Free Mr Right for the Night by Marisa Mackle

was all so horrible. In a way Claire was glad Simon had talked her out of going back to work. She didn’t know if she could cope with all that pressure.
    She opened the baby door quietly and smelled the familiar baby smell that filled the tiny blue boxroom. The light flooded in from the hall. Andrew, asleep in his little yellow babygro with the duck on it, was breathing evenly. Fluffy, his favourite teddy, was tucked in beside him, one paw covering half of Andrew’s face. Claire tiptoed gently towards his cot and moved Fluffy slightly away. She bent down and kissed the soft warm skin of her baby’s cheek. Happiness surged through her.
    Nothing, not all the nights out and wild times could ever replace the intense love she felt for her little boy. She heard Simon’s footsteps on the stairs. No wonder he was always working hard for his family. He loved Andrew as much as she did. That was why he spent those long laborious hours in the office, bent over his computer. Because of his wife and child. Because he was aware of his responsibilities. Because he was a good Daddy.
     
    Anna woke in a sweat. Somehow her blanket was strewn across her bedroom floor. Sunbeams streamed through a crack in the check curtains.
    What time had she finally got a taxi home? Had she even got a taxi in the end? She vaguely remembered having had an argument with someone about the shocking lack of taxis around the place at night. But who cared anyway? She’d got home somehow and besides her head was hurting too much to try to figure out what had been dreamed and what hadn’t. The whole night had been a bloody nightmare. A complete waste of time. Anna considered spending the whole afternoon in bed feeling sorry for herself, but a deep thirst forced her out of the bed. Her t ongue felt like an old piece of carpet.
    Never again, she told herself as she sipped from a half tin of flat lemonade. Yuck. Her insides were craving from the lack of food. Her poor bewildered stomach. She wondered if models always felt this bad. God, it was no great shakes being a waif with your tummy screaming at you, accusing you of abuse. How could one live with the guilt? She fired her empty can at the bin in the corner and missed. Feck it, she wasn’t going to pick it up now. If she bent down she’d never get up again. She’d pick it up tomorrow. In fact she’d do a big clear-out. Tomorrow after work. Jesus, work. Ugh! Anna slumped herself down on a red-paint-spattered stool and rested the side of her face on the cool kitchen table. The chilly surface was a welcome sensa tion against her fiery flushed cheek. Thank God it was Sunday.
     

CHAPTER NINE
    ‘So, Anna,’ Elaine sipped her carrot juice as they sat in a veggie restaurant on George’s Street, ‘have you written out your application letter yet?’
    ‘For what?’ Anna looked surprised.
    ‘Don’t you know? Your form for the post of assistant manager has to be in by tomorrow.’
    ‘Oh yeah,’ Anna stabbed her veggie burger with her fork. She had thought about applying for the post – after all she’d no intention of being a mere department manager all her life. But what in the name of God would she do in a one-horse town where if you sneezed everybody would be talking about it? She didn’t fancy packing her bags to go off and move to such a town just to exercise a bit of authority in a two-man shop. No, thank you very much. At least in Dublin she was right in the heart of things. And near Claire, of course. Not that she saw much of her these days though. Unfortunately, Claire was too busy being the perfect wife. Then there were her parents to consider. They’d miss her dreadfully. Or would they? Anna forced herself to consider it. Get real here , she finally chided herself. They probably wouldn’t notice if she was abducted by aliens and whisked off to Timbuktu. Who else was there? Mark? Well, he would just have to find someone else to torment. In fact, when she thought about it, was there anybody who