely and warm with a friendly fire
crackling in the grate. Claire’s kitchen presses were
always stacked with good food, and expensive wine
was always chilling in the fridge. Andrew would be
lying peacefully among his teddies in his little yellow
cot and Simon would be sitting on the sofa fidgeting
with the
FT
.
No, she wouldn’t call in. If she called in she
wouldn’t want to leave and Simon would start yawning
in a desperate attempt to get her to go. Or offer to
drive her home before it got too late. She couldn’t call
in to Elaine either. Elaine would have finished her
yoga by now and would be preparing for a sensible
early night in preparation for another early start.
And anyway Elaine thought anybody who drank
alcoholic units on a weeknight was definitely an
alcoholic. And at that very minute Anna would
almost kill for an alcoholic unit.
It was unfair when you thought about it, Anna
decided as she walked the main street in Ranelagh
and passed its many busy pubs. If she were a man
she could quite easily go in, prop herself up at the
bar with a pint, and either watch the match of the
day or enjoy an aimless chat with the barman. But
as a woman, she’d do nothing but attract unwanted
stares and, God forbid, if she chatted to the barman,
he’d probably presume she was gagging for
it. No wonder so many women drank at home on
the QT.
Anna popped into Centra and bought
OK
, a
walnut whip, a tin of spaghetti hoops, a low-fat
yoghurt, two scratch cards, the
Evening Herald
and
a two-litre Diet 7-Up. Was she imagining it or did
the young Chinese chap behind the counter look
at her pitifully as he placed her goods in a white
plastic bag? Oh, maybe she was just being paranoid.
Surely Ranelagh was full of women living on their
own. She wasn’t any different. Anyway there was
nothing
wrong
with being single. Single was sexy.
Better than separated. You only had to look at poor
Elaine. Be positive, Anna told herself and quickened
her step, remember you’re one of those uptown girls
everybody’s talking about.
Anna jabbed her key into the big green door.
Well, it used to be green in its day, but it could
surely do with a lick of paint. She looked in the
cubbyhole beside the phone for her post. Nothing
f
or her. Only a flyer for Pizzaland and a brochure
on central heating. It’s a pity the landlord wouldn’t
take note, Anna thought ruefully as she closed the
door behind her. Suddenly there was a big bang.
She found herself in darkness. Shit, the bulb in the
hallway had blown. That was all she needed. She
shuffled along in complete blackness, keeping close
to the wall. She hit something. It fell. There was a
crash. She screamed. Her leg hurt. The door of the
downstairs flat swung open allowing light to flood
into the hallway.
‘Are you all right?’
She looked up. She blinked hard. No, she wasn’t
dreaming. No, she hadn’t hit her head, only her leg,
so she couldn’t be hallucinating. But something was
clearly amiss for the guy holding her hand as well
as holding her gaze with huge dark-brown eyes, was
the cute student guy from downstairs. Good God, he
really looked the spitting image of Johnny Depp up
close. Not the way he looks now, but remember him
in
21 Jump Street
?
‘I’m so sorry about the bike,’ the vision spoke.
‘The light to the hall seems to have blown. Is your
leg hurting?’
‘It is a bit,’ Anna mumbled. Actually it wasn’t
really sore at all. But still, that didn’t mean she was
about to hobble up the stairs and out of the vision’s
life for ever.
He and his flatmate (whose name turned out to
be Martin) helped her into the downstairs flat. A
small fire was lit and empty wine bottles cum candleholders
were placed around the room. A stunningly
beautiful girl with straggly brown hair was sitting
on the sofa, dressed in something that looked like a
carpet. She was obviously a student. The walls were
decorated with pictures of your man from
The Doors
and the guy from
Nirvana
who committed suicide.
The Charletans
were playing (on the radio of course).
The place was strangely comfortable except for the
girl. Not that she was deliberately making the place
uncomfortable, but still she was a girl and a very
pretty one at that.
‘I’m Suzie,’ she smiled. ‘Can I get you a cup
of tea?’
The last thing Anna felt like was a cup of tea
but she was afraid that if she said no she couldn’t
justify staying in the flat a little longer. So she
agreed.
‘Maybe Anna would like a beer?’ the vision suggested.
It was exactly what Anna preferred. She wondered
how he knew her name.