Two For Joy (10 page)

‘Here you go, Maura.' She handed her sister her tea and gave a weak smile. ‘You're not having morning sickness or anything?'

‘Not a thing so far, thank God. I keep expecting to feel a bit grotty but it hasn't happened.' Her sister beamed and Noreen felt even more ashamed of begrudging her sister her joy.

‘That's good.' She sipped her tea, trying to quell her mean-spirited envy.

‘So where's he taking you tonight?' Maura chirruped gaily.

‘Oh! Oh, we're going to have a quiet romantic dinner at home,' Noreen fibbed. ‘We'll probably go out at the weekend.'

‘Of course the first anniversary is always the best, it starts to wear off a little bit after that.' Maura spoke with authority. ‘Because I kicked up such a rumpus when he forgot ours, Andy took me to dinner in the Clarence and he had a room booked. It was great.' Maura sighed at the memory.

Little fat poser,
Noreen thought sourly as she took a savage bite out of a digestive. ‘Is he pleased?' she managed.

‘Over the moon.' Maura was bursting with pride, and in spite of herself Noreen felt an odd little glimmer of affection for her sister that took her by surprise. ‘He's even started a share portfolio for him or her … isn't that sweet?'

‘Very far-sighted,' agreed Noreen, wishing Maura would go so that she could go back up to bed and burrow under her duvet and be miserable in peace.

Maura took another biscuit and settled herself more comfortably in the chair. Her mobile phone rang. ‘Sorry about this,' she twittered, ‘the phone hasn't stopped all morning. Hello? Joan. Hi,' she said gaily and launched into a conversation with the person at the other end.

Noreen sat staring morosely out the window as her sister chatted nineteen to the dozen with her friend. She had a mobile phone but rarely got calls on it. Oliver never phoned unless he had something specific to impart and she had no friends in Kilronan to chat with. Maybe she should have gone back to London after her mother died, she thought morosely. She'd a good social life there, which was a lot more than she could say about her dull existence in her big house overlooking the lake.

‘Noreen, I have to go.' Maura jumped up. ‘I'm just going to have lunch with Joan and a few of the girls. I can tell them my news at last. I wanted the three months to be up before I said anything.'

‘That's understandable,' Noreen murmured, her relief that her sister was going tinged with envy at the idea of a girls' lunch. Her own uneventful day stretched out unappealingly ahead of her. She followed Maura to the front door and waved unenthusiastically as her sister drove off happily.

Noreen closed the door slowly. It had started to spit rain. The clouds were dark and threatening over the lake. Bed was the best place to be on a day like today, she decided. She gathered up the cups and plates and shoved them into the dishwasher. The digestive biscuit she'd eaten earlier had given her indigestion and her cramps were excruciating. Wasn't she lucky that she could go to bed, she told herself. She could be dragging herself around a hospital ward feeling grotty, or stuck on a tube in London. At least she could go to bed and feel grotty in peace and look out at the rain battering against the big windows, and read her book and snooze for the afternoon. The thought made her feel marginally better. She filled a hot water bottle and made herself a cup of hot chocolate. Ten minutes later she was snuggled up in bed, her hot water bottle on her bloated, painful tummy, sipping her drinking chocolate. The wind whistled around the house and rivulets of rain ran down the windows, the soughing of the trees making a soothing lullaby.

She'd go and have a check-up next week, she decided, drowsily, the double dose of Ponston she'd taken beginning to take effect. Maybe, if she was lucky, this was the last period she'd have for nine months. Maybe this time next month she'd be pregnant and Oliver would spend more time at home with her. Feeling a little more cheerful, Noreen slipped into a drowsy stupor.

She woke around four, muzzy-headed and hungry. The house was lovely and warm so she slipped into her dressing-gown, went down to the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. She buttered a chunk of Vienna roll and smeared it with blackberry jam. It tasted scrumptious. She hadn't realized just how hungry she was. She polished off the rest of the loaf and felt quite stuffed. She didn't fancy having dinner, but Oliver would be hungry when he came home and she always liked to have a substantial meal for him in the evenings after a hard day's work.

She had a pork steak in the fridge; she'd stuff it, and make some apple sauce to accompany it. While it was cooking she'd have a nice bath and freshen herself up. She'd open a bottle of wine and have a glass with Oliver when he was having his dinner. It would be nice to mark their first anniversary in some little way, just to try to bring back some memories of the happy wedding day they had celebrated a year ago.

Oliver was such a paradox: buying her beautiful pearls and obviously putting thought into the gift and then arranging to meet a fellow builder the evening of their anniversary. Romantic, yet not romantic. He was himself, she thought fondly as she crumbled some breadcrumbs to make the stuffing.

Noreen had had her bath and was just checking the pork steak when the phone rang. The smell wafting around the kitchen was delicious, and she thought she might have a small plateful of dinner with Oliver to keep him company. The table was set with her best china and crystal, long tapering lilac candles lending a romantic air. She hoped he wouldn't be too late. Maybe this was Oliver to tell her he was on his way.

It wasn't her husband. Her lips tightened when she heard the unwelcome voice down the line. Exactly who she didn't need to speak to, today of all days. When Noreen heard the clipped tones at the other end of the phone her cheeks reddened with fury. She said a curt thank-you, hung up, switched off the cooker and the downstairs lights and marched straight upstairs to bed. Oliver could go and get lost as far as she was concerned.

8

Oliver took a swig of hot tea and finished the remainder of his bacon butty. It was badly needed. He'd been on site for the last five hours, but he had to go and see his accountant and he needed to shower and change. His muscles ached but it was a satisfying ache. He'd put in a good morning's work and he knew the other men were always on their toes when he was around. No slacking. Although to be fair he had a good team of workers, with only the odd one inclined to swing the lead. He headed to the showers in the Portakabin. He could have gone home, he supposed. He shook his head, remembering how she'd taken the nose off him earlier. What was the big deal about anniversaries? Women set such store by these things. He'd bought her the pearls and the card. What did she need to go out to dinner for? He hated eating out in posh restaurants. He much preferred pub grub or a meal at home. Posh restaurants made him feel uncomfortable. Suave and sophisticated he would never be, no matter how much Noreen wanted him to be.

He gave a deep sigh as he flung his hard hat on to a chair and shrugged out of his waterproofs. He knew he was a disappointment to his wife. She'd wanted to have dinner parties to entertain the ‘high society' of Kilronan. To please her he'd agreed the first Christmas of their marriage to have a dinner for his accountant, Eddie Mangan and his wife. Noreen had also invited Doctor Kennedy and his wife and Gerard Morgan, Oliver's solicitor, and his wife, Jane.

Noreen had thoroughly enjoyed herself and had spent a week preparing for the party. She'd cooked a very tasty meal, Oliver couldn't fault it, but there'd been enough glasses on the table to fill a pub and the amount of cutlery had been daunting. He knew the basics of starting from the outside in, but it all made him feel uncomfortable, especially when the talk had turned to wine, which went way over his head as he didn't know a Chardonnay from a Chablis, or a Sauvignon from a Merlot. He'd kept quiet and concentrated on filling up his guests' wineglasses, hoping they'd get pissed and bugger off.

Noreen had been on a high for ages after, especially when their hospitality had been reciprocated and they had been invited to a plethora of parties in return. It had been his worst nightmare. He didn't mind talking to any of them in a professional capacity when he had to but making polite conversation was not him. Besides, Noreen did enough talking for the both of them, but she'd been annoyed with him, especially after Doctor Kennedy's party where she'd told him crossly that he was a party pooper and could make a lot more of an effort instead of sitting like a sphinx in the corner nursing his pint.

‘I'm not a blinking social butterfly, Noreen, and you knew that when you married me,' he retorted, stung by her remarks.

‘Look, I know it's not your scene, but if you made more of an effort you might enjoy it more,' she urged. ‘You need to get out and about a bit more. There's more to life than work.'

‘Ah, quit nagging, woman,' he'd snapped. She hadn't talked to him for a week. It had been their first big row.

Oliver stepped under the powerful shower spray and soaped himself briskly. What had Noreen expected? That once they were married he'd suddenly turn into a completely different person? There was an awful restlessness in her lately. She was hell-bent on getting pregnant and he was beginning to dread the middle of her cycle when it didn't matter whether he was in the mood, or whether he was totally knackered. She wanted sex no matter what. He liked sex as much as the next man, but having to perform on demand was beginning to get to him.

Then the disappointment when her period came. The tears, the depression. Noreen was so intense about things. He was sure that if she just relaxed about it all, it would happen. Of course when he said that to her he got the nose bitten off him again. It was all right for him. He was a man. He didn't have to worry, he could father a child into his seventies. He didn't have to worry about his fertility clock. He wasn't in his mid-thirties, which was old to be starting a family. The tirade had gone on and on. From then on he kept his mouth shut and just waited for the episodes to pass. The sooner his wife got pregnant, the better. A child would keep her occupied and she wouldn't have time to be nagging him.

He stepped out of the shower and towelled himself dry. From what he had known of Noreen before their marriage, he would never have guessed that she would get so agitated about something. She had always seemed so calm and in control, traits he admired. He found it difficult to deal with all this emotional stuff, especially when he felt that he was failing her in some way. It made him feel guilty. He wasn't great at giving succour and comfort, he thought glumly. Maybe he should try harder to be more sympathetic. Women set such store by sympathy. He'd been a bit abrupt about taking her out to dinner to celebrate their anniversary. He'd book a table at the Lake View for tomorrow night. That might cheer her up, Oliver decided as he dressed swiftly in clean jeans and a good shirt to go and see his accountant.

The meeting went well. The company was performing extremely satisfactorily – of course the countrywide building boom helped – and profits were up. Oliver felt good. He might not be a professional, like Mangan, Kennedy and Morgan were, but he'd bet his bank account was the equal of theirs if not better.

He strode out to his car light-heartedly. Surely his good news would cheer Noreen up. He glanced at his watch; he still had an hour to go before meeting Jimmy Kavanagh about buying his blocks. He'd visit his mother. She wanted him to fix a bulb in her halogen light. She'd been on to him every day for the last week; at least he could get that out of the way.

He was hardly in the door before Cora got going. ‘Oliver, I've been thinking. I'd like a conservatory. I could sit out in it and do my bit of sewing and crochet when the evenings get brighter after Christmas. Bridie Sheehan got one, it's an awful Mickey Mouse of an effort. You'd do mine much better,' his mother assured him.

‘Hold on now, Ma. When did you decide this?' Oliver demanded. This was all news to him. He'd recently refurbished the kitchen and bathroom for her and she'd mentioned nothing about getting a conservatory.

‘I just decided I'd like one. It would be good for my sciatica to sit in the heat. Now when can you start it?' Cora demanded.

‘Ma, I'm up to my eyes at the minute—'

‘Ach, it wouldn't take
you
more than a day to build one of those yokes for me. There's not much in them, Oliver,' she interrupted.

‘Ma, I'll do it but it will be after Christmas.' Oliver tried to hide his exasperation as he unscrewed a fuse in the fusebox.

‘Huh! If that wife of yours wanted a conservatory, there'd be no problem,' Cora sniffed. ‘But then I'm only your poor old mother.'

‘We have a conservatory, Ma, if you remember,' Oliver said tightly as he opened the back door to get the ladder out of the shed.

His good humour was evaporating rapidly. It had started to rain again and his hands were slippy as he began to unscrew the nuts to the halogen light. He pulled a packet out of his jacket pocket and slid the narrow tube bulb on to his palm. He took out the faulty one, replaced it with the new one and climbed down the ladder to screw in the fuse. No light came on and he cursed under his breath. Those blinking bulbs were a temperamental nuisance. It took him three trips up and down the ladder before the light was finally working.

‘That's sorted,' he told his mother as he wiped his hands.

‘You'll have a bite of dinner with me, won't you? I've put a nice striploin of steak on the pan for you and I'll do a feed of fried onions with it.' Cora bustled around the kitchen, delighted to have her beloved son to look after.

‘Mam, I can't. I've to meet a fella about a load of blocks.'

‘He can wait. It won't take long; sit down there now and tell me all your news.'