Two For Joy (11 page)

Oliver stifled a groan. If he left, his mother would be in a mega snit, and besides, he'd been so busy lately it always seemed as though he was rushing in and out and brushing off her entreaties for him to stay. She was elderly, she lived on her own. Half an hour wouldn't kill him. He took his mobile out of his pocket and rooted in the pocket of his jeans until he found the slip of paper with Jimmy Kavanagh's number.

‘Hey, Jimmy, Oliver Flynn here. I'm running a bit late, can you give me an extra half hour's leeway?'

‘No problem, Oliver. See you later,' Jimmy agreed affably.

‘Thanks.' Oliver put the phone on the dresser and stretched. He was tired.

‘Sit down in the armchair by the fire, son. I'll have a bit of dinner for you in a jiffy,' his mother said happily.

The homely crackle of the flames, the smell of frying steak and the heat of the room relaxed Oliver and his eyelids drooped. Soon steady rhythmic snores rumbled from his chest. Cora hummed happily in the kitchen as she sautéed onions and mushrooms. Half an hour later, stuffed to the gills, Oliver bade his mother goodbye. He hoped Noreen hadn't cooked a big feed for him. He couldn't eat another bite. You'd think Cora had been cooking for an army.

Jimmy Kavanagh already had a pint in front of him when Oliver got to Nolan's Pub. He nodded at the barman and motioned Oliver to sit down. ‘How's it goin', Oliver? I hear you're doing well, lucky bastard. The tax man is after me, may they all rot in hell. Don't get caught like I did, boyo, and watch yer back – there's always some bollox out there ready to snitch on you.'

‘You're right there, Jimmy,' Oliver agreed. As far as he was concerned he paid his taxes and kept on the level, that way he didn't have to look over his shoulder and he could sleep easy in his bed. It was clear that the other man was digging in for a good whingeing session, but Oliver wasn't in the humour for a load of self-pitying moaning, especially when it was obvious that Jimmy was the architect of his own downfall. Besides, he wanted to get home to Noreen, he didn't want her to feel he was ignoring their first anniversary. He hoped that she hadn't cooked anything too exotic. He was stuffed after the feed at his mother's.

The barman brought the pint to the table.

‘Cheers, Jimmy.' Oliver took a swig, put his glass on the table and said briskly, ‘Right then, let's see how we can be of some assistance to each other.'

*   *   *

Cora cleared the dinner dishes off the table and looked at Oliver's empty plate with pleasure. He'd eaten every scrap she'd put in front of him. That was extremely satisfying. She knew what kind of food her boy liked. None of those fancy
la sag neys
and the like that Madam Noreen was fond of cooking. It had been like old times, him having a snooze in front of the fire while she cooked the dinner, and then the chat between them while he relished every mouthful of her good no-nonsense cooking that he'd been reared on.

She sighed. It always cut her to the quick when he stood up to leave. It was terrible lonely living on her own, and she still hadn't got used to it. It was hard to believe that it was a year to the day since he'd got married. She hadn't wished him a happy anniversary. The wedding and marriage was something they didn't discuss.

She should have gone to his wedding, she supposed. She felt a bit guilty about it now, not because of Noreen, she still couldn't stand the girl. But she'd hurt Oliver, she knew that. Her sister had let her know that in no uncertain terms when she'd come home from the reception. Not that Oliver had ever remarked on it. Behind his gruff, reserved manner, he had a kind, soft heart.

Cora dried the plates, went to put them on the dresser and frowned when she saw Oliver's mobile phone. He was always putting his phone down and forgetting about it. Of course he was meeting that man about the blocks, so there was no point in ringing him at home.

A glint came into her eye. She put on her glasses and dialled. Noreen didn't sound radiantly happy, she noted with satisfaction.

‘Hello, Noreen, Mrs Flynn here,' she said in the posh voice she assumed when talking to the younger woman. (She wouldn't dream of allowing Noreen to call her by her first name.) ‘I'm afraid Oliver's gone off to his meeting and left his phone here, if you'd be so kind as to tell him. And he'll hardly be wanting any dinner, so don't go to trouble, he had a fine feed of steak, onions, mushrooms and spuds, here with me, so don't go to any bother.'

‘Is that right?' Noreen said tightly. Cora smiled. She'd annoyed her daughter-in-law.

She gave a gay little laugh. ‘Ah well, you know what they say about a mammy's home cooking. Sure it will save you popping something into the microwave … Give him the message, won't you. 'Bye-'bye, dear.' She hung up with immense satisfaction. She had let Oliver's wife know that she still knew all about his business, that was why she'd mentioned the meeting, and she'd also got in the little dig about fast-food meals out of the microwave. Yes, very satisfactory all round, and she'd see Oliver again when he came to collect his phone. She'd make a nice brown loaf for him. He was very partial to her brown bread.

Invigorated, Cora took out her baking bowl. Today had turned out to be an unexpectedly good day.

*   *   *

Oliver yawned as he put the key in his front door. It had been a long day, but he'd negotiated a good deal with Jimmy Kavanagh and it wasn't too late. If Noreen wanted to go out for a drink he'd take her out for one.

The house was very quiet. There was no light on in the kitchen or the lounge. ‘Noreen?' There was no answer. The light was on upstairs. ‘Noreen, I'm home.'

Was she asleep? he wondered as he took the stairs two at a time. The bedroom door was ajar, and lamplight spilled out on to the landing. Oliver poked his head around the door. His wife was curled up in bed, reading.

‘You're in bed early. Did you not hear me calling you?' he asked.

‘I heard you,' she answered shortly.

Oliver's jaw dropped at the curtness of her tone.

‘What's wrong with you?'

‘I'll tell you what's wrong with me, Oliver Flynn!' Noreen sat bolt upright and glared at him. ‘I went to the trouble of cooking you a nice dinner for our wedding anniversary and you didn't even have the decency to let me know that you were eating at your mother's. That's what's wrong with me if you want to know.'

‘I didn't know I was eating at my mother's. I went to fix her halogen light and she went and cooked a dinner for me and I didn't like to say no,' Oliver explained, trying to hide his exasperation. How the hell did Noreen know he'd eaten at his Ma's? He'd been all prepared to eat whatever his wife put in front of him when he came home even if he got rampant indigestion after it.

‘Oh, but you don't mind saying no to what I've cooked for you,' Noreen exploded.

‘I was going to eat it, Noreen,' Oliver said hotly. ‘I appreciate that you went to trouble.'

‘Huh! Don't bother. Throw it in the bin,' Noreen snapped, lying down again and turning her back on him.

‘How did you know I was at my mother's anyway?' Oliver demanded. ‘I never said I was going. It was a spur of the moment decision.'

‘You left your mobile phone there, and she was delighted to be able to ring me up and tell me what a great feed you'd had and that I needn't bother sticking something in the
microwave
for you,' Noreen raged, keeping her back to him, obviously highly put out.

Oliver raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Would you not be taking any notice of her,' he said brusquely. They were like children, the pair of them, always scoring off each other.

His wife studiously ignored him.

Oh, let her sulk!
he thought irritably as he marched out the door scowling.

He went downstairs, took a can of beer from the fridge and went into the lounge and switched on the TV. The fire had died down so he threw a log on the embers and watched as a flame slowly took hold and began to crackle up the chimney. He could murder his mother sometimes. She went out of her way to antagonize and annoy Noreen. To be fair to his wife, she put up with a lot from Cora, without retaliating. But today, she'd got to her. Probably because Noreen was annoyed that he hadn't taken her out to dinner.

Oliver shook his head sorrowfully. Women! You couldn't live with them and you couldn't live without them. He switched over to the sports channel and watched a match. Noreen hadn't stirred. Around ten he called upstairs and asked would she like a cup of tea.

‘No thanks,' came the terse reply.

No sign of a thaw, he thought ruefully as he surfed the channels.

By eleven he was yawning his head off. There was no point in putting it off any longer. He switched off the lights, locked the front door and sloped upstairs. Noreen's lamp was still on but she kept her back to him. He sat on his side of the bed and began to undress.

‘Goodnight, Noreen,' he said as he slid into bed beside his wife.

‘'Night,' she muttered.

They lay stiffly, side by side.

‘Don't be mad with me,' he said softly. ‘It's our anniversary. I booked a table for us at the Lake View tomorrow night.'

Noreen gave a deep sigh. ‘I got my period today.'

‘Oh!' said Oliver. That explained her bad humour.

‘And Maura called by. She's three months pregnant,' Noreen said forlornly.

Oh heck!
thought Oliver in consternation. No wonder Noreen was in a foul humour. He rolled over on his side and put his arms around her. She relaxed against him. ‘It will happen, Noreen, just relax about it,' he murmured against her hair.

To his dismay she started to cry.

‘I'm worried, Oliver. We've been trying for a year. I'm going to go and have a check-up. And I just felt such a bitch. I was so jealous of Maura. I was disgusted with myself.'

‘Don't say things like that. You're not a bitch,' he soothed her awkwardly. Weeping women unnerved him. ‘Go to the doctor and see what he says. It could be something simple. Stop crying now and go to sleep.'

He felt her wipe her eyes and felt sorry for her. He tightened his arms around her.

‘Everything will be fine, Noreen,' he said with as much conviction as he could. Nevertheless he couldn't suppress the niggle of unease in his belly. Just say there was a problem and Noreen couldn't have a baby. She'd be gutted.

Lord above, don't let that happen to her,
he prayed as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, leaving him awake and troubled.

9

Heather yawned, took a sip of her bud and felt utterly bored. Lorna was deep in conversation with an Armani-clad Brad Pitt lookalike, the air was thick with smoke and the din in the pub was giving her a headache. They'd trekked all the way out to Finnegan's in Dalkey because Lorna was convinced she was going to meet a pop star or a film star or a racing driver, or some sort of celebrity. ‘Look, Bono, Eddie Irving, Lisa Stansfield, Pat Kenny, they all drink there. It's their local. All the rich guys hang out there, I'm telling you, Heather. One of the girls at work lives out here and she told me this is definitely one of the hot spots to nab a guy who's loaded, so we're going to make the effort and go out there on Saturday nights, OK?' Lorna had decreed.

The first time they'd gone Heather had enjoyed herself. It had been a novelty. Dalkey was chic and cosmopolitan. They'd eaten at a posh little Italian restaurant before heading for the pub, and there was a buzz in the pub that set the adrenaline flowing and the night had flown past. Lorna was on an absolute high the next day, and told Heather that from then on Finnegan's was going to be their local and they should even consider moving to Dalkey to live, it was so ‘in'.

‘Don't be ridiculous, we couldn't afford to live in Dalkey, and besides we'd have to spend hours commuting,' Heather retorted.

‘Well, I think we should think about it. I'm fed up living in Drumcondra. Who lives in Drumcondra, for God's sake?' Lorna grumbled.

Heather took another sip of her beer and waved away a cloud of smoke wafting over the shoulder of a stunning blonde in a micro mini that hadn't much more material than a hanky. Lorna loved all this. She was in her element. Heather could take so much of it, and then she got bored. She would far prefer to come out to Dalkey in the daytime and stroll around the shops and art galleries, then have lunch and go for a long tramp up to Killiney Hill inhaling great lungfuls of fresh air. Lorna hated walking and fresh air!

They were so unalike really. Sometimes it amazed Heather that they'd survived living together in that poky little flat in Drumcondra for eight months. A thought struck her: it was around this time last year at Oliver Flynn's wedding that they'd made the decision to come to live in Dublin. That year had flown, she thought, a little shocked.

Once they'd made the decision to move, Lorna had got a receptionist's job in a new hotel out near the airport two weeks after sending out her CV. Heather had got a job as a wages clerk in a small printing firm. Unfortunately, four months after she'd joined they'd gone to the wall and she'd been jobless for two weeks, much to her dismay and Lorna's consternation.

‘You'll have to pay your rent, I can't afford to pay for the two of us,' she'd said bluntly.

‘Don't worry, Lorna, I wouldn't dream of asking you to pay my rent. I can always go and bunk in with Ruth if I have to, or go back to Kilronan. I won't be a drain on you.' Heather'd bristled but she was hurt by her cousin's lack of sympathy and support.

Mention of going to Ruth's or, worse, going home had shut Lorna up and she'd backtracked fast. ‘Well, maybe for a week or so I could lend you the money,' she'd suggested a tad reluctantly.

Fortunately Heather had got a job in the letting agency section of a large auctioneer's.