Two For Joy (3 page)

Anne Williams, Jane's older sister, was a good-humoured, motherly woman who seemed effortlessly to produce very satisfying dinners for her family and not worry if bedrooms were untidy, unlike Lorna's own mother who was a poor cook but who went spare if anything was out of place in her spotless and immaculate home. Anne never worried about Hoovering and dusting, she was far too busy with her parish activities and spent as much time out of the home as in it. The Williams household was lively and chaotic, unlike Lorna's own regimented palace.

As Lorna grew into her teens she saw that her parents were not happy, and vaguely understood that Jane had looked to someone else for a need that was not being met in her marriage.

‘Marry a rich, ambitious man and don't end up in a dead-end cul-de-sac like me,' her mother had said to her one Christmas when she'd come home from a party and was the worse for wear for drink.

‘Go to bed, Jane,' Gerard Morgan said wearily, but Lorna had seen the flash of hurt in her father's eyes and felt a mixture of pity and contempt for him. Why didn't he tell her mother to shut up? Why didn't he stand up to her when she put him down? Which she did constantly, nagging and bickering until she got her own way.

Lorna could get around her father too, wheedling and pleading until he gave in to her demands. He was a soft man and she could see that her mother despised him, despite the fact that he had given her a far better lifestyle than many of her peers, working all hours in his legal practice.

Jane, too, had wanted to live in Dublin. When she'd married the young handsome solicitor she'd set her cap at, she'd been the envy of all her friends and had felt full sure that they would buy a big house in the city and entertain smart, successful couples like themselves. But Gerard wasn't at the cutting edge of law. He'd only followed the career to please his father. He'd much rather have become a vet. Disappointment and resentment had slowly poisoned their marriage and although they put up a well-practised façade for their relations and neighbours, behind closed doors their relationship had long gone past the point of rescue.

Lorna was sure of one thing. The man she married would have to have plenty of ambition and be prepared to keep her in an affluent lifestyle to which she certainly intended to become accustomed.

Her current boyfriend, Derek Kennedy, was certainly not that man, she thought crossly. Derek had been trying to bed her for the last six months but she didn't fancy him enough. He had wet lips, which she hated. The only reason she dated him was because his parents were loaded and he was always able to give her a good time. Besides, dating the doctor's son gave her a certain social cachet in the town. He'd been invited to Oliver Flynn's wedding with his parents and had asked her to accompany him. Heather and her culchie mechanic had to make do with just attending the afters.

Derek was studying medicine at Trinity and he detested it. All he wanted to do was mess about on his boat on the lake. He came home most weekends, but tonight he'd had to stay late for a college event, hence the boring Friday night ahead of her. He didn't have much get up and go either, Lorna mused as she swung into the car park of the hotel. It was practically full. There was a wedding on today too. The hotel was extremely busy with weddings and conferences and had been full throughout the summer season. She drove around to the leisure centre and found a space without too much difficulty.

She looked through the big plate-glass windows, expectantly, and saw Nuala Logan and Ted Grimes, two locals, running on the treadmills. Not a businessman in sight, she thought dispiritedly as she trekked into the changing-room with a face like thunder. This could be her lifestyle for years to come if she didn't do something drastic. Grim-faced, she slipped into her leotard, a black lycra affair with a very high leg to show off her toned thighs to perfection. She was going to work her ass off tonight. No more faffing around.

It was time to get a life.

3

Oliver Flynn loosened the knot of his tie as he sat waiting for his wedding meal to be served. The sooner he got out of this monkey suit the better. He felt like a right idiot in his tails. He'd drawn the line at wearing a hat, much to Noreen's annoyance. She wanted everything to be just so, but there were some things a man had to take a stand on and wearing silly hats was one of them. He'd be glad when this palaver was all over and they were back from their honeymoon.

They were going to Malta. Noreen didn't want to go to any of the ‘common or garden resorts' as she called them. She wanted something different. Classy. Noreen liked to impress people.

He didn't care where they went. He'd left all those decisions to his wife. He glanced at the gold ring encircling the fourth finger of his left hand.

He had a wife.

He was married.

He couldn't quite believe it. Marriage wasn't something he'd actively planned. It was just something that seemed to happen out of nowhere. Noreen had proposed to him. If it had been left to him, it would probably never have happened, he thought ruefully.

Oliver still remembered the queer lurch his stomach had given when she'd turned to him one evening during a walk along the lake shore and said, ‘Oliver, I think it's time we got married. Will you marry me?' Otherwise she was considering going back to London. What could he say? He'd been seeing her for two years. He liked her, he got on well with her. He was a little bit in awe of her confident ways, she was good for him, but he didn't long for her or dream about her the way he'd longed for and dreamed about Kate MacDonnell when he was sixteen years old and too shy to say more than a quick hello when he'd meet her on the street.

Kate was curvy and flame-haired with sparkling blue eyes and a wide ready smile and he'd worshipped her from afar. The conversations he'd had in his head with her where he was witty and entertaining
stayed
in his head. He was far too tongue-tied and reserved to say the things he wanted to say to her and all he could manage was a pathetic ‘hello' and a blush when he said it. He'd acquired more polish as he'd got older, but Kate had gone to London and never come back.

The girls in Kilronan liked him for some reason, but even though he went to the odd disco and dated several of the local girls, the challenge of his bashful reserve would eventually wear off when he'd be late for dates due to work, or when he wouldn't be free on Saturday to go to Dublin to shop and do the other things women wanted to do. Or when he'd want to jump out of bed after having sex instead of spending hours kissing and cuddling.

Oliver sighed. There was only so much kissing and cuddling that you could do. But houses had to be built, contracts had to be fulfilled and new ones secured, and none of the girls he'd dated could understand that. They always took it personally, saying that he wasn't interested in them. He was … to a point. But work was a demanding mistress and best of all … it didn't nag.

That a woman as sharp and focused as Noreen Lynch would want to be married to him still surprised him. He didn't know what she saw in him sometimes. He cast a sideways glance at his bride. She was speaking to one of the waiters, issuing crisp, concise instructions. She looked so different in her white veil and elegant beaded wedding gown, her straight black hair brought back from her face emphasizing her wide, dark-lashed amber eyes, her best feature.

Noreen was a brisk, no-nonsense type who knew what she wanted out of life. She was always on the go, full of energy, while he was content to plod along in his own quiet way, working all the hours God sent, building up his construction firm and enjoying a pint after a long back-breaking day on site. Not that he actually needed to do any of the physical work himself, these days. He could spend all day in the office if he wanted to. But he hated being stuck indoors, and besides, it was good for him to mix with his men and be on site. He could keep a sharp eye on things. A Flynn-built house was a well-built house. Oliver took pride in his work and expected high standards from his workmen.

He was doing well, he thought with quiet satisfaction. He had thirty men working for him now and the books were full for the next two years.

He'd built a new home for Noreen and himself and it had given him pleasure to do the best job he possibly could. Noreen had been involved in every aspect, of course, but although he took her input on board, he was the authority on the project. One thing Oliver Flynn was certain about in life was his work, and no one could undermine him there. Noreen was impressed in spite of herself when he spoke with quiet authority as she argued with him about where she wanted her kitchen and utility room. She had a bossy side to her and he often agreed with her just for the sake of peace and quiet, but when he knew he was right about something, or just didn't want to do what she suggested, he could dig his heels in with the best of them. Building the house was his responsibility – she could decorate it whatever way she wished, but he'd had his way regarding the structure.

It was a fine house, nestled on a hillside overlooking the lake. A four-bedroom dormer, with ensuite bathrooms and a conservatory facing west. ‘Posh' his mother had called it. He hoped it would be a very happy home. Now that he was married he'd put his heart and soul into his new life and not waste time regretting the romantic notions of his youth. True love was just something that happened in films. It was a crush that he'd had on Kate MacDonnell, nothing more, nothing less, he decided, but he felt a little pang at the memory of her, which he irritatedly banished. It was ridiculous to be thinking of another woman on the day of his marriage. He and Noreen had a strong bond and a lot in common. It would be a very good marriage, he promised himself.

Hopefully he'd have at least one son to take over his business. ‘Flynn & Son, Building Contractors' had a certain ring to it that pleased him. Noreen was anxious to have children sooner rather than later: she was five years older than him. Thirty-four, old enough for a woman to be having her first child. No more precautions once the ring was on her finger, she'd told him. If that was what she wanted that was OK by him.

A waitress placed a prawn cocktail in front of him. Oliver was ravenous. He'd give anything for a plate of spuds, flavoured with a scattering of salt and a lump of real yellow butter. He hated all the so-called buttery spreads that Noreen bought. She was into healthy eating and she was always buying light butters with polyunsaturates and the likes. Not his cup of tea at all. Or his mother's for that matter, he thought ruefully. Cora Flynn did not like Noreen, and the feeling was mutual. Cora never lost an opportunity to make disparaging remarks to the younger woman. And Noreen was not one to take anything lying down. She gave as good as she got, so there was a constant sniping and one-upmanship going on that Oliver found wearisome. He kept his head down and kept out of it as much as he could, much to his mother's fury, for she expected him to take her side as a matter of course.

His mother hadn't come to the wedding.

She'd bought the outfit, a flowery lilac two-piece with a wide-brimmed lilac hat that looked very nice, Oliver had thought when she'd tried it on at home for him. His aunt had taken her shopping for the day and she'd seemed to enjoy it by all accounts. But as the wedding day drew closer, she'd taken to the bed, blaming a variety of ailments, especially her sciatica, which according to herself made it impossible to walk or sit for long occasions such as a wedding.

In his heart of hearts, Oliver understood. He knew he was her pet, her youngest child. She'd been forty-two when she'd had him and when his brothers, Jim and Sean, had emigrated to Australia, he'd been there to take care of her when his father had died suddenly of heart failure. Cora had mothered over him to her heart's content and had been perfectly happy until he'd started dating Noreen. Somehow she knew that Noreen was different from the other girls he'd been with. Noreen posed a threat. She wouldn't kow-tow or make allowances for Cora's age. She wouldn't do as she was bid. Cora couldn't intimidate her.

‘What do you want with her anyway? She's too old for you. If she's been on the shelf this long and couldn't get a man for herself before now there's something amiss,' Cora declared bluntly when Oliver informed his mother of the engagement.

‘Stop that now, Ma. That's enough. Noreen and I are getting married and that's the end of it. I'd like it if you'd treat her a lot better than the way you've been treating her,' Oliver said in a tone that brooked no nonsense.

Cora was raging; he could see the way the dull angry flush of red mottled her cheeks. He'd ignored her anger and asked for another slice of currant bread, his favourite. That had mollified her somewhat. She was very vain about her baking prowess. Still she'd been unable to let the matter rest and had to have the last word. ‘It's all right now, but when you've got two old women on your hands you'll only have yourself to blame. Mark my words!' she sniffed. Oliver gave an inward sigh and refrained from comment.

When he'd moved into the house with Noreen six months ago, she'd been horrified.

‘Couldn't you at least wait until you're married! You'll be the talk of the parish,' she berated him, bereft that he was leaving her alone, and incensed that he would give people in the town an opportunity to talk and point the finger.

‘Ma, people don't think that way any more, and besides, I don't like to leave the house empty,' Oliver explained patiently.

‘Well, I think that way and
I'm
not people!' she said wrathfully. ‘Let that Noreen one go and stay in it.'

‘She doesn't want to stay in it on her own, she'd be a bit nervous,' Oliver had replied unthinkingly, until he'd seen the expression on his mother's face and realized that he'd put his two big feet in it and given her a heaven-sent opportunity.