Mr Right for the Night by Marisa Mackle

. . . hello? . . . hell . . . ah . . . ffffffff . . .’
    A grey-haired drunk was yelling at people who s uddenly found themselves engrossed in their evening papers.
    ‘That’s right,’ he yelled. ‘Don’t answer me back. It’s the age of technology and all that crap but one day you’ll be dead and all the computers in the world won’t be able to save you. Good luck.’
    Anna stared out of the window terrified that he might catch her eye. Thankfully she was sitting too far behind for him to harass her. Instead he directed his heated statements towards a scarlet-faced, acne-covered youth. Poor man, Anna thought soberly. Imagine if he was your dad or your brother. He was someone ’s relative. It was sad when you came across someone like that. It kind of put your own life into perspective.
    The old man got off the bus just before it turned into Ranelagh village. She looked back out of the window and saw him continue his argument with the bus stop. Life was cruel, she thought shaking her head sadly. He was definitely someone the Celtic Tiger seemed to have forgotten about.
    She found the house in complete darkness. Briefly she wondered where Steve was. Did he ever think about her? Or did he just see her as the desperate old tart upstairs? Hopefully not. It wouldn’t be nice for anyone to think about her in that way. Maybe she’d bump into him again and they could be friends. She hadn’t seen him since Friday. Tonight was Tuesday night, wasn’t it? She wondered if he’d be having another mad party. Or would he be writing chansons d’amour to Claudine?
    The phone was ringing as she pushed open the front door. She threw her bag down and lunged for it.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Anna?’
    A male voice. Hurrah! But who was it? One male voice sounded much the same as another.
    ‘Hi,’ she pretended to know who it was, ‘how are you?’
    ‘It’s me.’
    ‘I know,’ she said. Who the hell was it?
    ‘How do you know?’
    She was confused. The voice was undeterred by her brusqueness. This wasn’t Mark. And it wasn’t Rich unless he was acting. But she wasn’t going to back down now.
    ‘Because your voice is always the same,’ she played along.
    ‘It’s Jake,’ the voice said.
    Silence followed. Who the hell was Jake? Stunned silence followed that. Oh sh . . . sugar! Jake was the fella she’d met at Claire’s. The plant and all that. Yikes, he’d think she was mad. What was he ringing her for? Janey Mack, she’d two fellas ringing her now. Well two was better than none, she supposed. It was a rare occurrence and deserved to be celebrated.
    ‘Who did you think it was?’ Jake asked testily.
    ‘My dad,’ Anna answered dryly.
    The laughter that followed nearly burst her eardrum. It continued for five minutes. Well maybe not that long, but it certainly felt like it. ‘Anna, ha ah hanna ha ha ha, you’re . . . ha ha . . . hilarious.’
    Jesus, he must be on drugs, Anna eyed the phone suspiciously as she held it a safe distance from her ear. What on earth did he want? Had Claire put him up to this? She’d kill her, she really would. She tried to remember what Jake looked like. As far as she recalled he wasn’t bad. Respectable looking. Not as nice looking as Mark, of course, but as nice or nicer than Rich.
    ‘Are you there?’ Jake sounded miles away.
    ‘Er . . . yes.’ With a bang Anna landed back to earth. ‘What can I do for you?’ God, she sounded like a sulky sales person .
    ‘Well . . . as a matter of fact ha ha . . . I was wondering if perhaps you might be interested in er . . . possibly meeting up sometime?’
    ‘Oh,’ Anna said because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
    ‘I could pick you up later?’
    Crikey, he was keen, wasn’t he? This was good. Two dates with two different men in two nights? You couldn’t beat that, could you? And Jake had a nice car as far as she could remember. Enough! Stop it! People who thought about money were the lowest of the low. ‘I’d love to,’ she