Two For Joy Page 3

  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.

  Cora rallied triumphantly. ‘Oh, and I suppose you don’t mind leaving me here on my own. I might be nervous too, you know. Does madam ever think of that?’

  Oliver groaned silently at the memory. Women, they were masters at manipulation. He’d assured Cora that she was welcome to come and live with them. There was plenty of room in the house. She’d even have her own bathroom, but she wasn’t having any of it and had been in martyr mode ever since.

  Her non-appearance at the wedding was not a complete surprise. The sciatica had got worse; she demanded that he get the doctor for her, even though he was up to ninety trying to get himself sorted. The doctor had given her more painkillers and anti-inflammatories and told her to put a pillow under her knee. He’d wished Oliver good luck on his nuptials and told him not to worry, that she’d be fine. Oliver had considered cancelling the honeymoon, worrying that she’d be unable to look after herself, and when he’d said this to Cora he’d seen the look of triumph on her face.

  ‘You’re a good son to me, Oliver. Thank you. As soon as I’m better you can go off somewhere.’

  Noreen had nearly had a fit. ‘Get someone in to mind her. We’re going to Malta and that’s the end of it,’ she pronounced grimly. ‘She’s only putting it on. I’m a nurse. I know these things.’

  ‘I can’t go and leave her with strangers,’ Oliver muttered.

  ‘Well, get one of your brothers to stay a bit longer. You shouldn’t have to shoulder all the burden. It’s not fair. I know, it happened to me,’ she said bitterly before slamming the kitchen door and walking off in a huff. She’d slept in one of the spare rooms that night. Putting him on notice that she wasn’t going to budge an inch on the issue. He’d felt like calling the whole blinking thing off at that stage and going to live in the Portakabin on the site, where there were no demanding, huffy women to harass him.

  In the end his Aunt Ellie had stepped in and announced that she’d stay and look after Cora but that she was going to the wedding and would leave after the meal to get home to her. His mother was furious, but couldn’t refuse the offer and Oliver had felt a wave of relief wash over him. His life wouldn’t have been worth living if he’d chosen Noreen over Cora and vice versa. As it was he was treading a very tight rope between the two women, and he knew things weren’t going to improve. The older Cora got the more demanding she became.

  Oliver sighed deeply. He knew his mother was at home in her big brass bed feeling hard done by and sorry for herself, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d done his best for her, he could do no more. He knew his mother of old. She was as stubborn as a mule, and sciatica or no sciatica if she’d wanted to be at his wedding she’d have been at it. But it would have stuck in her craw to watch Noreen become Mrs Oliver Flynn. That was too bitter a pill to swallow. She’d lost the battle and she’d never forgive either of them. In his mother’s eyes Oliver had betrayed her by marrying Noreen, and putting Noreen first. There was no going back. He’d just have to make the best of it.

  His Aunt Ellie had taken the seat where Cora would have been sitting and she was chatting away to the priest, in her element to have pride of place at the top table. She was a jolly, good-humoured soul who didn’t stand for any nonsense and she was well able to handle her sister. She had been a rock of strength these past few days for Oliver and he planned to bring her back something really nice from Malta. Perhaps a good piece of gold jewellery. His aunt loved jewellery, earrings in particular. The thought of buying her something special in repayment for her kindness made him feel better.

  He didn’t really like to be under an obligation to people. But Ellie was different. She never made him feel that way, and besides, he’d built a new kitchen for her and only charged her the cost of the materials, and she’d always been very grateful for that. Ellie never forgot a kindness but there were plenty of people around who’d been ready to take advantage of his good nature when he was younger, until he’d copped on to himself and stopped giving credit and waiting months for payments that he had to chase people for. Now he put his cards on the table with clients, got deposits and payments upfront, and if they called him a mean bastard behind his back, as he knew they did, he didn’t give a toss. He had a business to look after and if they didn’t like it, they could lump it.

  Oliver tried to be polite and
pronged a prawn. Two mouthfuls later and he’d cleared his portion. His stomach growled. It seemed a long time since he’d grabbed a bacon sandwich at noon and it was after six now. If he didn’t get some proper food soon, he’d faint from hunger!

  * * *

  Cora Flynn lay in her bed and watched the late evening sun stream in through her lace curtains. It had been a beautiful afternoon, even if there was a sharp nip in the air. Oliver was probably at the hotel by now, tucking into his dinner. The wedding had been planned for two o’clock and it had gone six. She’d heard the chiming of the Angelus bell break the silence of the evening a while back. She tossed and turned restlessly and eventually threw back the blankets and quilt and eased herself out of the bed.

  She was stiff from lying in the bed these past few days, but the painkillers must have worked on her hip because all the twinges were gone. It hadn’t been that bad a pain compared to other times, she acknowledged guiltily, knowing that she’d have been well able to make the wedding if she’d wanted to.

  Cora wrapped her dressing-gown around her and walked slowly down the hall to her kitchen. Two big tears plopped down her cheeks. Maybe she was a bitter old woman but she just couldn’t bear to watch that sharp-faced rip become Oliver’s wife and take the Flynn family name.

  Noreen Lynch had chased Oliver and taken advantage of his good nature and in the process got a fine mansion up in the hills and Oliver ready at her beck and call. He, of course, couldn’t see it and got very snippy if she said anything critical about madam, so she had to bite her tongue frequently. It was all extremely difficult. She wiped her eyes, annoyed with herself for showing such weakness.

  She filled the kettle and stared out the kitchen window at the big bank of autumn heathers that she’d planted a couple of years ago. Beautiful shades of violets and purples gave her garden a mountainy hue that reminded her a little of Wicklow, where she’d been born and bred. It had taken her weeks to clear and prepare it. Oliver had told her that he’d do it for her, but he hadn’t a clue about gardening. Green-fingered he certainly wasn’t, whatever his other attributes, she thought fondly. He was a good son to her. Quiet, reserved, traits inherited from his father. But he’d always driven her where she wanted to go and kept the home spick and span both inside and out. Every spring the outhouses and walls of the house were whitewashed, and the windows painted the lovely cerulean blue she loved. He’d painted them this year before he’d moved into his own house.

  Tears welled up again. Oliver moving out had been the worst thing that had happened to her since her husband had died. At least when Liam had died, she’d had Oliver to lean on and help soften the loneliness. Now she had no one. That Noreen one had made sure of that. Cora felt a surge of anger and bitterness. Oliver had turned his back on her. He’d made his bed and he could lie on it with that bony bitch and she’d be changing her will on Monday morning to make sure that Noreen Lynch never got a penny out of Cora’s estate. If Oliver didn’t like it, he could lump it. With a determined set to her jaw, Cora went back to her bedroom and took out the big brown envelope from under the clean towels and sheets in the big sandalwood chest at the foot of her bed. She went back to the kitchen table and spread her papers out carefully, papers that included the deeds to the house. Things were going to change, and Noreen Lynch could take the blame for it.

  4

  Noreen Flynn felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she surveyed her guests from the top of the table. Her wedding was everything she had dreamed of. Well apart from Oliver digging his heels in over wearing a top hat, she thought ruefully, remembering the rows. It would have looked so distinguished on him too. Both her sisters’ husbands had worn top hat and tails at their weddings. But she hadn’t been able to persuade him, no matter how much she’d gone on at him. Once Oliver made his mind up about something she could forget about trying to change it. He was as stubborn as a mule. She turned to look at her new husband and saw him gazing off into space.

  Oliver had an interior life that hard as she tried she couldn’t share. He withheld part of himself from her and it drove her mad sometimes. She wanted to know what was in his head, she wanted to know what he truly felt for her but the more she pushed, the less she got. ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ she’d often said, early on in their relationship.

  ‘Not worth a penny,’ he’d say in his offhand way and that would be that. If he was in one of his quiet moods she might not get more than two words out of him. It could be extremely frustrating sometimes. He was an enigma to her. So self-sufficient in his own quiet way. He certainly didn’t need her as much as she needed him. But that would change once he’d settled into married life with her, she comforted herself. She’d change him, make him more open and relaxed. He’d stop working so hard as well and they’d be able to do more things together, even spend more time in bed together, she thought in happy anticipation of some wild passionate lovemaking on their honeymoon. Oliver was good in bed.

  He was drop dead gorgeous too, Noreen thought with quiet pleasure. He was the sexiest man she’d ever met and he didn’t even know it. Tall, six foot, and lean and rangy, he had the most beautiful body that she could wish for, fit, hard and healthy from all the physical labour. She could never get enough of him. But it was his eyes that had really got to her. As blue as sapphires, he had a direct way of looking at you that could set her heart galloping in an instant and she certainly wasn’t one given to romantic notions. She’d nursed too many men in her time and emptied too many of their shitty bed pans to be overcome by the sight of a man’s body.

  She’d been in a relationship that had brought her to her lowest ebb, thanks to a man’s pure selfishness and her own lack of judgement. Noreen certainly didn’t see men as gods to be worshipped on pedestals. But Oliver had something, a complete lack of awareness of himself that had attracted her from the beginning. That she had landed a handsome, successful man like Oliver Flynn had given her younger, married sisters the shock of their lives. Smug bitches, she thought sourly. She had no time for Rita and Maura.

  Noreen glanced down at them sitting with their fat, florid little husbands at a table in the centre of the room, and felt an uncharacteristic surge of superiority. She’d certainly got a better man than Rita and Maura had got with Jimmy or Andy. The thought of either of them pawing you was enough to give you the shivers, she thought smugly, thinking of how delightful it was to stroke her hands up and down the lean planes of Oliver’s strong body and weave her fingers in the dark tangle of hair on his chest. He had a good firm mouth too, she liked kissing him. Jimmy had loose, slobbery wet lips. Even if she was to stay on the shelf for ever, she’d never have married a blob like Jimmy. And yet Rita had been ecstatic when they’d got engaged and treated her husband like a god! Whatever she saw in him. It was always ‘Jimmy said this’ or ‘Jimmy said that’ or ‘Jimmy says’. When she spoke of him in the third person Noreen always felt she spoke in capitals. ‘HE’ likes to have a couple of drinks and a game of golf on Sunday. HE hates playing with women. Shouldn’t be allowed on the course, HE says. Rita would give one of her silly ah-you’d-have-to-laugh-at-him titters that drove Noreen around the bend. ‘HE doesn’t eat lamb, would you order a well-done steak for HIM,’ Rita had requested when Noreen had told her the menu for the wedding breakfast.

  She’d felt like giving HIM a good kick up the ass. It was fat enough too, she thought mentally picturing a pair of flabby, pasty white buttocks. Oliver had a great ass, taut and firm and not at all pale and pasty but a sallow, olive hue, the same as the rest of his body. She loved watching him walk around naked, although she had to eye him surreptitiously. If Oliver thought she was ogling his body he’d be mortified. He never believed her when she told him he was magnificent. ‘And I know … I’m a nurse, I’ve seen hundreds,’ she’d add for good measure.

  ‘Stop talking nonsense, woman,’ he’d say, but she felt he liked it when she said it. He wasn’t good at taking compliments, but then with a mother like Cora Flynn was that anything to be surprised
at? Cora couldn’t say anything positive or nice in case it would choke her. It was no wonder Oliver had no self-esteem. If she ever had children she would praise them to the skies and make sure they were full of confidence about themselves, Noreen promised herself. She was looking forward to having a family of her own and she’d rear them a hell of a lot better than Rita’s pair. Brats, that’s what her two nephews were, and already their mother was speaking about them in capitals. THOMAS and JEFFREY needed a good clip in the ear, as far as Noreen was concerned. She was glad that she had put her foot down and told Rita they could not come to the wedding. Rita had got into a fine snit, but tough. Those pair weren’t going to ruin HER wedding.

  Noreen gave a little smile. Today she was perfectly entitled to think of herself in capitals. Today was the best day of her life and tonight was going to be extra special. She and Oliver hadn’t had proper sex for a month since she’d come off the pill. She was so looking forward to tonight. And maybe if she was truly blessed she’d conceive a honeymoon baby as well. Oliver was so virile she might even have twins, she thought happily, giving him a little smile and a wink.

  Sex with Oliver was good, better than she’d ever had with her ex, in all the on and off years she’d been with him, that was for sure, and she’d swear better than Rita or Maura ever had with those two little fat frogs who were stuffing their faces with bread rolls as they waited for the next course to be served.

  Noreen knew that until she’d made the surprise announcement of her engagement, the shoe had been on the other foot and her younger sisters had looked down their noses at her and thought she was a dried-up old spinster with no life of her own. That was all changed now, she thought grimly. And how. When their mother had suffered a stroke, they’d more or less told her that she was Noreen’s responsibility, her being a nurse and unmarried with, as they saw it, no responsibilities.