Two For Joy

by Patricia Scanlan

  Poor Oliver. She stroked his hand. Providing emotional sustenance was difficult for him. He hated it when she got upset and would be like a cat on a griddle until she composed herself, or he could escape to one of his beloved building sites. Sometimes she simply needed him to put his arms around her and hold her. Being held was always balm to her soul.

  Noreen sighed. She wasn’t being fair to her husband. He didn’t know what lay behind her distress, nor would he ever. That was in the past and there was no going back. Tomorrow was the start of her new job and she was looking forward to it. It would be immensely satisfying to be doing what she was good at. She was sure it would do much to restore her emotional equilibrium and that could only help her to conceive. She drifted off to sleep and dreamed that her mother was beside her, telling her gently that everything would be all right.

  ‘Good luck today, don’t kill anybody,’ Oliver teased as he towelled his hair dry the following morning.

  ‘Smarty-pants. You’ll be sorry if you ever have to come to me for a tetanus injection,’ Noreen said drowsily as she lay back against the pillows and watched her husband get dressed. It was six forty-five, the crack of dawn. She’d long since stopped trying to persuade Oliver to get up at a reasonable hour.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ he asked, as he always did.

  ‘No thanks, I’m going to have a little snooze, get up, and prepare the dinner so that I’ll have it all ready when I come in from work.’ She yawned. ‘God, it sounds so weird to be saying when I come in from work.’

  ‘You don’t have to go to work, you know that now, don’t you?’ Oliver said firmly.

  ‘I know that, Oliver. I just think it will be good for me. I’m turning into a right couch potato, I need to get out and about again. I won’t neglect you though. I’ll have your dinner on the table every evening.’

  ‘That’s not why I’m saying it, Noreen,’ Oliver said indignantly.

  ‘I just want you to know you’re still my number one priority,’ she assured him.

  ‘That’s nice to know,’ he said gruffly as he tucked his shirt into his trousers.

  ‘Come here.’ She sat up in the bed and wrapped the sheet around her bare shoulders.

  Oliver looked at her warily. ‘What?’

  ‘I only want to give you a kiss.’

  ‘That’s all now, Noreen,’ he warned. ‘I’m running late.’

  ‘Oliver, don’t be like that,’ she protested, hurt. ‘Wouldn’t it be worse if I didn’t want you?’

  ‘Ah, Noreen!’ Oliver grimaced as he sat on the bed and leaned over to her. ‘Come on, give me a gooser and go back to sleep.’

  She kissed him on the cheek. ‘See you later,’ she said quietly and turned away. She heard him give a deep sigh.

  ‘’Bye,’ Oliver said in a resigned sort of tone and then he was gone and she could hear him running down the stairs.

  As if he couldn’t get away from me quick enough. She was hurt, angry, hating him for making her feel undesirable and demanding. It wouldn’t have taken long to have a quickie. He knew it was her ovulation period. Why couldn’t he be more considerate? Sometimes she felt he wasn’t interested in having children. They might take him away from his fucking work, she thought bitterly, raging with him for ruining her day.

  * * *

  Oliver gulped down a cup of tea and smeared butter over a slice of brown bread. He felt utterly oppressed, guilty, angry and resentful. He knew that Noreen had wanted him to have sex with her this morning, but they’d done it twice last night and he was in rag order. Why couldn’t she relax about it like the doctor had told her to? One of these days he wasn’t going to be able to get it up, the way she was going on, he thought wearily. He’d suggested they look into adoption but she wouldn’t hear of it. Took the nose off him and said she wanted a child of her own. He’d only been trying to help in his own ham-fisted way. He hadn’t referred to it again. He didn’t know if Noreen enjoyed sex any more. He didn’t think that she did. She was too focused on getting pregnant, spending a fortune in the chemist on yokes that told her when she was ovulating, and when they were having sex making sure that she was lying in the optimum position for conception. There was no spontaneity any more. Pregnancy was the be-all and end-all as far as she was concerned and he was beginning to feel like nothing more than a sperm machine.

  She was up in bed now, angry with him because he wouldn’t have sex with her, and part of him felt like a heel, and that wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t feel like that. He was doing his goddammed best, he thought savagely as he rinsed his cup under the tap and threw it in the drainer.

  * * *

  Noreen stood in front of the mirror and straightened her shoulders. Her uniform was looser on her than when she’d worn it a couple of years ago. Her sessions in the gym and pool were certainly toning her up, but she was getting a bit thin. Angular even. Her bust was beginning to disappear. Pregnancy would sort that out, she told herself briskly as she slipped into her coat and wrapped a deep mauve scarf around her neck. She glanced at her watch. Just one thirty. Surgery began at two. She wanted to be there for quarter to. It was a fresh, bright, cold day and she inhaled the air appreciatively as she walked out to the car. It was a far cry from fume-smothered London, yet she’d been happy there when she went to work there first. Her work had been challenging, satisfying, and she’d made good friends among the nurses and doctors that she’d worked with. And then she’d met Pete. Brown-eyed, smooth-talking, hard-drinking, undependable Pete.

  She’d fallen for him hard. He was a systems analyst in a big IT firm and they’d met at a mutual friend’s engagement party. ‘Do you believe in this engagement nonsense?’ he’d whispered conspiratorially as they toasted the happy couple.

  ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,’ she whispered back, liking his twinkling sloe eyes and infectious smile.

  ‘That’ll never be me. I’m not the marrying kind,’ he declared, looking her straight in the eye.

  What woman could resist a challenge like that? Not her, that was for sure, she thought wryly as she twisted the key in the ignition. He’d reeled her in hook line and sinker with his ‘I’m not the marrying kind but try and catch me if you can’ crap, and she’d played his games, and sat waiting for the phone to ring and watched him flirt with other women, and lent him money when he was skint, which was often, until she’d been wrung dry. She still despised herself for her weak, pathetic behaviour but he was the first man she had ever really loved and his treatment of her only reinforced what she had learned at the hands of her father. That all men were lousy, selfish, demanding bastards who used women with callous disregard for their welfare and emotional needs.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Noreen, will you stop going back there,’ she growled, her hands clenched in her lap. Why were all these memories coming back to haunt her? Was it because Oliver had made her feel unloved, unwanted and unwomanly this morning? Just the way Pete used to make her feel when he wanted to punish her. Her lip trembled and she bit it hard. Stop it!

  She’d want to cop on to herself, she reflected as she spun the wheel and reversed to face down the drive. She was turning into a neurotic basket case. She breathed deeply and managed to compose herself. It frightened her when she lost control like that. The first person she saw when she walked into the surgery was her sister. Maura sat flicking through a magazine, her bump a nice soft curve under her jumper. Noreen’s stomach lurched. Maura was the last person she wanted to see. She felt guilty for not keeping in touch to see how her sister’s pregnancy was progressing.

  ‘Well, hi, what’s wrong with you?’ her sister demanded when she looked up to see Noreen walking towards reception.

  ‘Not a thing, Maura,’ she said crisply. ‘I’m doing a few hours here as surgery nurse.’

  Maura’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘Really? Why on earth do you want to go back to work? Isn’t Oliver making enough to keep you in the style to which you’ve become accustomed?’ she tittered.

&nbs
p; ‘Oh, indeed he is and more, I just hate sitting at home doing nothing.’ Noreen couldn’t resist the barb. ‘See you later.’ She smiled at the rest of the patients in the waiting-room and walked into reception. Eileen Gannon, the receptionist on duty, welcomed her warmly.

  ‘How are you, Noreen? Let me show you to your domain, I’ve a few awaiting your ministrations already.’ She led her to the room marked ‘Nurse’ and Noreen looked around the clean, sterile, well-equipped room with the window overlooking a well-tended back garden and was glad she’d made the decision to return to work. This was where she would come into her own. This was where she’d come back to the confident, in-control woman she’d once been.

  The afternoon passed quickly and she was kept going, attending to cholesterol counts, warts removals, dressings, and other assorted procedures. She enjoyed the sense of calm that enveloped her when she was working and she was exhilarated when Eileen came in at the end of surgery with a cup of tea for her. They were joined soon afterwards by Douglas and they chatted easily about the patients that had passed through the afternoon surgery and their various requirements. She felt as if she’d been there for ever and it was a very good feeling.

  The afternoon had flown by, and she was dying to tell Oliver all about it over dinner. She stopped at the off-licence and bought a six-pack of Bud, remembering how, when he’d been courting her, they’d chatted companionably over a beer in the evening when he was finished work. She wanted it to be like that again. She’d been very contented when she and Oliver had been courting.

  She phoned him when she got home. ‘Where are you? What time will you be home at?’ she asked gaily. ‘Will I put the dinner on?’

  ‘OK. I’ll be home in about half an hour, I just want to check out Neil Brennan’s place. The lads are nearly finished there. How did it go?’ He sounded relieved that she was in good form.

  ‘It was great, Oliver,’ she enthused. ‘I’m really glad I took it on.’

  ‘That’s good, Noreen,’ he said warmly. ‘If it’s what you want. I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Oliver, that means a lot to me.’ There was silence for a moment and she heard her husband clear his throat.

  ‘Listen, Noreen, I’m sorry I was a bit tetchy this morning,’ he apologized awkwardly.

  ‘That’s OK, Oliver. Hurry home, I’ve got a few cans of Bud for us and I’ll have the fire lighting. I’ll tell you all about my afternoon,’ Noreen said cheerfully. ‘’Bye, love.’ She hung up and set about putting the finishing touches to their dinner, humming to herself as she did so. She hadn’t felt so energized in a long time.

  * * *

  Oliver stopped at the local florist and selected some irises and lilies he thought his wife would like. He felt as if a load had been lifted off his shoulders. Noreen had been bubbling down the phone. She sounded like a different woman. Maybe this job was just what she needed to get her out of the rut she was in. She was right. Staying at home gave her too much time to dwell on herself and her desire for a baby. This job would give her another interest and help her to get to know people around the area.

  She needed to make friends and go out and about a bit more. He was glad she’d joined the gym. She seemed to enjoy that. It was a pity that she wasn’t close to her sisters. It would have been nice for her to socialize with them. Women needed friends and family to confide in. He knew he wasn’t the best when she was teary and upset. It just made him feel very uncomfortable. He never knew what to say to comfort her. He’d never thought that Noreen would be the emotional sort. She hadn’t given him that impression when he’d been dating her. It all seemed to come from this immense need for a baby. Pity she was that bit older than he was. She kept saying that the mid-thirties was old to be starting off, but he’d heard of women in their mid-forties getting pregnant. His own mother had been in her early forties when she’d had him. Of course when he’d said this, he was told she didn’t want to wait until she was forty to get pregnant and besides, Oliver was Cora’s third child. Hopefully now that Noreen was working her job would keep her occupied. He’d even suggest that she invite the Kennedys to dinner soon if it would keep her happy. Whistling, Oliver laid the flowers on the front seat beside him and drove home to have dinner, sip beer and chat with his wife.

  * * *

  Noreen pulled into a parking bay in Blanchardstown shopping centre. It was a frosty December morning and she’d come to Dublin to do some Christmas shopping. She wanted to buy Oliver some warm fleeces. But first of all she had a very important purchase to make. Her heart raced with anticipation. She was a week overdue and her excitement knew no bounds. She knew she could have a pregnancy test in the surgery but she was paranoid about anyone finding out. She was going to buy a pregnancy test kit, here where no one knew her, and in another few days she was going to use it. She hadn’t even told Oliver that she was late. She was praying that it wasn’t a false alarm.

  Despite the early hour, the centre was abuzz with Christmas shoppers. The deep, rich tones of Bing Crosby singing ‘White Christmas’ gave an added touch of seasonal cheer and Noreen felt a glow of happiness. This might be her best Christmas ever, she thought happily as she walked briskly into McCabe’s Pharmacy and scanned the shelves looking for pregnancy test kits.

  Two hours later she sat having a croissant and coffee feeling very pleased with herself. She’d remained totally focused and made great inroads into her Christmas shopping list. Even though she’d warned Oliver that he was taking a day off to come Christmas shopping with her, she’d bought some of their joint presents, including a beautiful pale green bedjacket for Cora. Today, not even her mother-in-law could put a dent in her joyful humour.

  Surgery was even more busy than usual and she was tired when she got home that evening. She filled the kettle to make herself a cup of tea and then popped the steak and kidney pie she’d made earlier into the oven. Her handbag rested on the counter top. Inside it, two pregnancy test kits. She’d bought two, knowing that she’d feel much safer to have a back up if she did test positive. She took it out and read the instructions, feeling her heart begin to flutter. Part of her wanted to do the test there and then but she was scared. What if it proved negative? She put it back in her bag and tried to forget about it.

  ‘What did you buy me for Christmas?’ Oliver teased as they sat drinking coffee after their dinner.

  ‘Mind your own business.’ She grinned at him. He might be getting the best Christmas present of his entire life, if she was pregnant. She’d have a terrible time not telling him until Christmas Day, but wouldn’t it be the most wonderful thing to wake him up on Christmas morning and tell him that he was going to be a father?

  17

  ‘Heather, I think it’s a terrific idea, why don’t you say yes, it would save you a fortune on bus fares, coming home every second weekend.’ Anne Williams beamed at her daughter. Heather had just told her about Neil’s job offer. ‘Take it, take it, take it,’ she urged.

  ‘Now stop it, Ma, and if I do take it, I might move into the flat over his offices,’ Heather warned.

  ‘Now what do you want to do that for?’ Anne chided. ‘And a perfectly good home here for you.’

  ‘I can come and visit every second weekend,’ Heather joked as she tucked into a fry-up with gusto. ‘One of the reasons I’m not going to live at home is because I’d end up like an elephant. I’m starting a diet on Monday, I want to lose at least half a stone before Christma—’

  ‘Stop your nonsense and eat up your breakfast, you can run around the lake later on,’ her mother ordered, sliding a crispy slice of fried bread on to her plate.

  ‘Oh Ma,’ groaned Heather, ‘this has got to stop.’ She dipped a piece of bread into her fried egg, pressed some mushrooms on to the fork, flavoured it with tomato sauce and savoured every bit of it.

  Two hours later she was walking around the lake, the wind whipping her hair around her face. The rain of the night before had cleared to bright frosty weather and the cold nipped at her nose and che
eks, all that was visible as she tramped swiftly along the path that circled the lake. Little whitecap waves lapped the shore, and the sound of the water was music to her spirit.

  Heather breathed the air deeply. She loved this place. Birdsong filled the air. A little robin perched on a bare branch gazed at her with curiosity, quite unafraid. Winter heathers, holly bushes, and orange-berried pyracantha and evergreens lent splashes of colour amid the bare-branched foliage of the trees. White powder puffs of cloud scudded across a clear blue sky and a pale yellow sun cast prisms of light on to the rippling waves.

  This was where she felt happy, Heather reflected. Not in pubs and nightclubs and grimy city streets. She’d been in Dublin a little over a year and it still felt alien to her. This was home, this was where her roots were. She didn’t have to wait for Neil to persuade her over a drink tonight. This was where she wanted to be.

  With a spring in her step and happiness in her heart, Heather looked at the little robin and exclaimed exuberantly, ‘I’m coming home!’

  * * *

  Lorna shivered. She was freezing and soaking wet. Spray spumed up from the bow of the boat as it sliced through the waves and the harsh glint of sunlight on water was giving her a headache. There was nothing glamorous about sailing, she thought in dismay, as Bryan ducked under a sail, flashed her a grin and said, ‘It’s great, isn’t it?’

  ‘Fantastic,’ she fibbed, hoping to God she wouldn’t get seasick as they bounced along the water, the slap of the sea as the boat dipped and rose into the waves making her queasy. Bryan had had to lend her a waterproof when her expensive pink fleece had got soaked.

  For this, she’d got up at the crack of dawn – well, eight o’clock, she amended – so that her new boyfriend could take her out in the boat he co-owned with some of his friends. He was like a child showing off his new toy, telling her about jibs and spinnakers and mainbraces, as if she gave a fiddler’s. She should have put more tinted moisturizer on, she fretted. She’d be like a weather-beaten old prune when she got home.