Crawley Dunne & O’Reilly were not only rich but also shrewd; they watched Ally McBeal and knew that bright young things helped to shift properties much faster than ponderous old farts, and so they actively headhunted solicitors from the bigger firms in Cork City. One of the brightest of these bright young things was Neasa Martin who right now was studiously applying herself to her computer in the open-plan office. She heard the squeak of new leather shoes approaching. Here came Creepy Crawley. She quickly closed the poker game on her computer screen and brought up a contract instead.
“Neasa?”
He stood as close to her as he dared. She smelled mouthwash and Joop!. He was a man desperately fighting Old Spice and middle age.
“Yes, Mr Crawley?”
“Is Emily back yet?”
“No, she must have been delayed. You know she had an appointment with her obstetrician?”
“Yes, yes,” he said quickly. For all his put-on panache, Charles Crawley had led a sheltered life. Pregnancy to him was still that horrid picture in that book his father had forced on him at the age of twelve; after all his talk of graceful white storks, too. It had been a desperate betrayal. For seven months now, Charles Crawley had been unable to look Emily Collins in the stomach.
Neasa smiled innocently. “Or maybe she’s dropping it right this minute.” She enjoyed his blush.
“Oh! Well! Let’s hope not!”
“Absolutely,” Neasa agreed. “With the partners’ meeting and everything. I know she was anxious to talk to you before it starts.”
“Yes, I was hoping to talk to her too,” Crawley said with a regretful nod.
He was lying. Neasa just knew it.
“Still, I suppose she’ll be in later this afternoon. To hear all the news, you know . . .?”
She offered him one of her wide-eyed, inquisitive looks. Usually this induced an erection and he would babble on in an effort to distract her while it subsided. But Crawley’s trousers remained resolutely flat today and his lip buttoned.
“We won’t be finished before the close of business,” he said, clipped. “By the way, Gary is waiting for that contract on The Paddocks sale. He’s meeting with their people this afternoon.”
“He’s about to get it now,” Neasa told him sweetly.
“Good.” Crawley’s eyes lingered on her shiny black clean, clean hair. Sometimes at night he dreamed that she was waiting for him when he got out of the shower and she would offer him her mane of black hair to dry himself with. He had fantasies of telling her about this some day and her nodding understandingly.
“Carry on,” he said, thickly.
His shoes squeaked across the plush carpet and down the corridor into the boardroom where the other partners, Daphne Dunne and Ewan O’Reilly, waited. The door shut firmly as they went into session.
Neasa picked up the phone and dialled. At the other end of the open-plan office, she saw Gary look over before picking up.
“What!”
“I have that contract you need.”
“About bloody time.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Would you like to go over it?”
“I think I should. The last one was littered with mistakes.”
“Will I come down to your desk?”
“I can’t concentrate with all the noise in here!”
“I think Emily’s office is free . . .”
“Fine. Now.”
He hung up on her. Regina looked over, her eyebrows jumping up. That pig Gary seemed to have it in for Neasa. Neasa rolled her eyes in silent agreement, picked up the contract, and walked into Emily’s office. The smell of Emily’s citrus air freshener hit her. The desk was completely bare except for a neatly folded document. Oops. Emily was slipping up on her filing again.
Gary was lolling in Emily’s swivel-chair. He had his penis out.
“Oh goody,” Neasa sighed, locking the door, hitching up her skirt and lepping on him. The swivel-chair went flying backwards, violently colliding with Emily’s cheese plant. The leaves bobbled merrily for five minutes as they went at it hard.
Neasa eventually flung herself away. “My thighs. They’re killing me.”
“No problem,” said Gary, flipping her over in a daring manoeuvre. There was nothing wrong with his thighs, honed and fine-tuned by ten years of amateur rugby. The cheese plant wilted under a fresh assault.
“How are you doing?” Gary eventually enquired, his eyes glazed.
“Just keep going,” Neasa panted.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to slap you or anything?”
He was so sweet.
“No, I think I’ll be all right.”
Through the wall, they heard Mr Crawley’s voice as the partner’s meeting began. It was enough for both of them.
“Ohohoh,” Gary said.
Neasa simply broke a fingernail on his back.
Then they were tidying up quickly, straightening Emily’s chair, sellotaping the cheese plant. They gave each other little aren’t-we-so-daring looks, thrilled with themselves and each other.
“I am so in love with you, Neasa Martin,” Gary said sincerely. He was big and butch enough looking to carry this off.
“I know,” Neasa agreed smugly. “Me too.”
She had washed her hair every single day since she’d got it together with Gary. If that wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was.
“Better get back,” he said.
“Absolutely. I think Regina might be starting to twig.”
Not that it mattered really. Office romances weren’t forbidden here – only heavily frowned upon and greatly discouraged. But Neasa and Gary had talked seriously about it and felt that what they had was so precious that they didn’t want to expose it to tawdry office intrigue and, well, gossip. Besides, they would no longer be able to nip into empty offices for quick sex. They found it desperately exciting. Also, it was the sort of thing you only read about in very trendy magazines and both of them were rapidly pushing thirty.
Gary’s penis was growing big again.
“Wow!” he said cheerfully. “Are you wearing new perfume or something?”
“No,” Neasa said, fascinated. She would love a new spring coat in just that shade of purple.
“Oh, well! I’ll put it away now,” Gary said efficiently.
“Don’t! Let’s just watch for a minute.” It was enormous now. How could he manage it again so soon?
“Maybe it’s that kinky underwear of yours,” Gary said, embarrassed.
“You’ve seen it before,” Neasa reminded him, suspicious now. He was trying to stuff the penis back into his pants. He bent it this way and that, but it escaped and waved its bulbous head merrily.
“What the hell is going on?” Neasa said accusingly. “I’ve never had this effect before!”
“Oh all right!” Gary shouted. “I’ve got the partnership, okay!”
Neasa blinked. “What?”
“Creepy Crawley came up to me before the meeting. He more or less said I had it in the bag.”
“Fantastic!” Neasa spat sarcastically.
“It’s not my fault, Neasa! I didn’t go canvassing!”
“Turn it down!”
“I can’t turn it down! Jesus Christ, I’ve waited six years for this! Six years of selling boggy bits of fucking land!”
“Don’t curse.”
“Sorry.”
“I mean, fucking hell, Gary!”
“I deserve it! Come on, Neasa, I feel just terrible about all this!” His erection pointed gloriously towards the ceiling.
“For God’s sake put it away!” she snapped.
He did so in silence. She found that she was trembling. She couldn’t believe that they were having their First Fight. And it was only this morning that Gary had told her that he actually thought she looked better without make-up.
The silence stretched. They were on dangerous territory now. Neasa knew she would have to handle this one very carefully.
“They’re pigging bastards,” sh
e said eventually.
Gary looked up warily. “I suppose.”
“They suck the blood out of you.”
“Shamelessly,” Gary agreed more robustly.
“It just makes me sick to have to work here!”
“Me too! God, I hate this place! If it wasn’t for my two mortgages, I’d . . . I’d . . .”
“Quit!”
“Well. That’s a bit drastic.”
They smiled crookedly at each other. Whew. That was a close one. Neasa didn’t feel she had given in by deflecting the anger onto Crawley Dunne & O’Reilly. It was just that if they were going to have a Big Row, then she would at least like to be a main player in it, as opposed to an interested third party.
“Emily’s my best friend,” she said. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t feel bad for her?”
“I know,” Gary groaned. “I feel bloody awful too. I mean, I wouldn’t have minded beating Phil or Tony.”
He’d have had an erection for a week.
“But Emily . . . she works so hard.” He added hurriedly, “Not that I don’t work hard too.”
“You’re a total dosser.”
“Well, yes . . .”
“And you fiddle your expenses.”
“Naturally, I . . .”
“You’re always calling in sick.”
“Can we stick to the important things here? I close the sales, Neasa.”
And that was it, really. He was known around the office as Jaws. He was sent in by Crawley Dunne & O’Reilly to all the biggest sales, where he would bite lumps out of potential vendors until, bleeding and legless, they coughed up the asking price plus twenty grand more.
What hope had Emily against him, ploughing away at her desk behind the scenes, running the entire office with unseen strokes?
“When are they going to announce it?”
“In the morning.”
At least she would get a chance to tell Emily tonight. She would bring a bottle of wine and they would eff and blind Crawley Dunne & O’Reilly out of it. Neasa would even threaten to hand in her notice at this latest piece of debauchery from them. She would be half-serious too. She had no intention of hanging around six years to be made partner in this backwater firm. But they had offered so much money when they had poached her from a proper solicitors’ office in Cork, and Neasa had her priorities right. Still, she had an itch to practise real law again, and figured she would soon move back to a young, exciting firm in Cork. She too watched Ally McBeal.
“Aren’t you pleased for me at all?” Gary asked in a small voice.
“Of course, Gary, amn’t I mad about you!” Oh, the treachery.
“This could be a future for us,” Gary said meaningfully.
Cork suddenly receded at a dizzying pace. The ‘future’ had not been discussed thus far. They were too busy having sex in any case.
“Let’s not jump the gun,” she said with admirable coolness. She flicked her long black dyed hair over her shoulder and left, secure in the knowledge that Gary was watching with his tongue hanging out.
“Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”
“Isn’t the car parked outside and the key in the door?” Conor said mildly, as he reached for milk to make the two cappuccinos into three.
“She’s probably just passing.” Emily always felt she had to make excuses for her family, even though she no more wanted to see Liz than Conor did. She had a pain in her back and the start of a headache. Also, there was a nasty, buzzing sensation down there somewhere, as though she were sitting on an electric fence. The Pregnant Father had nothing to offer about this. Conor had already checked it.
The kitchen door burst open and Liz barged in, dragging Tommy, Robbie, Mikey and Bobby by various bits of their clothing. Willy was strapped to her front in a baby carrier. At least Emily assumed it was Willy. His face was sandwiched between Liz’s breasts and he didn’t appear to be breathing.
“Not disturbing you or anything?” Liz’s colour was a bit high. But then again she was always rushing somewhere.
“Not at all,” Emily said.
Conor grunted something.
“And you’ve brought all the boys!” she added, feeling she had to compensate for him.
“Say hello to your Auntie Emily and your Uncle Conor,” Liz commanded automatically.
“Hello,” they chorused glumly.
“Hi there!” Emily said, smiling her big, bright Auntie Smile. “How’s everyone?”
Tommy looked at the floor. Robbie and Mikey sniggered as though she had made a joke. Bobby was looking at her tummy in fascination.
“You’re getting very fat,” he said happily.
“Bobby!” Liz was mortified.
“No, really, Liz, it’s all right . . .”
Bobby knew he had said something wrong but wasn’t sure what.
“Apologise right now,” Liz ordered.
“Honestly, Liz . . .”
“Sorry,” Bobby said miserably. “You’re not fat at all.”
Conor miraculously produced a plate of biscuits. Not mean old fig rolls or boring digestives, but lovely big Chocolate Kimberlys in their own individual wrappings. Tommy, Robbie, Mikey and Bobby fell on them like a pack of starving dogs, before belatedly looking up at their mother for permission.
“Oh, go on then!” Liz looked at Emily rather accusingly. “They won’t eat their dinner, you know.”
“Why don’t I give them a run around in the back?” Conor offered. “They can burn it off.”
Liz looked suspicious that anybody would want to spend time with her sons. “They can be very rough.”
“I’m sure I can handle them.”
“I suppose it’ll be a bit of practice for you,” Liz said, with a nudge-nudge look at Emily.
“Yes,” Conor said evenly. “Boys, would you like to go and feed the dogs?”
This sounded safe enough. The boys, though not exactly thrilled, were glad of the opportunity to get away from their mother. “Yes.”
“Yes, please,” Liz said automatically.
The boys traipsed out.
Conor deposited two cappuccinos on the table. “You two relax and have a chat.”
He dutifully followed the boys out the door.
“Isn’t he lovely?” Liz said, sitting down with a sigh. She always sighed when she sat down, but today it seemed to have more resonance than usual.
“Lovely,” Emily agreed. Conor always found some reason to get out of the room when Liz arrived. He was so good at it that nobody ever suspected anything, including Emily herself until recently.
“Anyway,” Liz said, “I just called in to see how you got on with your consultant.”
“Oh, right. We’re just back actually.”
“That drive must kill you,” Liz said. “All the way to Cork and back every week!”
“It’s only thirty miles away, Liz.”
“I couldn’t have done it,” Liz declared. “Not with the rest of them in the back of the car. They’d have murdered each other by Fermoy.”
“Well, of course, you couldn’t –”
“No, I was just as glad to go to Martha’s. It’s only down the road, so handy, and the Outpatients’ there is terrific.”
St Martha’s General Hospital was five miles away in Mitchelstown.
“You see the same consultants, you know. Whether you go private or public,” Liz added.
“Yes, I know that.”
“Not that we could have afforded a ‘private consultant’.” She put this in rather scornful inverted commas, before nodding violently after the boys. “That lot go through five packets of cornflakes a week. And Robbie’s shoulder popped out again yesterday. Another twenty quid to the doctor. Eamon says that next time he’ll try and bang it back in himself.”
Eamon would, too. He was the local builder. He had laid the patio for Conor and Emily last year, because they hadn’t the nerve to go to anybody else. He had done them a special price because they were family.
“Threw in a
dead body and everything,” he’d winked.
“Money down the drain, on private consultants,” Liz finished.
“Yes, well, we just decided to go private,” Emily said, gritting her teeth. “It’s probably silly, but we just felt safer.”
Expecting Emily Page 3