Noreen sighed. It was really the fact that she was a nurse that had been her undoing in terms of standing up for herself in that particular situation. Normally she was pretty good at standing her ground, she acknowledged wryly. She’d felt duty bound to come home from London, where she’d lived for the past ten years, and nurse her mother. She’d liked London. No one knew her. There were no prying, nosy neighbours or superior younger sisters to ask when was she going to give everyone a day out? No one knew about her life in London or knew what a disaster her personal life had been. She bit her lip at the memory of Pete McMullen and a sadness darkened her eyes.
Stop it! Such nonsense at your own wedding. Oliver’s a thousand times the man that shit ever was, she chastised herself. Don’t even go there! Noreen sat up straight and surveyed her guests once again. There was a lively hum of chatter and laughter and the clink of cutlery against china. People seemed to be enjoying themselves. The Lake View had a deservedly good name for wedding receptions.
She heard Oliver’s Aunt Ellie laughing at something the priest had just said. Ellie was a good old stick, stepping into the breach to look after that old rip of a termagant that was now her mother-in-law. Noreen’s mouth tightened. Cora Flynn had done nothing but put obstacles in her way ever since she’d begun dating Oliver, but Noreen hadn’t thought for one second that she would pull a stunt so low as to pretend to be ailing, to try and stop Oliver and herself from going on honeymoon. And as for not coming to the wedding, personally, Noreen was delighted but she felt it for Oliver. It was a real slap in the face for him. He’d been so good to her, the old bat. You’d think that she’d be delighted he was getting married and not going to end up a lonely old bachelor with no one to take care of him.
Cora was a different kettle of fish from her own mother. Nuala Lynch had been a kind, quiet woman, who’d let her husband Tom bully and boss her. Tom had tried to bully and boss them all, but he hadn’t got far with her, Noreen thought with satisfaction. She’d always given as good as she got and consequently her father had no time for her.
Tom had died drunk behind the wheel of his car, when it had gone out of control and hit a tree at high speed. Noreen certainly hadn’t mourned him and she’d actually been glad for her mother, who after an initial period of adjustment had come out of her shell and begun to enjoy a whole new lease of life freed from the bullying and bad treatment that had been the bondage of her ‘for better or worse’ marriage.
Nuala had joined the local women’s guild and the bowling club and, with no one to cook and care for apart from herself, for the first time in her life had time to lead the type of life she had never thought possible. She looked years younger and had a serene contented air about her that Noreen had never seen when her father was alive. Married to Tom, she’d been quiet and miserable. As a widow she’d blossomed and Noreen rejoiced for her.
It was a cruel irony that she had been struck down with a massive stroke from which she’d never recovered, and although her eventual death gave Noreen a freedom of sorts, she’d grieved for her mother and railed at the cruelty of fate.
It was through her mother’s illness that she’d really got to know Oliver. She’d known him and his family to say hello to, although Mrs Flynn had always been a bit stuck-up and stand-offish, but apart from the usual social interactions outside a shop or the church, she’d never had a conversation with him and knew just that he had a good reputation as a builder, a rare enough distinction.
When the hospital had told the family that they could no longer let Nuala occupy a bed as there was nothing more they could do for her, Noreen had tried to get nursing-home accommodation. But after a few weeks Rita and Maura had baulked at the cost and said they couldn’t bear to see their mother ‘incarcerated in a home for the rest of her life’. However, they weren’t willing to take it upon themselves to bring her to either of their homes. They hadn’t nursing abilities like she had. ‘And besides,’ as Maura had sniffily told her, ‘we’ve looked after her for the past ten years when you’ve been in London.’ The way her sisters saw it, it was time she took some responsibility.
‘What do you mean, you looked after her? She was never sick a day in her life and once Da died she had a great life,’ Noreen retorted.
‘Ah, you weren’t here when he was drunk and making her life a misery. You got out pretty quick so you didn’t have to be around for that,’ Maura accused.
She had a point, Noreen supposed. She’d left home to train as a nurse in the Mater, and lived in Dublin before moving to London. She hadn’t been at home to endure her father’s increasingly bad behaviour.
Noreen had given up her job as a ward sister at St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington and come home, simmering with resentment. If she had been married with children, would Maura and Rita have been so quick to land their mother on her, and would she have felt in a stronger position to refuse to shoulder the whole burden? It was as if she were being punished for being single, she thought gloomily, feeling uncharacteristically sorry for herself as she flew home from London to begin a new and uncertain life in her home town.
The small, poky family home wasn’t suitable for Nuala’s needs and Noreen had told her sisters in no uncertain terms that she needed an extension to the back parlour and that they could pay their share towards it. That money had been forthcoming without argument, increasing her resentment towards her siblings. They couldn’t wash their hands of their mother quick enough, now that Noreen was home. Money for an extension was a small price to pay. Noreen had engaged Oliver Flynn’s firm to build the extension for her.
He’d looked over the architect’s plans, made a few suggestions of his own and told her that he’d be able to have it built for her in six months’ time as they were currently working flat out. Noreen had been horrified. Six months was far too long to wait. She was thinking in terms of six weeks, she told him agitatedly.
‘We’re pushed to the pin of our collars, Noreen. I can’t let my other clients down,’ he’d said regretfully when she told him of her mother’s circumstances and that she needed the extension built as soon as possible.
‘It’s not the Taj Mahal I’m looking for, Oliver, and it’s not even a very big extension as you can see. Are you sure you couldn’t squeeze me in?’ she urged.
‘I don’t like to make promises that I can’t keep, Noreen. Phil Hanahan in Redwood might be able to do it for you,’ he suggested, helpfully.
‘Phil Hanahan! Are you mad! He’s an awful chancer. Did you not hear about the Nolans’ new house? He and the idiot of a plumber got their hot and cold pipes mixed up and all the hot water was being flushed down the loo. Ma Nolan got the arse burned off her. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot bargepole!’ Noreen exclaimed.
Oliver laughed. A good hearty chuckle. ‘I hadn’t heard about that. I’d better not go recommending him so,’ he said, his blue eyes twinkling as they crinkled in amusement.
He’s nice when he smiles, Noreen thought in surprise.
‘Look, leave it with me, and I’ll see what I can arrange,’ Oliver said firmly and then he was gone, his hand raised in salute, and somehow she knew that he’d see to it that the extension was built for her.
Two days later he drove up in his battered old navy Volvo and she saw him loping up to the front door. ‘I’ll have a JCB here tomorrow to start on the foundations, if you want to start clearing out the room. I’ll be doing a lot of it myself after work so I hope you won’t mind putting up with a bit of noise and inconvenience in the evening. It’s the only way I can get it done anyway quickly if that will suit you?’ He leaned against the door jamb, his dark eyebrows raised quizzically.
‘God, thanks a million, Oliver. I really appreciate this. I was at my wits’ end,’ Noreen confided. ‘You’ve saved my bacon.’
‘I know what it’s like to have an elderly mother. At least mine is still relatively hale and hearty,’ he said gruffly. ‘The lads will be here before eight. See you, Noreen.’
She watched him stride down
the path and thought, he’s a pretty decent bloke even if he’s not very chatty, before forgetting about him as she began to clear out the small back parlour that had been her mother’s pride and joy the first time she’d walked into her new home. Now it was shabby and old-fashioned and Noreen felt no regrets as she rolled up the carpet and ordered a skip to take the old sofa and sideboard.
Her mother was going to have a nice bright room with a bed and en suite and a big French door to give her a view of the rolling hills. Paralysed all down the left side and hardly able to speak, she wouldn’t have much of a life, but Noreen was determined that she’d have the best quality of life that she could give her.
True to his word, Oliver’s men arrived with the JCB the following morning and that evening Oliver himself arrived to survey the work in progress and do his own bit. Noreen offered him tea and sandwiches but he told her, politely, that he hadn’t time; she got the feeling that he’d prefer not to have to make idle chit-chat but just to get on with things, so she left him to it.
Every evening around six thirty he’d arrive and carry on where his men had left off, sometimes working until ten and after, as long as the light held good. It was an unusually dry couple of weeks and they were blessed by the weather. She often watched him, bare-chested, in the heat of the dying rays of the sun, and marvelled at the strength and fitness of him and made vague promises to herself that she would join the gym up in the hotel to tone up and give her an outlet to work off the tensions and frustrations of being a twenty-four-hour carer. She knew she needed some focus and outside interests to keep her sane in the months and even years ahead.
One evening several weeks later, when the extension had its new tiled roof on, Oliver knocked on the door. His tanned face was streaked with grime and he looked tired.
‘Howya, Noreen, just to let you know that the lads will be breaking through tomorrow, maybe you might like to go shopping for a few hours. It will be a bit noisy, to say the least.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘You look a bit knackered, are you sure you wouldn’t like a beer, even, if I can’t persuade you to have tea or coffee?’
He stretched tiredly. ‘A beer sounds mighty good to me. It’s a very humid night, isn’t it?’
‘Very,’ Noreen agreed as she went into the kitchen and took a bottle of Miller out of the fridge. ‘Glass?’
‘Naw, thanks, I’ll drink it out of the bottle. Are you going to have one yourself?’
‘Oh!’ she was surprised. ‘Why not? It’s been a long day.’
Oliver grinned and took a long draught of the cool golden liquid. ‘Larry likes to get started early,’ he said, referring to the builder who came every morning at seven thirty on the dot. ‘He’s been with me a long time. He’s one of my best. In fact he taught me a hell of a lot when I started out in the building trade, so I’ve no worries about the work being up to scratch. Larry’s a perfectionist,’ he said as he took another swig of beer.
‘A bit like yourself, then,’ Noreen remarked. To her surprise a dull flush suffused his neck and cheeks and she realized that Oliver Flynn was quite shy, despite his outwardly calm, businesslike reserve.
‘If that’s a compliment I’ll take it,’ he said, awkwardly.
‘It’s a rare commodity now to find people who have high standards at work. It’s no wonder you’re booked solid,’ she said lightly, ‘I’m just glad that you and your high standards and Larry the perfectionist are looking after my extension.’
‘That’s good. Thanks for the beer, Noreen. See you tomorrow,’ he said briskly as he laid the bottle on the table and left.
Noreen closed the door after him, half sorry that he’d rushed off so soon. Oliver Flynn could be an interesting man if you could get behind the shyness long enough to get to know him. She’d been gone from Kilronan so long, she had no real friends left here now. She certainly didn’t count Rita and Maura as friends.
She was lonely, she realized as she watched the lights of his car disappear over the hill. She’d been so busy sorting out things for her mother and getting the house and extension organized, she’d had little time to socialize. It had been nice having the bottle of beer with Oliver. She must get in a supply, and keep them cold in the fridge for the duration of the building works. Having a nightly beer with Oliver would be a pleasant way of ending the day; she might even get beyond his shyness and see what made him tick. Now that would be a challenge and a half, Noreen thought in amusement as she drew the curtains, locked the door, rinsed a few cups in the sink and switched out the lights.
As she lay in bed later, looking out at a full moon that slanted slivers of white gold light through her window, she replayed the events of the day and fell asleep thinking about Oliver, hoping that he would stay and have a beer with her after work in the days to come.
To her gratification when she offered him a beer the following evening he accepted and they chatted about inconsequential things. She deliberately kept the conversation light and made no personal observations. Oliver was a good listener and, over time, she found herself telling him about her resentment at having to leave her job in London to come home. ‘It’s not that I don’t love my mother, I do,’ she explained, anxious that he wouldn’t think her a selfish wagon. ‘It’s just that Rita and Maura think that just because they’re married and I’m not, I’m the one who has to give up everything to come home. They’re offloading it all on to my shoulders.’
It was a huge relief to be able to verbalize her anger and even though Oliver was practically a stranger, she’d felt he understood. ‘Do you think I’m being totally selfish?’ she asked curiously.
He’d studied her with his direct blue-eyed gaze. ‘Not in the slightest,’ he’d said reassuringly. ‘But, even though it might not be much of a comfort at the moment, at least when your mother does pass away you’ll have nothing to reproach yourself with. Your sisters might not be so lucky.’
‘I suppose so,’ she agreed, not having thought of that particular aspect.
By the time the extension was completed – to the highest standards of course – Oliver had become quite relaxed with her and she enjoyed their chats and nightly bottles of beer so much that she said forlornly as she wrote out the cheque for the outstanding balance she owed him, ‘I’m going to miss our chats and beer, Oliver. I’ve kinda got used to them now.’
‘We could always have the odd pint in the Haven,’ he said diffidently and she saw the faint hint of a blush curling around his shirt collar.
Noreen was touched. He was a nice, decent bloke, even if he was a few years younger than her. She liked him. ‘That would be nice, Oliver. I can try to get one of my sisters to come and spend a few hours with my mother when she comes home,’ she responded easily.
‘It’s important that you get out and about, Noreen. Make sure those sisters of yours pull their weight a bit,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ll be in touch. See you.’ He smiled at her and again she was struck at how much a smile changed his countenance, making him appear younger and more relaxed than his usual serious, watchful demeanour.
Noreen watched him get into his car and wondered why he wasn’t married. Was it his shyness that kept him from being in a serious relationship? He was currently single, he’d told her, when she’d asked outright. He’d been surprised at her directness. She was nothing if not direct, she thought wryly. And bossy with it. Hadn’t Pete called her a bossy bitch during one of their many rows? Maybe she was bossy, she conceded. It had stood her in good stead when she was promoted to Sister. She liked to call a spade a spade.
‘And what about you? Is there a man waiting for you in London?’ he’d queried back.
‘Not any more. I lived with someone for five years, but it was over before my mother got sick.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, I hope it wasn’t too rough on you.’
‘I was a bit shattered to say the least,’ she said quietly.
‘These things happen,’ he murmured, but she saw sympathy in his eyes and felt strangely touched b
y it.
He phoned a week after he’d finished the extension. ‘We’ll sort out that drink in the Haven if it still suits you, Noreen,’ he said crisply and she exhaled a long breath. She’d been half afraid he wouldn’t ring.
Noreen smiled at the memory. She’d had to organize all their dates from then on. She’d even had to take the bull by the horns after two years of courtship and ask him to marry her, or she’d still be going for walks around the lake and drinks in the Haven.
She would have preferred it if Oliver had proposed to her. She could still remember the startled look in his eyes when she’d bluntly said, ‘Look, Oliver, I think it’s time we got married, don’t you? Will you marry me? We’ve been seeing each other for two years now and we’re not teenagers any more. My mother’s dead. I need to make plans for my future. If you and I don’t move on, I feel I should go back to London.’
For one heartstopping moment she’d thought that he was going to refuse her but he’d sort of gulped and composed himself and muttered, ‘I suppose you’re right. When do you want to set the date?’
It certainly wasn’t the proposal she’d ever dreamed of, but that was the way of it and she knew a tiny part of her would always wonder if he truly loved her and would ever have got around to asking her himself. Certainly there was no way she’d ever admit to her sisters or anyone else for that matter that she had done the proposing. It didn’t seem right somehow, no matter how liberated women were. He should have asked her, then she’d know he’d really wanted to get married. It was the only thing that bothered her coming up to the wedding.
‘Are you sure you want to get married?’ she’d asked Oliver once when they’d been edgy with each other about the arrangements and he’d flatly refused to wear a top hat.
‘Sure enough,’ he’d scowled and she hadn’t pressed him on it.
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