by Melissa Hill
SOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOW
MELISSA HILL
First published in Ireland by Poolbeg Press, 2003
Copyright Melissa Hill 2003
The right of Melissa Hill to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
The weighing-scales lay menacingly on the bathroom floor, daring Jenny to put herself out of her misery.
She stepped on and felt her throat go dry watching the tiny needle come to a standstill after what seemed like minutes of bobbing back and forth. Eleven and a half stone. Eleven and a half stone!
Where had the damned half-stone come from?
She had been using her Slendertone and her Air-Glider all week. OK, maybe not all week, she admitted, but certainly for most of it and she specifically remembered missing Grey’s Anatomy on Wednesday night because she had spent longer than expected on her ‘exercise routine’.
And despite her efforts she hadn’t lost a single pound in fact, she had gained half a stone. How had that happened when her horoscope for the month clearly predicted that she would lose all the weight for the wedding?
The self-sacrifices you make between now and August will eventually result in the conclusion of a lengthy struggle you have had with yourself.
Wasn’t it plain for all to see that ‘self-sacrifices’ meant giving up chocolate and garlic chips and the ‘lengthy struggle’ was obviously her lifelong battle with her weight?
So why the extra half-stone then?
Suddenly the thought hit her. It was probably just water retention. Her friend Karen was as thin as a lath and she sometimes complained that she couldn’t fit into her clothes as a result of water retention. That was it, Jenny consoled herself. She hadn’t gained weight at all. It had to be water retention.
She heard Mike whistle from downstairs in the kitchen. She couldn’t understand how her fiancé could be so sprightly in the mornings. He never seemed to want to pull the covers over his head and drift back to glorious sleep, shutting out the rest of the world. Jenny would have loved to stay in bed just a little longer, and if Mike hadn’t persisted in getting her up, she might very well have stayed there until midday and that would be a total waste of the day.
What a pity the exam was so soon, she sighed, rinsing the conditioner out of her hair. She would need to get a lot of work done today and the earlier she got started the better. There was no way she would be promoted to Mortgage Officer at Alliance Trust Bank if she didn’t pass this exam. At this stage, she would have to make up for lost time and hope against hope that what she did today would be enough. And Mike had gone out of his way to ensure that she had a quiet day to herself – for once.
She wrapped a towel around her head before joining Mike downstairs in the kitchen.
He put a steaming mug of tea and a plate of warm buttered toast on the table in front of her and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Awake now, Goldilocks?” he teased.
Jenny made a face at him.
“My darling, I know now why I decided to marry you – you have the nicest scowl. It just brightens up my day.”
Jenny took a bite of her toast, grimaced and then spat it back out onto the plate.
“Ugh. What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Mike looked perplexed.
“The toast - what did you put on the toast?”
“Kerrygold,” he answered nonchalantly. “Why?”
“Kerrygold….” Jenny trailed off in amazement. “Mike, I’m eating Low-Low these days. I can’t have real butter on my toast or on anything else when I’m on a diet. You know that.”
“Low-Low, huh?” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And I suppose Leo Burdock’s deep-fry chips in Low-Low these days, do they?”
“That’s different. What I eat at weekends doesn’t really count...”
“I see,” Mike said, struggling to keep a straight face. “Anyway Jen, you don’t have to kill yourself dieting – I think you’re perfect the way you are, and you should too.”
He reached across the breakfast bar and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
“Mike, I’ve been wearing size sixteen clothes for most of my adult life and up to now it hasn’t really bothered me, but this time I’m determined, really determined to fit into that size twelve wedding dress sitting in my wardrobe.”
“Really determined, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
“Right. So where’s the Low-Low then?”
“What?”
“You’re still eating the toast I buttered for you.”
“But that’s because – because I’m in a bit of hurry, what with everything I have to do today and I don’t really have time to wait for fresh toast and – stop laughing at me…”
Despite herself Jenny chuckled and then remembered what lay ahead for her.
“Oh, I dread hitting those books, and look – it’s such a nice day out today.”
She looked wistfully towards the window and out at the cloudless February sky.
“You’ll be fine once you’ve started, you know that.” Mike pushed his plate away and refilled his teacup. “Anyway it will be all over this time two weeks and then you can forget about it.”
“That’s the problem though,” she moaned. “It’s only two weeks away. Oh why oh why didn’t I spend more time on this earlier? I’m an absolute idiot to have left it this long.”
She picked up one of the study manuals that lay on the table and stared at it, willing the information to somehow transport itself from the pages onto her memory.
A copy of Hello magazine lying underneath her books distracted her momentarily. There was a picture of Liz Hurley arriving at some movie premiere or another in one of her trademark figure-hugging, cleavage-boosting, split-to-the-thigh dresses. Jenny stared at Liz’s midriff. There was no way anyone’s stomach could be that flat. It was impossible – what with water retention and all that. In order to look like that the woman had to be wearing a pair of those hold-me-in knickers.
“You’ll be fine,” Mike soothed. “You’re probably already familiar with most of the material for this exam. Haven’t you been working alongside Conor for a few months now? You’re bound to have picked up on the important things.”
“Yes, but I haven’t put much effort into learning the heavy stuff – Legal Title, Land Registry and the like. If I don’t know about those, I can’t possibly qualify as an adviser. I could be granting mortgages left right and centre without researching properly. Imagine?” She bit her lip.
Mike smiled at her encouragingly and took one of her hands in his.
“Don’t worry, I know you’re well able for it. There is no one better for the job and it’s good as yours as far as the Bank are concerned. Just use today’s peace and quiet to study hard and then tomorrow night we’ll go out for a few drinks and relax. What do you think?”
Jenny nodded and they shook on it. Mike was right. There was no point in fretting about the exam. She would get stuck in today. It was just the thought of all that studying that was putting her off. And she should really make the most of a day to herself.
“I was just thinking,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I might ask our new guy along tomorrow night with his partner – if he has one. I haven’t had a chance
to get to know him socially yet – what do you think?”
Jenny helped herself to another piece of toast.
“No problem,” she said. “I’m anxious to meet this new whiz kid anyway. What’s he like?”
Mike shook his head in wonder. “He’s terrific, and I think he’s going to be a real asset to InTech. He’s had plenty of marketing experience, especially working in the States and you know how useless I am at that.”
Jenny smiled knowingly. Mike was an excellent programmer but while he had designed software for some of Ireland’s biggest firms, he was no salesman. With the growing number of Information Technology firms setting up in Ireland, and particularly in Dublin, her fiancé’s company needed the right person to promote their products within what was becoming a rapidly saturated market.
Mike and his partners had been trying for quite some time to find someone who knew the industry from the inside out. This new guy it seemed, was a rare breed: he was a highly proficient programmer and equally adept at Marketing and Sales.
“He’s no fool either,” Mike said. “It took us some time to hammer out a decent contract with him. He didn’t want to come in on ground level and commission bonuses like the rest of them. Stephen thought he was a cocky little git.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Stephen would. I’ll bet he was disappointed that you weren’t employing some ravishing redhead with a cleavage and figure to die for.”
Mike laughed at Jenny’s all too accurate assessment of his business partner’s character.
“Seriously though, this guy is a tough nut to crack. He’s already had a few run-ins with Frank. Poor oul Frank kept calling him Ronan last week – he couldn’t get the hang of his name and your man wouldn’t stand for it. ‘There is no “n” in my name. It’s Roan, not Ro-n-an,” Mike mimicked exaggeratedly.
Jenny’s toast stopped halfway to her mouth.
“What did you say his name was?”
“I know. It’s unusual, isn’t it? Roan – I’ve never come across the name before. I think he’s from Kildare somewhere – Monasterevin, he said.”
She had to use all her strength to try and stay calm. Her mouth went dry and for a second she didn’t think she would be able to breathe. It couldn’t be him, could it?
“I knew a guy called Roan a few years ago, when I lived with Karen,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, although her hands were shaking. “Roan Williams – I wonder is it the same guy?”
Mike didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “Yeah, Williams, that’s his surname. Isn’t that funny? It’s true what they say about it being a small world but it’s especially true in this country. Did you know him well?”
Jenny smiled falsely as she tried to swallow. The toast felt like lead in her mouth. “Not that well,” she answered automatically, her mind racing. She couldn’t believe it. Roan Williams was back in Ireland. How could she face him? Should she tell Mike about him? No, not yet. She needed some time to think about this, to establish what to do next.
Mike’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Jen, did you hear me? I said that maybe we should go into town tomorrow night – what do you think?”
She looked at him blankly.
Mike got up and ruffled her damp curls. “You’re not with it, hon. I thought you’d be fully awake by now.”
Jenny continued staring into space.
“OK, OK.” He held his hands up, chuckling. “You’re obviously in flying form today so I think I’ll leave you to it. I’m off now to battle the Dublin traffic and when I get home this evening, I’ll pretend to be a first-time buyer and you can tell me everything there is to know about securing the house of my dreams, right?” He drained his cup and put it in the sink, then gave Jenny a light kiss on the nose.
She instantly felt like a heel. Pulling Mike towards her she kissed him soundly on the lips. “Sorry, I’m like a bear with a sore head, I don’t know how you put up with me.”
Mike adopted a serious tone. “I don’t know how I put up with you either, but as of next August, I’ll be stuck with you for good so I suppose I’ll just have to make the best of it.”
“Get out you brat, while you still have the legs to carry you.” Jenny swung at him and Mike ducked out the door, laughing as he went.
“Oh, by the way,” he said, putting his head around the door. “I’ll be home a little bit later this evening, remember, so don’t make dinner too early.”
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to go to Rachel’s?” she asked distractedly.
Mike waved the suggestion away. “It’s all organised. I’m leaving work at four so that I can get across town early – hopefully before the worst of the traffic. I wish my little sister would get herself a pad on this side of the city and save me a journey. Anyway, we’ll see you later.”
Jenny nodded and forced a smile but it was a relief to see him leave.
She sat at the kitchen table for a long time after she heard the front door close.
How would she feel if she saw Roan again? When she saw him, she corrected herself. She and Mike went out with the guys in InTech all the time – their paths were bound to cross sooner or later.
It had to happen, didn’t it? Just when everything was going so well for them – Roan Williams had to come back into her life – their lives.
With a heavy heart Jenny got up, cleared the table and put the dirty dishes in the sink. She opened the fridge door and looked inside. She stared at the shelves for a moment and then closed the door again, forgetting why she had opened it in the first place. She filled the kettle with water and switched it on, then poured washing-up liquid on the dishes and put the bottle back in the cupboard.
Moving over to the kitchen window she looked out at the small back garden. Then, leaning her head against the glass, Jenny finally surrendered to her tears.
Chapter 2
Karen Cassidy checked her watch and quickened her pace as she strode down Grafton Street, cursing under her breath when she read the time. She’d be late for her appointment if she didn’t hurry. It was almost nine o’clock and she still had to find the place. Pushing her dark hair away from her face, she stopped suddenly as an outfit caught her eye in the window of Pamela Scott. That pink and purple
halter-neck dress would be stunning for Jenny’s wedding. What a pity that she already had her outfit. Well, she might buy it anyway, Karen decided. With everything that was happening lately, she deserved a treat.
She continued quickly towards College Green and just as she reached the pedestrian crossing at Trinity College, she heard the tinkle of the Irish National Anthem come from inside her handbag.
The lights went green and she struggled to find her mobile whilst crossing the road. Blasted things. Why was it that the inside of every handbag was always black and you could never find anything when you needed it? It would make a lot more sense, Karen thought irritably, if they made the lining a lighter colour than the rest of it. Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to find everything instead of struggling like she was now, trying to find the damned phone? But they never seemed to have an ounce of cop-on.
“Ah, here we are,” she said out loud to herself, unaware of the curious looks she was getting from her fellow-pedestrians.
She stepped into the doorway of the huge Bank of Ireland building to take the call and the ringing promptly stopped.
“Shite,” she exclaimed, glaring at a passer-by who stared at her with undisguised amusement. She was about to replace the phone in her handbag when it beeped loudly. She read the text message from Jenny. PLEASE RING ME BACK AT HOME AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS.
Jenny would have to wait, Karen thought, putting the phone back in her bag and continuing up Dame St. She was definitely late now. She raced up the street trying to find the address she had written on her hand. Eventually she stopped in front of a building with the name Stevenson & Donnelly Solicitors inscribed on a large brass plaque beside the doorway
She had found it – finally. Karen pushed the intercom
and seconds later she was inside the building.
The receptionist smiled at her. “Miss Cassidy?”
Karen nodded.
“Mr Donnelly will see you now.” She gestured to one of the doorways behind the reception area. “Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d love a cup, thanks.” Karen smiled back as she removed her coat and knocked on the heavy wooden door.
“Come in, please.”
Karen opened the door and was greeted with a nod from a serious-looking, older man. He was seated behind a large oak desk, which had heavy books and sheets of paper strewn all over it. A typical solicitor’s practice. I thought I was untidy, Karen thought to herself. Luckily, over the phone John Donnelly had sounded like he knew what he was doing
“Karen, how are you? It’s nice to finally meet you face to face. Please – sit down.”
The solicitor gestured to the comfortable-looking leather armchair in front of his desk and Karen obliged.
“I’m very sorry I’m late, Mr Donnelly. I had a little trouble finding the place.”
He waved that away. “That’s no trouble at all, dear. Did Linda offer you some coffee?”
At that very moment the receptionist appeared with a tray and Karen gratefully accepted a mug of what smelt like very strong coffee and a Rich Tea biscuit.
“Thank you, Linda.” Donnelly smiled at her and then sat back in his chair. “‘Now, Karen, we should get down to business. I know we’ve discussed the case in detail over the phone but I just want to run through everything with you one more time, just to make sure I understand things perfectly. The property is where - Harold’s Cross, I believe?”
Karen nodded. “22a Harold’s Cross Crescent. It’s a two-bedroomed townhouse and we bought it just under three years ago.”
“And there is a mortgage on the property?”
“Yes. The mortgage is basically the root of the problem. I’m unsure of my rights –legally I mean, because the mortgage was never in my name. I just didn’t see any need – at the time.”