Alberta Clipper (32 page)

Her enthusiasm fuelled
Shay
's, and he smiled broadly at Mark.  “Nice one, mate,” he said.  “Shouldn't we be high-fiving right now?”  He looked from his wife to Mark and back. 
Nina
glared at him.

“Please
Shay
, I'm only talking to you because, well because you are my friends.  And you know her, and.  Well, please, please -”  Mark looked in desperation from one to the other.

“Not a word,”
Shay
nodded, pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Nina
took a piece of orange from her husband’s
hand.  “So go on Mark.  What happened?”

“It was all fine.”  He glanced up at
Shay
.  “Amazing, really.  And then.  And then this morning, she seemed to notice that some of Jennifer's stuff was still in the house, and she, well she went ballistic.”  He took a swig of his coke.  “That's what happened.”

Shay
and
Nina
sat in silence looking at him.

“That doesn't really make sense,”
Shay
offered.  “Why would she care if some of Jennifer's stuff was still around?  It's understandable surely that some of her stuff might still be in the house.”  He looked at
Nina
.  “Right?  I mean, she might be back next summer, she still owns half the house.  I don't see the problem.”

Nina
gave her husband a look that seemed to silence him, and she turned to Mark.  “Do you expect Jennifer to move back in after her year in Edinburgh is up?” she asked.

“No.”  Mark was emphatic.  He shook his head.  “We haven't really talked about what will happen next summer
. 
But it's over.  I know that.  I've known that for months.”

A call came out from the sitting room for the forgotten popcorn, and
Shay
looked apologetically at Mark, and went to take down some bags from a press.  He emptied them into a b
owl, and left the room again
.

Nina
rubbed her hand up and down her glass which was wet with condensation.  “Did you tell Christine how you felt about her last night?”  She looked up at h
im.  “I mean really tell her?”

Mark stared at his coke.  “Yes,
”
he said.
  He searched
Nina
's face for a clue to what she was thinking.

“Well
,
maybe that rang a little hollow for her when she noticed Jennifer's stuff around the place this morning,”
Nina
said quietly.  “She's obviously just been treated badly by
Gavan
-”

“What happened there?” Mark
interrupted her
.

“I don't know, but he did something wrong, I know that much.  And if he did cheat, or lie, well
…
”  She paused.  “Maybe she felt like you were lying to her too.”

Mark tried to remember what she had said that morning, the words she had used.  The way
Nina
described it, he could see how Christine might have thought he was playing her.  Could he have fucked this up any better?  Christ.

“I told her I loved her.”

Nina
bit her lower lip, and squeezed his knee again.

“And do you know something?”  He stared at a pineapple in the fruit bowl without seeing it.  “I really do.”

Shay
came back in at that moment.  “So.”  He looked at them.  “Have we solved the mystery?”

“There's no mystery,” Mark said, hopping down from his stool.  “I am just an ass.  Mystery solved.”

“That's not true,”
Nina
looked at him.  “You can sort this out, Mark.  She went home with you.  She clearly likes you.  You just need to convince her that you are, genuine.”

“Yeah,” Mark shrugged his coat on and walked out to the hall.  “I'm sorry for turning up like this guys.  And it was a great night.”

“It was certainly eventful.  Oh wait there a second.” 
Nina
turned and went back into the kitchen.

Mark stood at the front door, trying not to make eye-contact with
Shay
.  It struck him how these conversations were a lot easier when you were fifteen, and the only important part of the story would have been the fact that he had kissed Christine.  It seemed things got more complicated the older you were.

“So we're off on holiday the day after tomorrow,”
Shay
said.

“Oh Christ, yeah, I'd forgotten all about that,” Mark nodded.  “That'll be great.  Two weeks of sun.  I could do with that myself.”  It had been two years since Mark had been on a sun holiday.  He travel
led so much with work
, it was easy to forget what
a real holiday was
like.

“Well, it's never much of a break with the three loonies,”
Shay
tipped his head towards the sitting room door.  “But the heat will be nice.  And
Nina
is very excited about it.”

“It'll be great,” Mark said.  “Although I could have done with a wingman first day back.”

“You'll be fine, buddy.”

“Here,”
Nina
returned with a plastic carrier bag and handed it to Mark.  “Your dessert.  You never had it last night.”

The three of them stood in silence for a second, before all sniggering like teenagers.

“Ah guys,” Mark smiled sadly, “I wish it were funny.”

“You'll sort it out, Mark,”
Nina
kissed him, as he opened the front door.

“And if not, there's always Erica,”
Shay
said, and
winced as his wife’s fist connected with his shoulder
.

“Are you sure about this, Mark?”  Petra turned a page of a large ring-bound diary which was propped on her lap.  She shook her head and turned the page back again.  “You'll have been away all the previous week.  You'll only get in from Chicago on the Saturday, and this climate conference is in London the following Tuesday and Wednesday.” 

She looked up at him over her black rimmed spectacles.  They were a new addition
on this first day back after
the Christmas holidays.  Mark wondered briefly if Petra's eyesight was actually deteriorating
,
or if she felt
a more erudite look
might foster a little respect from her colleagues. 

“And the
company
strategy meeting is
scheduled for the nineteenth and twentieth of this month,” she continued.  “That’s
the week prior to your Chicago trip
.  And t
wo more days you will be unavailable.”

“Just book it please, Petra.”  Mark closed his filofax and put it to one side.  “I'll fly over to London early on the Tuesday morning so I can be here in the office
the
Monday
before
.”

Petra looked disapproving, but stood to go.

“Can you confirm where Christine is staying?”  Mark could feel his face going red.  “I presume she is staying at the conference hotel, and not the Hilton?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, book me in there too so.”  The very important file Mark had opened on his desk to stare at was swimming before his eyes.  “And I'll stay at the Hilton on the Wednesday night, and fly back to Dublin Thursday evening.”  Petra was scribbling into her diary as he spoke.  “See if
Marcus
can meet me in his office on Thursday morning.”

“Right.”  She left the room. 

Mark stopped pretending to read the text before him.  He stood and went over to the glass wall of his office, and pulled the rarely used blinds, so the view out over the dealing desk was partially obscured.  If he didn't, he knew he would spend the morning with one eye on her office door, hoping she might emerge.  He sat
down
on a chair facing th
e window
.  He had a two day internal strategy meeting to prepare for.  That was all he was going to think about.  Nothing else.

~

“I don't care if the Queen of Sheba is attending that day, I am not available on the twentieth.”  Christine stared Petra down.  She used the full force of her more senior position in the company like an invisible army as she sat behind her desk, arms crossed, looking up at her adversary.

“But the agenda has been set.”  Petra waved some paper at Christine.  “The other analysts are all attending on the twentieth.  You'll just have to change your plans.”

Christine's eyes were icy as she smiled up at Petra.  “I won't be changing my plans.  I won’t be in on the twentieth.  Either you re-work the agenda, or I'll sit in on the meetings on the nineteenth.”

“But it's mostly financials on the nineteenth.”  Petra looked like she might stamp her foot.  “Mark wants you and the other analysts to give their presentations on the second day.”

Christine started shuffling paperwork on her desk, signalling that the discussion was over. 

“I'll have to talk to Mark about this,” Petra said. 

“You do that.”  Christine clicked her mouse, and opened her email which she had already checked before Petra had walked in the door.  Petra stood staring at her for a second, before turning on her heel and leaving the room, closing the door behind her.  Christine slumped back in her chair.  She didn't like causing trouble, even for Petra, but there was no alternative.  She could not give one of the most important presentations of the year on the twentieth of January.  Maybe she would be fine.  Maybe she'd wake that morning and be able out get out of bed and act like a normal human being for twenty-four hours.  But based on the last few January twentieths, it was unlikely. 

She couldn't risk it.  She had planned to take the day off.  It wasn't her fault if the HR department hadn't made Petra aware of that.  Part of her reluctantly admitted that it wasn't Petra's fault either.  But she didn't care.  She couldn't care.  It was what it was.  And if Mark wasn't happy about it, well, Mark could shove it.

~

Mark sat in silence for a moment.  “Well, just switch the
agenda
around then.  Check with
the analytical team
and just move their presentations to the first day.”

Petra lifted a printed page she was holding, examining a second page stapled behind it.  “But it'll throw the whole itinerary,” she said.  “And I'll have to get the marketing department to agree to it.”  She looked up from the pages and back down at them again.

“Look Petra,” Mark spoke in a low voice.  “With all due respect to the marketing department, I don't give a fuck if they
make their presentation
on the nineteenth or the twentieth.  If Christine isn't available on the twentieth, sort the
analysts for the nineteenth.  Just get it done
, and issue the revised agenda to all the managers.”

Petra opened her mouth, only to close it again.  She folded the pieces of stapled paper in her hand.  “Certainly Mark,” she said.

Mark sat staring straight ahead of him as she headed for the door.  “Thank you
,
Petra,” he called as she closed it behind her.

~

Just before lunchtime, Christine heard a knock and raised her eyes from her computer screen to see Craig letting himself into her office. 

“I wasn't sure you’d started back today,” he said, dropping himself into a chair.  “You've been very quiet all morning.”

“Just keeping my head down,” she clicked her mouse and turned to give him her full attention.  “How are you?  How was Christmas?”

“Oh, good.”  Craig picked up a paperweight which sat on Christine's desk.  It had a miniature statue of Copenhagen's Little Mermaid inside with a tiny thermometer stuck into the rock beside her.  “I have some news.”

“Yeah?”  Christine imagined Craig's reaction if she told him her own news, but then her eyes lit up in realisation.  “Oh my God!  Did you?  Are you?”

“Yep,” Craig was failing to keep the smile from his face.  “I am soon to be Mr. Rachel Astor of Dunformly Park.”

“Craig.”  Christine jumped up.  She ran around her desk, and threw her arms around her friend.  “I'm so happy for you.”  She looked at him.  “And she really said yes?”

“Shut up,” Craig laughed.  “I'm quite a catch, you know.”

“I know,” she smiled.  “And so have we a date set?  Summer in St. Bart's?  Winter wedding in Aspen?”

“We haven't really talked about it yet.  But you'll be the first to know, of course.”

Christine sat on her desk.  “Emily will be distraught,” she winked.

“I know,” Craig leaned back in the ergonomic chair.  “And you thought that noise on New Year's Eve was bangers being set off, when in reality it was the sound of a thousand Irish girls' hearts breaking.”