Two For Joy (23 page)

Surgery was even more busy than usual and she was tired when she got home that evening. She filled the kettle to make herself a cup of tea and then popped the steak and kidney pie she'd made earlier into the oven. Her handbag rested on the counter top. Inside it, two pregnancy test kits. She'd bought two, knowing that she'd feel much safer to have a back up if she did test positive. She took it out and read the instructions, feeling her heart begin to flutter. Part of her wanted to do the test there and then but she was scared. What if it proved negative? She put it back in her bag and tried to forget about it.

‘What did you buy me for Christmas?' Oliver teased as they sat drinking coffee after their dinner.

‘Mind your own business.' She grinned at him. He might be getting the best Christmas present of his entire life, if she was pregnant. She'd have a terrible time not telling him until Christmas Day, but wouldn't it be the most wonderful thing to wake him up on Christmas morning and tell him that he was going to be a father?

17

‘Heather, I think it's a terrific idea, why don't you say yes, it would save you a fortune on bus fares, coming home every second weekend.' Anne Williams beamed at her daughter. Heather had just told her about Neil's job offer. ‘Take it, take it, take it,' she urged.

‘Now stop it, Ma, and if I do take it, I might move into the flat over his offices,' Heather warned.

‘Now what do you want to do that for?' Anne chided. ‘And a perfectly good home here for you.'

‘I can come and visit every second weekend,' Heather joked as she tucked into a fry-up with gusto. ‘One of the reasons I'm not going to live at home is because I'd end up like an elephant. I'm starting a diet on Monday, I want to lose at least half a stone before Christma—'

‘Stop your nonsense and eat up your breakfast, you can run around the lake later on,' her mother ordered, sliding a crispy slice of fried bread on to her plate.

‘Oh Ma,' groaned Heather, ‘this has got to stop.' She dipped a piece of bread into her fried egg, pressed some mushrooms on to the fork, flavoured it with tomato sauce and savoured every bit of it.

Two hours later she was walking around the lake, the wind whipping her hair around her face. The rain of the night before had cleared to bright frosty weather and the cold nipped at her nose and cheeks, all that was visible as she tramped swiftly along the path that circled the lake. Little whitecap waves lapped the shore, and the sound of the water was music to her spirit.

Heather breathed the air deeply. She loved this place. Birdsong filled the air. A little robin perched on a bare branch gazed at her with curiosity, quite unafraid. Winter heathers, holly bushes, and orange-berried pyracantha and evergreens lent splashes of colour amid the bare-branched foliage of the trees. White powder puffs of cloud scudded across a clear blue sky and a pale yellow sun cast prisms of light on to the rippling waves.

This was where she felt happy, Heather reflected. Not in pubs and nightclubs and grimy city streets. She'd been in Dublin a little over a year and it still felt alien to her. This was home, this was where her roots were. She didn't have to wait for Neil to persuade her over a drink tonight. This was where she wanted to be.

With a spring in her step and happiness in her heart, Heather looked at the little robin and exclaimed exuberantly, ‘I'm coming home!'

*   *   *

Lorna shivered. She was freezing and soaking wet. Spray spumed up from the bow of the boat as it sliced through the waves and the harsh glint of sunlight on water was giving her a headache. There was nothing glamorous about sailing, she thought in dismay, as Bryan ducked under a sail, flashed her a grin and said, ‘It's great, isn't it?'

‘Fantastic,' she fibbed, hoping to God she wouldn't get seasick as they bounced along the water, the slap of the sea as the boat dipped and rose into the waves making her queasy. Bryan had had to lend her a waterproof when her expensive pink fleece had got soaked.

For this, she'd got up at the crack of dawn – well, eight o'clock, she amended – so that her new boyfriend could take her out in the boat he co-owned with some of his friends. He was like a child showing off his new toy, telling her about jibs and spinnakers and mainbraces, as if she gave a fiddler's. She should have put more tinted moisturizer on, she fretted. She'd be like a weather-beaten old prune when she got home.

‘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 golden 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.