‘Honey, you made that reservation for me for lunch in the Waldorf with Kendal McDonnell, didn’t you?’ Sandra buzzed her on the intercom.
‘Yes I did, Sandra.’ Lorna stopped mid type.
‘Fine. Oh and honey, Alanna called me from Europe. She’ll be back in three weeks, so I guess you might need to start looking for another job and a new pad. And honey, can I get you to make an appointment for me for a pedicure, body exfoliant and facial in Bliss as early as possible next week? Thank you.’ The intercom went dead and Lorna stared at it. In shock. Was she imagining things or had she just been given the boot?
Had the last six months of slave labour meant absolutely nothing? What a hard-hearted bitch. Alanna had earlier in November extended her leave and was not due back until the end of January. Now, just because she had changed her mind, Lorna was going to be left high and dry.
She sat, staring into space. What on earth was she going to do now? She was way, way beyond her ninety-day visa, her papers weren’t in order. Ten Irish illegals had recently been deported, her father had told her during their last phone call. She so did not need to hear that, she’d assured him.
Who was going to give her a job and where was she going to live? She didn’t want to go back to commuting from Yonkers, besides, her room had been let to another girl. She didn’t want to move into another ancient, poky little studio. Sahara in summer, Siberia in winter. She certainly didn’t fancy spending the rest of the bitterly cold NY winter shivering and listening to creaky radiators that made so much noise she had to wear earplugs to sleep.
True, she had gained invaluable work experience, but she was going to have to start from scratch again and she just didn’t have the heart for it.
Her mother had promised that she would fly out the day after St Stephen’s Day. Nevertheless, the thought of spending Christmas Day on her own was daunting. Carina was going skiing with friends. Suzie had family commitments.
Heather’s words came back to haunt her. There is no man or even woman in your life that you can truly say that you’re a friend to, and I feel sorry for you for that.
Jane had told her that Heather and Oliver Flynn were an item and having seen them together at her grandmother’s funeral, she wasn’t totally surprised. Heather would be happy with Oliver, she thought enviously. He wouldn’t let her down. Not the way Lorna had been let down by men. Heather and Oliver suited one another. They were the same sort of people, country people, happy to vegetate in their little cocoons.
Maybe they were right, she sighed. Lorna might always have felt the superior one in her and Heather’s relationship, but right now, with a lonely Christmas and an uncertain future staring her in the face, it didn’t seem like that. Heather was the lucky one. What a difference a year made. Who would ever have thought that she would envy her stick-in-the-mud-cousin.
Sandra swept out of her office. Today she was wearing a black Jil Sander trouser suit with the sharpest creases Lorna had ever seen. Her mink was thrown casually over her shoulder. She dropped an envelope on Lorna’s desk. Lorna knew it was her pay cheque.
‘Honey, will you please call Kelly Dunlop and tell her she’s number eight on the UK Booktrack 100 and rising,’ Sandra instructed. ‘And honey, will you call my personal trainer and reschedule for eight a.m. tomorrow and will you call my caterers and ask them to do a sushi lunch for ten, for Sunday, at noon, and don’t forget to type up our contract for Karl Neiderman, we’ve renegotiated and it’s not standard, so make sure to check it thoroughly.’ She waved a hand in languid farewell and disappeared into the elevator.
Lorna stared after her and felt resentment and hatred. No wonder Sandra was a millionairess living on Park and Lorna was a wee slavey living in a hencoop. She had more or less told Lorna she wouldn’t be requiring her services and still she issued orders like bullets from a machine-gun and expected Lorna to execute them. It just wasn’t on.
Lorna picked up her pay cheque, dropped it in her bag, shrugged into her coat, and took a last look around the office. She had no photos or personal effects to collect. The phone rang. Lorna ignored it. She’d had enough of hard-nosed Sandra Winston and her complete lack of appreciation and gratitude for a job well done, enough of hard work and nothing to show for it except a wardrobe to die for, enough of living in a dingy, seedy street in Manhattan, enough of being manless and friendless. She was going home. Going home to regroup and start over.
She picked up the phone and dialled home. She might as well get a freebie in before she went. Her mother answered. It was good to hear her voice.
‘Mum … Mum … it’s me. I’m coming home. I’ve had enough,’ she confessed, her lip trembling.
‘You come home, Lorna, if that’s what you want to do. Just let me know when you’re arriving and I’ll be there to collect you. What’s wrong?’ Jane’s sympathetic tone was balm to her spirit. Lorna told her sorry tale.
‘Never mind, just come home,’ her mother urged after listening to her daughter’s tale of woe. ‘Let me know your arrangements when you’ve made them.’
‘I will, Mum, and thanks,’ Lorna assured her before hanging up. One person did love her, warts and all, no matter what her stick-in-the-mud cousin said. She felt some of her old fighting spirit infuse her.
The day would come when Heather Williams would eat her words and envy her.
* * *
‘You can’t give me a week’s notice just before Christmas. It’s the busiest time of the bloody year,’ Neil exploded at his secretary as she stood in front of his desk, chewing gum, unfazed by his outburst.
‘Sorry, Neil, I’m going to do a beauty therapist’s course in Dublin in January and I want to take a couple of weeks off before I start,’ Carol said jauntily, sauntering back to her own office.
‘Selfish bitch,’ Neil muttered, running his hands through his hair. Now he was going to have to advertise, do interviews, the whole palaver. It was a disastrous end to a disastrous year. The sooner the new one started the better. He looked out his window and saw a familiar green Ford Focus whiz by. Neil scowled. Heather certainly hadn’t taken long to get over him. Now she was living with Oliver Flynn and they were the talk of the town, not that they seemed to care. He’d seen them in the Haven the other night, laughing and joking and looking so happy he’d wanted to slap their faces. How dare she forget him so easily? What was it with women?
Some Christmas he was going to have. Himself and his father sitting over a dried-up turkey they’d be cooking themselves. So different from last year, when he and Heather had been getting the flat sorted and the world seemed like their oyster. He’d mucked it up. He should never have let himself be taken in by Lorna Morgan. He only had himself to blame. And that was what made it all the worse.
* * *
Cora bustled around her parlour polishing and tidying. Oliver was bringing his young woman to dinner on Sunday and she wanted everything to be just so.
When he had sat her down all those months ago and told her that he had met someone else and that he loved her she’d been very taken aback. But she’d stayed quiet. This was different from that Noreen one. She knew by him. It was the first time she’d ever seen real happiness in her son’s eyes and she wasn’t going to be selfish enough to take it away from him. There’d been times after Noreen had left him that she had felt like ringing the other woman up and pleading with her to come back, just to take away the lonely despondency that had afflicted him.
She’d worried about him night and day, grieving for him, and cursing Noreen for inflicting such sadness on her son. Now Martha Jackson’s granddaughter had changed Oliver into a different man, and even though the church might frown, Cora didn’t care. They weren’t ones to judge any more with all their scandals. The Lord was the one she went to in times of need. She’d discussed the matter with the Sacred Heart in the quiet of her bedroom and saw in His smiling gaze mercy and compassion. He would not deny Oliver love in his life, and neither would she. Besides, it was a comfort to know that when she was
gone Oliver would have someone to care for him.
Cora felt a lump in her throat. He was a great blessing in her life. She had made him miserable about Noreen with her criticism, she admitted that with a dart of shame, remembering how she hadn’t even gone to his wedding. Well, this time it would be different. Not one bad word would she utter. In fact – she went out to her linen chest in the hall and took out the pristine linen and lace tablecloth that was only used on the rarest of occasions – she would set the table with her precious cloth and then Oliver would know how she felt. Happy at the thought of pleasing him, Cora hummed ‘The First Noel’ to herself as she hurried into the kitchen to make a dozen mince pies.
* * *
Heather raced up and down the supermarket aisles, anxious to get home and have the fire lit and the dinner cooking before Oliver got home. It was a wild, windy night and she looked forward to cuddling up with him later, to chat and laugh and relax at the end of a busy week. Friday night was her favourite night of all. She chucked a packet of chocolate Kimberleys into the trolley; he liked them as much as she did, and he liked Maltana too, fortunately. But his favourites were Tunnock’s Teacakes, so she got two packets of those. She felt a warm little glow as she shoved her trolley up and down, shopping for their groceries. It was going to be lovely this year buying a Christmas tree together and decorating it. She’d never been as happy, she thought gratefully. Sometimes she felt ready to burst, she was so full of happiness. Being with Oliver filled every need, every want. The more she got to know him, the more she loved him and the wonderful thing was that she was greatly loved in return. She was perfectly content.
When he’d moved out of the house and moved into one of the apartments he’d built, she’d helped him organize the move. She’d spent the first night with him there, to ‘help him settle in’ as she’d laughingly put it, and she’d never moved out. It was as easy and simple as that. They’d spent a glorious summer tramping around the lake, rowing on it, swimming in it, happy as could be with their own company. When Heather had told him that her grandmother had left her the cottage, Oliver had offered to refurbish it for her. ‘Only if you’ll come and live in it with me,’ she cajoled. ‘I know you’re only interested in me because I’m a woman of property.’
‘I’ll show you why I’m interested in you.’ He grabbed her and made love to her there and then on the sofa and then they’d sat grinning at each other like idiots.
They’d decided to make the cottage their home and they’d had an architect draw up plans to extend and enlarge it. Oliver was going to start work on it in the new year.
She was busy putting away the groceries when the phone rang. She answered, hoping it wasn’t Oliver to tell her that he was delayed.
‘Hello?’ a woman’s voice said. ‘Would that be Heather?’
‘It is,’ Heather answered.
‘Hello, Heather. It’s Noreen. I was trying to catch Oliver on his mobile but there’s no signal.’
‘Oh. Oh, hello,’ Heather said warily. It was strange to be talking to Oliver’s wife. ‘Sometimes on Fridays the network gets so busy it crashes. Can I give him a message and get him to call you?’ she said politely.
‘Well, thank you. I just wanted him to know that I’m going into hospital tomorrow. If I haven’t gone into labour by myself, they’re going to induce me on Monday.’
‘Oh, right, Noreen. The best of luck.’
‘Heather, I just wanted to say that I’m so glad Oliver’s with you. You must know how wonderful he is or you wouldn’t be with him. He deserves every happiness and I really mean that,’ the other woman said quietly.
Heather felt a lump come into her throat. ‘He is wonderful, isn’t he? He’s the most special man I’ve ever met.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘But then I’m biased.’
‘Me too,’ Noreen said, and Heather could tell she was smiling. ‘It’s been very nice to talk to you, Heather. I hope we can meet again some time.’
‘I hope so too, Noreen,’ Heather said warmly. ‘I’ll light a candle for you tomorrow. And I’ll get Oliver to phone you tonight. Goodnight.’
She put down the phone and sat at the kitchen table. Noreen obviously had feelings for Oliver, but at least she wasn’t alone in London and her dearest wish had been granted to her. And it was good that she and Oliver had remained friends. The babies’ father was very supportive and Oliver had told her that Noreen was far happier living there than she ever had been at home. So perhaps it was a case of ‘All’s well that end’s well’, she reflected as she put away the remainder of the shopping and began to slice a pork steak into medallions, ready to cook in cream and wine.
When Oliver’s key turned in the lock, she rushed out to the hall and planted a big kiss on his lips, making him laugh at her enthusiasm. ‘Dinner smells nice,’ he said as he strolled into the kitchen with his arm around her.
‘You have ten minutes to shower, and by the way Noreen rang, she couldn’t get you on the mobile.’
‘Is she OK?’ Heather noticed the flicker of alarm in his eyes.
‘She’s fine. She’s going into hospital tomorrow and if she doesn’t go into labour herself she’s going to be induced.’
Oliver made a face. ‘I don’t want any gory details,’ he warned.
‘Don’t be such a wussy. Go and have your shower and give her a call.’ Heather kissed him again and gave him a little shove out of the door.
‘Will do.’ Oliver pinched her ass, making her squeal.
Heather smiled to herself as she boiled the water for the basmati rice. Now that he was home, she felt perfectly content.
* * *
‘Hello, Noreen,’ Oliver said as he sat, wrapped in a towel, on the side of the bed. ‘Heather told me you called.’
‘She sounds lovely, Oliver. I’m really glad for you,’ Noreen said warmly.
‘Are you, Noreen?’ Oliver said gravely.
‘Honestly I am. I guess I don’t feel so guilty about us, knowing you’re happy with someone else.’
‘And are you happy, Noreen?’ he asked quietly.
‘I’m very contented, Oliver. I’m so looking forward to bringing the babies home. Can’t say I’m actually looking forward to the birth itself.’
‘That’s understandable. And Rajiv will definitely be with you? You know I would have come if you’d been stuck.’
‘I know that, Oliver. He’s here with me right now. And thank you. I’m fine. I’ll ring you as soon as I can once they’re born. Say a prayer for me, won’t you?’
‘You know I will, Noreen. Be assured of that,’ he said firmly.
There was a silence at the end of the phone and he knew she was crying. ‘For heaven’s sake, woman. Not the waterworks again. We should send you to Africa to cure the drought,’ he teased.
‘Oh, Oliver,’ Noreen gulped, half laughing, half crying. ‘You’re very special.’
‘You’re pretty special yourself.’ He smiled down the phone. ‘Go and get him to cook you a curry – I heard that’s supposed to bring on labour.’
‘Yes, Doctor Flynn,’ Noreen managed a laugh. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I have two little babies.’
‘You do that, and take care of yourself. ’Bye now.’ He hung up the phone gently and sat towelling his hair dry. It was good that they could keep in touch and be concerned for each other. It meant that their relationship wasn’t a total failure. He wished for her sake that the birth was over, then she’d be truly in her element with the children she’d always wanted.
Would that beautiful, warm, loving woman down the hall in the kitchen ever want babies, he wondered. She kept saying no, that she was happy as they were, and she certainly looked very happy. Maybe it was different for her from how it had been for Noreen, because she had made the choice herself. She knew what the score was with him and she’d still wanted to get involved. They could always adopt if she wanted. He only wanted what she wanted.
Smiling, Oliver dressed in the clean clothes Heather had laid out for him on the bed and we
nt down to the kitchen. He stood beside her at the cooker and wrapped his arms around her.
‘Are you sure you’re happy?’ he asked against her hair.
‘Oliver, dearest, I’m the happiest woman in the universe.’ She turned sideways in his arms to look up at him. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? I’m with the most wonderful man in the world.’ She kissed him soundly, winding her arms around his neck until all he could do was believe her.
* * *
‘Push, Noreen, one last push, that’s all,’ the midwife encouraged as Noreen, red in the face, hair plastered against her head, pushed as hard as she could and was rewarded moments later with a lusty roar.
‘One fine healthy boy, to join his fine healthy sister,’ the gynaecologist said cheerfully. Noreen burst into tears. It was all over. Finally all over and she had two healthy babies, born normally, and Rajiv standing beside her in his mask and gown looking as though he would burst with pride. The nurse put her son in her arms.
He was beautiful, with melting brown eyes, a little snub nose and a shock of black hair that made her laugh. His sister, born five hours earlier, was asleep in her cot, awaiting the arrival of her brother.
Noreen’s heart swelled with love and joy as she held her son’s tiny hand and felt his fingers curl tightly around her little finger. What perfection. What blessings God had bestowed on her, she thought gratefully, as all the years of pain and grief she had endured wafted away and vanished into nothingness. It was five thirty on a frosty December Sunday morning in London and she felt she was the luckiest woman in the world.
‘Here, Rajiv, you hold him,’ she whispered.
‘We will hold him together, Noreen,’ Rajiv murmured tenderly as he put his arms around them both and kissed her lovingly on the top of her head.
‘Will you ring Maura for me later if I’m still asleep and tell her she can book her flight whenever she wants to? And will you ring Kay?’ Noreen asked.
‘Of course I will, my dear. And what about Oliver?’
‘I’ll ring him myself as soon as I wake up. He’s the one person I want to tell myself.’
Two For Joy Page 47