‘I do have a good life,’ Lorna lied.
‘Well, have an even better one, then. Don’t ever let anything or anyone hold you back,’ her mother urged.
‘I won’t, Mum. I’m sorry if I upset you. I really didn’t mean to. I don’t know what came over me. It must have been PMT or something.’
Jane got up and stood in front of her daughter. In a rare display of tenderness she reached down and stroked Lorna’s cheek. ‘No, dear. I’m the sorry one. You’ll never know how sorry I am that I put you through this. I hope you can forgive me.’
‘I do, Mum. I do,’ Lorna said fiercely as she pressed her mother’s hand tighter to her cheek. Mother and daughter had never felt so close as they did at that moment and for Lorna, it was as though a huge burden had been lifted from her. Maybe Christmas wasn’t going to be such a disaster after all.
21
Oliver’s palms were damp with sweat as he locked hard and reversed into a parking space between two cars. The drive to Dublin had seemed to take an eternity. His heart was like a lead weight and his stomach was tight with anxiety. He had never been so nervous in his life. He switched off the engine and looked around. Three-storey redbrick houses lined the street. Bare branched trees dropped snow on to the bonnet of his car. Buses and lorries trundled past and in the distance he could see the gates leading into the Phoenix Park.
The gleaming gold plaque on the gate opposite him told him he was at the surgery of Doctor Miles Lawson, M.B., B.C.H., B.A.O., D.Obs., M.R.C.G.P. He had scoured the Golden Pages looking for a male doctor handy enough to the M50. The idea of going for a walk in the Phoenix Park after his ordeal appealed to him, so Miles Lawson it was.
His appointment was for ten fifteen. It was five minutes past ten. He’d told Noreen he was going to a business meeting. She knew it was something out of the ordinary because he’d dressed in a suit, but because the atmosphere between them was still extremely frosty, she hadn’t pursued it. He sighed deeply. She was still sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms and every time he tried to apologize she said curtly, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ So he’d given up. He could be as stubborn as she was.
Christmas had been a miserable affair. He was glad it was over. She’d hardly looked at the gold earrings he’d bought her and when he’d thanked her for the leather jacket she’d bought him she’d ignored him.
He’d never been so glad in his life to see the festive season end and get back to work. Maybe if he went and got this bloody sperm test thing done, she might soften towards him and life could get back to normal. And then he’d never open his big mouth again, he vowed as he got out of the car and reluctantly walked to the door. A tired-looking receptionist took his name. ‘Oh yes, you’re a new patient. I’ll just take your details if you don’t mind. Please sit down.’ Oliver sat. He could see that there were two other people in the waiting-room. He could be here for another three-quarters of an hour at least, he thought glumly as he gave his date of birth and tried to remember whether he’d had mumps, measles and chickenpox. He could remember the mumps, they’d been bloody painful. He’d got them in his teens and been in agony for a week.
‘And have you ever been hospitalized?’ the receptionist asked in a bored tone.
‘No.’ Oliver was tempted to tell her not to bother asking him any more questions. Once he’d got the letter for his test and everything was OK he wouldn’t be coming back here again, but he restrained himself, and kept answering the questions.
By the time he finally got in to see the doctor he felt he was going to have a heart attack. He was rigid with anxiety and was perspiring freely. Doctor Lawson was a plump, bespectacled man in a tweed jacket. He smelt of pipe smoke and Oliver felt himself relax a little.
‘Mr Flynn.’ He glanced at the file in front of him. ‘Oliver, take a seat there.’ He reached over his desk and shook hands. His hands were stubby, but his grip was firm.
‘So, Oliver. What can I do for you?’ He leaned back in his worn leather chair and peered over his bifocals at Oliver.
Oliver cleared his throat. ‘Well, ahh … that is … er…’ Oliver wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. ‘Well, my wife wants me to have a test,’ he gulped. ‘We’ve been trying for a baby, and nothing’s happening,’ he added lamely.
‘I see,’ Doctor Lawson said calmly. ‘And how long have you been trying?’
‘Well over a year,’ Oliver said miserably. ‘I didn’t want to go to the doctor at home, my wife’s a nurse, she works for him. I didn’t want him to … I just preferred to go to someone out of town.’ He felt the need to explain.
‘That’s fine, Oliver,’ Doctor Lawson said kindly. ‘I quite understand. I just need to ask you a few questions. Let’s see if we can get this matter sorted. It’s a good idea for the man to get tested and evaluated first. Much less invasive than what a woman has to undergo. It’s a very simple procedure: you can go and get it over and done with today if you want. I’ll give you a letter for the Rotunda Hospital for a semen analysis. You just go to the laboratory reception desk. They will give you a container, you go into the loo and give a sample. If you lived nearby you could do it at home, but unfortunately they need the sample within two hours. It’s quite straightforward though.’
Oliver felt his tension rise again. He hadn’t expected this. He thought he’d be waiting a week or so to get an appointment, thought he’d have time to prepare himself for the next ordeal. Still, maybe it was better to get it all over and done with. He wouldn’t be going for any walk in the Phoenix Park, he thought ruefully as he paid his bill.
An hour later he was standing in a tiled hospital toilet cubicle with a sterile container in his hand, his trousers and underpants down around his ankles. He’d never been so mortified in his life, going up to the girl in the lab reception area with his letter of referral. Even now his face was hot with embarrassment. He was sure everyone outside knew what he was doing, or trying to do. He scowled and looked down at himself. Dead as a dodo and not a sign of life. He felt himself break out in a cold sweat. Why in the name of God was he standing here? He felt a huge surge of resentment towards Noreen. No point in thinking of her, she wouldn’t do it for him the way he was feeling at the moment. He better do something, he couldn’t stand here all day. The sooner it was over and done with the better and that was it. He’d done his bit, Noreen would have to put up with the consequences. He closed his eyes and thought of flame-haired Kate, took a deep breath, and got down to the business of providing a sample that would tell whether he’d been shooting blanks or not.
* * *
Noreen removed the protective cover from around Mrs Delahunty’s neck and handed her a sheaf of tissue to wipe around her ears.
‘I thought I was going deaf, couldn’t hear my mobile. Thank God it was only wax,’ she twittered as she took out her compact and dusted down her heavily rouged cheeks. ‘Thanks for syringing me, Nurse Flynn. Send me the bill please, I don’t have any cash on me at the moment.’
Mean old bat, Noreen thought grumpily as she watched her patient totter out of the door on impossibly high heeled boots. Her boxy fur jacket, which had seen better days, and the skirt that showed far too much of her bony, skinny shanks were totally inappropriate for the wintry weather. Mrs D, as she was known in the town, was notoriously tight-fisted and renowned for not paying her bills promptly.
Noreen glanced out the window. The garden was covered in a fresh mantle of snow. Hedgerows and branches iced with a powdery coating. It was quiet out in the surgery, only the diehards like Mrs D and a few flu sufferers braving the weather. It was good to be back at work and in a routine again, she reflected as she tidied up and sterilized her instruments. Better than sitting wallowing in despair at home. She couldn’t get Oliver’s words out of her head. Why had he said them to her? Didn’t he know how much they would hurt her? Had he wanted to hurt her? Over and over she tormented herself with questions to which she had no answer. Maybe it was his way of getting back at her for all the pressure she
was putting on him about having a baby. But he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what need and want drove her. No one knew, it was her burden and she carried it alone.
He’d been all dressed up this morning in his good suit. He’d muttered something about going to a meeting but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking who it was with, although she was curious. Oliver didn’t often dress up in his good gear, which was a pity. He looked extremely well in his suit. His lean frame carried it well. The leather jacket she’d bought him looked great too, although she hadn’t told him that. He’d worn it on Stephen’s Day when they’d taken Cora to visit her sister and she’d felt he was trying to make amends. She knew she’d hurt him by hardly looking at the earrings he’d bought her. But she’d wanted to hurt him. Her eyes darkened. She wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt her.
Those four caustic words, ‘Because you asked me’, were gouged into her heart and as long as she lived she didn’t think that she was ever going to be able to put them out of her mind. She was as lonely as hell sleeping in the back bedroom, but it was better than lying stiff and tense beside him, the air frosted with the resentment that was always between them these days. If Cora knew their present situation she’d be delighted. She’d had the knives out for Noreen from the first time Oliver had brought her home. If their marriage broke up, there’d be no happier woman in the universe.
‘Don’t think like that,’ she muttered. It was unthinkable. She and Oliver would weather the storm, eventually. She just wasn’t ready to forgive, let alone forget, yet.
* * *
Oliver sat in a smoke-filled restaurant close to the hospital wolfing down a fry-up. He took a drink of hot, sweet tea and for the first time that day started to relax. He’d done it. Got the doctor’s letter of referral, presented himself at the hospital and performed as required. He hoped he never had to go through a day like it again. It had been the most embarrassing day of his life. He took another gulp of tea, which tasted like nectar.
He was glad he hadn’t gone to Douglas Kennedy. Not that he had anything against the man. He was a good enough doctor and had dealt with Oliver competently on the rare occasions he needed him but it would have just been too mortifying to have to answer the kind of intimate personal questions Miles Lawson had asked him. Imagine meeting him in a social situation afterwards! Noreen would probably have a fit when she found out that he’d gone to a stranger but let her, at least he’d gone and had the bloody test done for her.
Doctor Lawson had thoughtfully provided some information for him to read. He’d drive home and park somewhere near the lake and have a glance at it maybe, although part of him wanted to ignore the whole thing. He finished his meal, paid his bill, tipped the waitress and trudged through the slushy snow over to the ILAC car park. The January sales were on, the ILAC Centre was jammers and he weaved his way through the throngs, impatiently. How anyone could voluntarily want to live in a city was beyond him. He couldn’t wait to get out of the place. Noreen would talk about London longingly, sometimes. She seemed to have liked it when she was working there. Sometimes, Oliver felt she really missed her old life.
There was a queue at all of the lifts. Oliver didn’t even give them a second glance. He loped up the five flights of stairs easily, located his car and heaved a sigh of relief as he finally reached the exit, drove past the hospital, which he dearly hoped he’d never have to set foot in again, and headed for home. It had started to snow again and by the time he got to Navan there was a full-scale blizzard.
It was a relief to drive into Kilronan as drifts of snow piled up on the wipers and he gave up on the idea of going to the lake. Noreen was still at the surgery and he felt relief that he didn’t have to try to make strained conversation and be rebuffed. He raced upstairs and got out of his suit and shirt as fast as he could. Ten minutes later he had put a match to the fire and was sipping a cold, refreshing Bud, the stresses and strains of the day easing away from him as he lounged in his armchair, flicking through the information Doctor Lawson had given him.
It was a bit of an eye-opener, he had to admit, as he read that in 60 per cent of couples experiencing infertility a male factor was involved, primarily male in 40 per cent of those couples and in an additional 20 per cent a combination of male and female factors. They weren’t great odds, he thought with a start. Oliver frowned, concentrating as he read on about something called varicoceles, which made him wince as he read the treatment. Manfully, he kept on reading about abnormalities in the seminal fluid, problems with the ductal system, obstructions of the epididymis, immunolegic infertility, testicular failure … it went on and on and the more he read the more worried he got. He drained his can of beer and went out to the kitchen for another. After reading that lot he didn’t care if he never had sex again, he thought dolefully as he plonked back down in the chair and switched on the TV. The warmth of the fire, the stress of the trip to Dublin which had kept him awake half the night with worry, and the calming effect of the beer soon had him snoozing and before long his chest rose and fell rhythmically as Oliver slept and dreamed of horrible things happening to his bits and pieces.
* * *
Noreen drove home at a snail’s pace as the snow swirled dizzily, making it almost impossible to see. She wondered where Oliver was. She was worried about him. The roads were treacherous, dusk was falling and she hadn’t even asked him where he was going. He could be stuck anywhere. She inched along until she came to the turn off the main road that led towards the lake and their house. She could see the house in darkness through the gloom, but then, rounding the bend, saw that his car was in the drive. He could at least have put a light on, she thought crossly, annoyed that she had wasted time worrying about him. She parked and hurried into the house, the snow almost blinding her, and saw the flames of the fire flickering in the darkened sitting-room. She could see Oliver stretched out in his chair as she divested herself of her coat and scarf before going into the kitchen. When she saw that the table hadn’t even been set for the dinner, she grew angry. The least he could do was set the bloody table, she fumed as she snapped on the light and began clattering knives and forks on the table. She turned the heat on under the hotpot she’d made earlier and buttered some chunky slices of Vienna roll to serve with it.
When it was ready, she marched into the sitting-room to call Oliver. He was snoring his head off now, which added insult to injury, and she was just about to give him a rough shake of the shoulder when she caught sight of something he’d been reading that had slipped down on to the floor. Curiosity got the better of her and she picked up the leaflet and slipped out into the kitchen to have a look.
‘Oh, Oliver,’ she whispered as she read the material her husband had been reading. Here she was thinking that he didn’t care and he’d gone to the trouble of getting information on male infertility. And gloomy reading some of it made too, she thought forlornly as she scanned the contents. She sighed as she replaced the pages beside him and gave him a little shake.
‘Oliver, Oliver, your dinner’s ready.’
‘Wha … what!’ He jerked awake as she switched on a side lamp, his eyes heavy and slumberous.
‘Dinner’s ready.’
‘I’m sorry, I meant to set the table.’ He rubbed his hand wearily over his face and yawned.
‘What’s this?’ she asked lightly, bending down to take the pages off the floor.
‘Never you mind,’ Oliver said hotly, snatching it from her, a deep red flush creeping up his face and neck.
‘Don’t be so bloody rude,’ Noreen exclaimed, stung that he wouldn’t share the fact that he’d been reading up about male infertility.
‘Oh, don’t start,’ he snapped uncoiling himself from the chair. ‘If you want to know I went and had that semen test today. So now are you happy?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? Who gave you the letter of referral?’ she demanded, going straight into hostile mode at his surly behaviour.
‘What does it matter? It’s done no
w. I did what you asked me to do, Noreen, so now can we forget it until the results come and let’s go and eat our dinner.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ she muttered, walking out of the room and up to her bedroom, despairing of the gulf that seemed to deepen daily between them. He’d gone and had the test, had gone through that ordeal on his own and never told her so she could have been with him to support him. She knew how shy he was. It must have been torture for him to talk to strangers about such a private matter, let alone go to a hospital and give a sample. He would have been cringing. She knew in her heart and soul how difficult it would have been for him. And yet he preferred to go through it on his own without her. That said it all about the dismal state of their marriage. She slipped to her knees beside the bed and bowed her head. ‘God, please,’ she beseeched, ‘let everything be all right with Oliver, please don’t let it be his fault that we can’t have a baby. I’m sorry, Lord, I should never have put him through that. Please, please don’t let it be Oliver’s fault.’
22
‘Did you have a good Christmas?’ Carina inquired as she dumped her travel bag on the floor and flung herself into an armchair.
‘It was OK. I came back to Dublin on Stephen’s Day. I was going to come back after lunch on Christmas Day but I got a bit smashed and couldn’t drive. It was so boring at home. It did my head in,’ Lorna admitted.
‘Really? I’d a great time. I wasn’t in bed before five any morning. I really need to detox.’ She arched an eyebrow in Lorna’s direction. ‘Any drink in the place?’
Lorna grinned and held up a glass. ‘Cider, there’s some left in the fridge, help yourself.’
‘Ta, I will. I’ll detox tomorrow,’ Carina assured herself. ‘What was work like today?’
Two For Joy Page 21