‘You OK? You’re very quiet and you look a bit green around the gills,’ Bryan asked kindly.
‘It’s a bit rough,’ she ventured.
Bryan guffawed. ‘Rough! My dear girl, it’s practically a milk pond!’ He ducked under his sail again and did something to loosen it out and the boat really took off.
‘Oh God,’ groaned Lorna. She really was going to up-chuck in a minute, and that would be absolutely mortifying. She scrabbled around in her precious Bill Amberg bag and found some chewing gum. It helped a little. She’d even taken the precaution of taking a Sea Legs but perhaps she should have taken more than one. It was the longest hour of her life and eventually Bryan took pity on her and headed for the Marina.
‘We’ll drop you off, and I’ll see you tonight,’ he said briskly and she felt like telling him to impale himself on his jib, whatever his jib was.
‘Fine.’ Her teeth chattered. Pneumonia was probably imminent, she thought sorrowfully, as the boat sailed gracefully into the Marina and her boyfriend tied it up expertly.
‘Guess you’re not a mermaid. Pity,’ he said ruefully as he helped her off the boat.
Lorna couldn’t even think of a Samantha-like retort. All she wanted was to soak in a hot bath to warm herself up. She’d never leave dry land to go sailing again, she vowed, as she trudged past Caruzzo’s towards her block.
‘Well, what was it like, you lucky tart? Trust you to land an eligible with his own boat! I’d love to go sailing,’ Carina declared enviously when she came home from her shift later that afternoon.
Lorna, who’d soaked herself for hours, fortified by several hot ports, had recovered her equilibrium.
‘It was fabulous,’ she drawled. ‘I felt like I was on the Mediterranean. I’d say it’s divine in the summer.’ Not for an instant would she let on that it had been a disaster. Carina’s envy made sure of that.
At seven thirty, dressed up to the nines, Lorna sat waiting for Bryan. Carina and Lisa had gone to the launch of a photographic exhibition and were going clubbing later. She was the only one of the trio to currently have a boyfriend, she thought smugly.
At nine o’clock, she gave in to her rage and phoned him.
‘Where are you?’ she demanded furiously when he answered his mobile.
‘Sorry about that,’ he slurred. ‘I’m drinking with the lads—’
‘Well, fuck you,’ Lorna spat and slammed down the phone. He could take a hike. No man stood her up and got away with it.
Some Christmas this was going to be, she’d been banking on a nice piece of jewellery at least. Not to talk about having a hunk on her arm to escort her to Christmas parties.
Now she was going to have to start from scratch.
* * *
Noreen’s heart sank to her boots when the old familiar cramps assailed her as she lay on her mat using the Abs Toner at the gym. Maybe she’d just stretched too hard and pulled a muscle, but the nagging pain in her lower back brought fear to her heart. The pounding music on the stereo couldn’t compete with the pounding of her heart as she picked up her towel and water and made her way through the crowded gym out to the toilets.
The smear of blood on her white panties was like a knife to her heart.
‘Oh God, where is your mercy?’ she sobbed into the towel, heartbroken. Eventually she managed to compose herself and made her way to the locker-room, hoping that people would think her red face was the result of her workout. She didn’t even bother to change out of her gym gear, just pulled on her coat and hurried out to the car. All she wanted to do was to get home.
She started crying again as she was driving. She’d never been late before, she was always regular – that was why she’d been so hopeful that this was finally it. At least she hadn’t said anything to Oliver. He wouldn’t have his hopes so cruelly dashed the way she had, she thought bitterly as she pulled into the drive.
The house was mausoleum quiet. Would it ever ring with the happy laughter of small children playing? If they had children would Oliver spend more time at home? How could he work six days a week, week in week out, and enjoy it? Sometimes she felt it was because he didn’t want to be at home alone with her.
He’d cleaned out and set the fire for her this morning before he went to work. Even though they had central heating, he knew she liked to curl up in front of the fire. He was good like that. Thoughtful in his own way. She’d better get her crying over and done with before he came home, she thought desolately as she set a match to the fire and watched it flame up the chimney.
She made herself a cup of tea, took a couple of Ponston and lay down on the settee. A terrible weariness enveloped her and she fell asleep curled up in a childlike huddle. Dusk was beginning to fall as she awoke, and she lay drowsily watching the flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, feeling a relief of sorts that at least the uncertainty was over. She should have used the damned pregnancy test yesterday when she’d bought it and put herself out of her misery instead of believing that God had granted her a miracle. What a naïve idiot she was, she thought in self-disgust. She switched on a small table lamp and picked up a glossy magazine she’d brought home from the surgery. Idly she flicked through it and then sat bolt upright as she began to read an article.
‘God, I never thought of that,’ she muttered, half excited, half dismayed.
She heard her husband’s key in the door and turned to face him as he came in. ‘Oliver, come here, sit down. I need to talk to you,’ she patted the settee beside her. ‘And promise me you won’t get mad.’
‘Why would I get mad?’ he asked. ‘Did you prang the car? Could happen to anyone,’ he said as he sat down beside her and stretched and yawned.
In spite of her trauma she had to smile. ‘No, Oliver, I didn’t prang the car. Look. I’ve just been reading this article about infertility.’ She turned and gazed into his blue eyes, noting the sudden wariness. ‘Oliver, would you do something for me?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘If I can, Noreen.’ He looked perplexed.
‘Oliver, it might be that the problem conceiving doesn’t lie with me. Would you go and have a few tests done?’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Noreen.’ Oliver rubbed his eyes wearily and her heart sank.
‘Please, Oliver,’ she pleaded.
‘God Almighty, Noreen, would you give me a break.’ He stood up angrily.
Resentment flared. ‘No, you give me a break, Oliver, and don’t be so selfish,’ she yelled as he stormed out of the sitting-room. ‘You don’t spend any time with me, you work morning noon and night and you won’t even see if it’s your fault that I can’t have a baby. You’re a selfish bastard,’ she shouted, at the end of her tether, as she heard the front door open and then slam behind him.
* * *
Oliver gunned the engine and heard the gravel crunch under the tyres as he practically skidded down the drive. Now she was saying it was his fucking fault that they couldn’t have a baby. Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone and let it happen when it was meant to happen?
It had been too good to be true; this peace and harmony they’d had for the past few weeks when she’d started working had been a respite for them. He’d actually enjoyed coming home from work to her and that was something that hadn’t lasted beyond the early months of their marriage. Now the heat was on again and he could feel his stress levels rising.
He parked outside the Haven and went in and ordered a pint. It was quiet enough in the bar, too early for the Saturday night revellers, so he sat on a bar stool and waited for his pint to settle. What kind of tests did she want him to have? It would mean going to doctors and he hated the breed. Stay well away from that shower was his motto, you’d go to see them half healthy and come home dying.
Oliver gave a sigh that came from the depths of his being.
‘Can’t be that bad,’ the barman said cheerfully. Oliver quelled him with a look. What did he know?
Was he selfish, he asked himself as he took a draught of the cool golde
n brew. He provided very well for Noreen, he did the heavy chores around the house, he wasn’t mean, yet she was always giving out to him for not being at home, for not spending more time with her.
If she’d quit nagging he might be more inclined to go home, he thought grumpily, staring into space. Women! They were an enigma to him, he’d never understand them. There was no point in even trying. He stared at his pint. He had two options right now, get mouldy drunk and tell Noreen that under no circumstances was he having any damned tests or go home and try and sort this mess out once and for all.
18
‘It looks terrific doesn’t it?’ Neil was like a little boy as he followed her from room to room. Heather broke into a melon-slice grin, and just stood staring around the small bright sitting-room that would be her new home from now on. Having the furniture in and the curtains up made such a difference. She had no complaints at all.
‘I think you can take it that the woman is happy enough, Neil,’ Oliver Flynn said in amusement from where he was leaning against the door jamb, his hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. He’d come to give it the final once-over and see if she had any complaints.
Heather remembered her manners. ‘It’s lovely, Neil. I’m mad about it. You did a great job, Oliver. Thanks a lot.’
‘You’re welcome, Heather. So you’re coming back to us for good?’ Oliver smiled down at her from his lofty height, his eyes crinkling into a smile.
‘I sure am. I don’t know why I stayed away so long. I saw the sun rise over the lake this morning and felt sorry for all those poor sods in Dublin where all you can see are rooftops and houses and more houses. I can see the far end of the lake from my bedroom window here. It’s great, isn’t it?’ She was bubbling with excitement and happiness.
‘So you didn’t want to be a city slicker then?’ Oliver glanced at Neil, who was gazing with pride down at his forecourt filled with gleaming cars.
‘It’s not me, Oliver. I’m a country girl at heart,’ Heather said merrily.
‘And a hard taskmaster!’ Neil interjected teasingly. ‘I have to fill out my cheque stubs or it’s like the Spanish Inquisition if I don’t!’
‘Those blinking things. I know what you mean. I get that from Marie in the office.’ Oliver threw his eyes up to heaven. ‘Well, if you’re both happy enough, I’d better get a move on. A very Happy Christmas to you both and the best of luck here, Heather. If you have any problems let me know.’
‘I will, Oliver, and thanks very, very much. I love it.’ Impulsively she leaned up and gave him a hug, and laughed when he blushed. He gave a bashful grin and hurried down the stairs but turned and gave her a wave when he reached the front door.
‘He’s shy behind it all, isn’t he?’ Heather remarked in amusement as she went back into the sitting-room.
‘I suppose he is if you say so, but he’s a damn good builder,’ Neil declared as he gazed around at his latest investment. ‘This adds fifty thou or more on to the value of the place. I like those curtains,’ he added. ‘You’ve a good eye for colour.’
‘Well, thank you.’ Heather grinned, forgetting all about Oliver as she looked around at her new domain. The sitting-room, which overlooked the forecourt and the treetops that opened out on to the lake across the road, was a rectangular room that she’d had painted in a shade of warm, creamy yellow. A maple floor gleamed in the wintry sun. She’d buy some nice rugs to cover it in the January sales. Her mother had made the lilac curtains and matching cushion-covers to go on the oatmeal three-piece that was a Christmas and moving-in present from her parents. The small, circular, smoked glass dining-table and chairs were a present from Ruth. There wasn’t a fireplace in the room so she’d got an electric coal-effect fire that was quite realistic. It gave a nice focal point to the room. Neil had given her a small portable TV and video on its own unit, much to her delight. She had a pine nest of tables to serve coffee on, and some bookshelves on the wall opposite the window. Any more furniture would have made the room look cluttered.
It was new and clean and smelt of fresh paint, light-years away from the shabby flat in Drumcondra. Heather thought she had died and gone to heaven. She was as happy as a lark!
Giving in her notice at Brooke, Byrne & O’Connell had been one of the best days of her life. It was a gloomy, chilly Monday morning following her delightful weekend at home, and her boss glared at her as she came into work five minutes late and fished in her bag for her letter of resignation, typed up on Neil’s computer the night before. Edith Palmer nearly had a seizure when Heather placed the letter on the desk in front of her and said cheerfully, ‘I’m resigning.’
‘But you can’t go,’ her boss protested. ‘We’re dreadfully short-staffed and January can be quite busy for us.’
‘Sorry, Edith, and don’t forget that I have leave accrued so I’ll be taking that.’ Heather stuck the knife in deeper, enjoying her boss’s discomfiture.
‘But that means you’ll be gone two weeks before Christmas. That’s just not on, I’m afraid. Tommy Walsh has applied for leave, he’s going to New York. You’ll just have to wait until after Christmas and that’s the end of it!’ Edith said bossily.
‘I think not, Edith!’ The cheek of her boss, trying to bully her into staying and talking to her as if she were a child. Just who did she think she was? Neil’s job offer couldn’t have come at a better time. Heather was thoroughly sick of Miss Superiority with her patronizing attitude. ‘I have a challenging job, with lots of responsibility and a big wage increase to boot, waiting for me. I don’t care to wait any longer. That’s my letter of resignation effective from this date,’ Heather said coolly, enjoying her new sense of power immensely! She’d often daydreamed about resigning, as indeed did most of the rest of the staff in the office, but even in her wildest dreams it hadn’t felt as good and as deeply satisfying as the real thing. And even better, Tommy Walsh had confided that he wasn’t coming back from New York so Edith and Brooke, Byrne & O’Connell were going to be rightly up the Swanee in January.
‘But what about your loyalty to the company?’ Edith demanded, staring in disdain at the white envelope Heather had placed on her desk. Heather laughed heartily at the notion. Loyalty to the company indeed! Was Edith for real?
‘It’s no laughing matter,’ Edith said icily.
‘Oh Edith, get a life,’ Heather retorted as she turned and made her way to the vending machine for a much needed cup of coffee.
Because of her leave she only had to work out a week of her notice and the following Friday found her sitting in the family station-wagon at four thirty, having left the office early, surrounded by black plastic sacks containing all her clothes and bits and pieces. Her mother had driven from home to collect her from Ruth’s and as they drove past Phibsboro, northwards to freedom, Heather felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She’d done city life, had a bit of fun, seen a bit of life, but all in all, hadn’t greatly enjoyed it. Now she was going home to get a life for herself, just as she’d urged Edith Palmer to.
Maybe she was running away. Lorna would definitely view her return to Kilronan in that light. She didn’t care. City life wasn’t for her, she admitted, as the car in front made an illegal right turn at Whitworth Road, causing her mother to swear loudly and jam on the brakes. She wouldn’t miss city gridlock in the slightest, she thought happily, as they resumed their forward motion but stopped again a minute later, blocked by a car parked on double yellows.
Her first week working for Neil had been a bit daunting, to say the least. Excellent as he might be at selling cars, his paperwork and accountancy were a shambles. Folders, stacks of demands and receipts from the Revenue, paperwork for his car sales, were strewn higgledy piggledy on a large desk in the back office. He also had a small office reception area where he dealt with new customers. That at least was presentable, she noted. His computer desktop was a disaster!
‘I want a computer of my own, with Microsoft Office First Run and Excel,’ Heather announced as Neil stood sheepi
shly amid the detritus of his paperwork. ‘And I want a four-drawer filing cabinet for the time being, until you expand even more.’ She flashed him a grin. ‘Actually there’s an office supplier’s in Drumcondra, Lawlors, they have a good catalogue. I’ll get them to send us one and we can go through it for our office supplies. You could do with having some headed notepaper and “With compliments” slips. I’ll get that organized too.’
Neil enveloped her in an unexpected bearhug. ‘This is brilliant, Heather. You’re just what I need.’ He waved a hand expansively around the office. ‘This is your domain. Do what you want. I won’t be interfering. I’ll be out selling cars. You can look after the wages, I’ll explain the way it works—’
‘I hope everything’s above board,’ she said sternly, snuggling in to him.
‘Oh, it is,’ he assured her. ‘All PRSI and the rest is paid. It’s too risky not to.’
‘Right, get out of here and let me try to put some sort of manners on the place,’ she ordered.
‘OK,’ he agreed, smiling at her. She smiled back and then before she realized what was happening he started to kiss her and it was as though they’d never been parted.
‘Go on, get out of here,’ she whispered, breathlessly, red-cheeked, as she heard one of the mechanics call Neil’s name.
‘Let’s go out for a meal to celebrate.’ Neil kissed her again.
‘OK, OK, go on,’ she giggled, pushing him away. And smiled to herself for at least twenty minutes before the full reality of his total disorganization took the smirk off her face as she settled down to some serious sorting.
By the time Christmas Eve arrived she had the office organized to her liking, and a system set in place that suited the needs of the business. She was working hard, but it was enjoyable, knowing that this side of the business was her responsibility and that Neil was happy for it to be so. She also acted as receptionist and telephonist so her day was varied, dealing with customers, suppliers and inquiries as well as her paperwork. She had never been so happy in her life, especially when the flat really began to take shape.
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