Two For Joy Read online

  He seemed happy enough, she reflected as she saw him tucking into his lamb. Well, they were married now, she thought pragmatically as she cut into the tender moist meat and took a bite. It was a fresh start for both of them and it was going to be a success. Of that, Noreen Flynn was determined.

  5

  Neil Brennan ironed the collar of his best white shirt and frowned when he noticed the beginnings of fraying. He was very heavy on shirts – he’d better go and buy himself another few. After all, he’d need to look his best if he was going into the car sales business. People would expect a certain standard of dress when they were doing business with him.

  He had great plans for his father’s garage. He was going to ask Oliver Flynn to demolish the existing shabby, gloomy shack that stood on North Road and get him to build a gleaming glass and chrome showroom with garage and service facilities at the rear. It was going to cost an arm and a leg, but he had costed it all, drawn up an impressive business plan, and the local bank manager was willing to give him a substantial loan. His father too was willing to invest and be a sleeping partner. It was time to take the bit between his teeth and go with it. That business start-up course he was doing was practical and extremely informative. It was paying off already, Neil reflected as he ran the iron over the cuffs.

  He stuffed a pile of newly printed business cards into the inside pocket of his freshly dry-cleaned grey suit. He was getting ready to go to the afters of Oliver Flynn’s wedding. He’d serviced Oliver’s car a couple of weeks ago and the builder had issued a casual invite to the afters of his wedding. Neil was delighted with the invitation. He’d looked after Oliver’s cars for the past few years. It was nice to be appreciated. Weddings were a great place for doing business. He intended to go after potential customers in a discreet but determined manner. Neil knew enough about the business to know that most people hate In-Your-Face-Car-Salesmen. He wasn’t going to be pushy but if the opportunity came up he’d use it.

  He slipped on the white shirt and tucked the tail into his trousers. He was putting on weight, he noted glumly, holding his breath as he fastened his belt. He’d have to stop eating the big fry-ups his father cooked for breakfast.

  He glanced at his watch – seven forty-five already. He’d want to get a move on – he was supposed to have collected Heather fifteen minutes ago. She wouldn’t mind, he reassured himself. Heather understood when he was late for a date sometimes. She knew he had to finish working on the cars. And she knew Friday nights and Tuesdays were out because of his business course, but she didn’t moan and whinge like Angie Hudson had before she’d given him the brush-off. She’d been a usey bitch anyway, he was far better off without her.

  Heather saw the sense in what he was doing and was extremely encouraging. Neil enjoyed talking to her about his plans. He was looking forward to going to the wedding bash with her tonight; the only drawback was that her stuck-up cousin, Lorna, would be there.

  Neil grimaced as he knotted his tie. He really couldn’t stick that girl. She thought she was so superior. She always had some snooty remark to make about bog-trotters and culchies, which was rich coming from her – she was as much a culchie as he was, he thought indignantly. He didn’t know what it was about Lorna Morgan, but she could really get up his nose … and frequently did. One day, he’d be driving around in a brand new Beemer and living the high life and she wouldn’t be sneering and looking down her pointy little nose at him then, Neil vowed as he slapped on some aftershave, ran a comb through his unruly black hair and grabbed his wallet off the dressing-table.

  He pulled open one of the drawers and rooted until he found a packet of condoms. Might as well bring them, just in case he got lucky with Heather. They’d been dating almost two months now and zilch. Some girls he’d dated he’d shagged after two dates. Well, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. But Angie Hudson had let him shag her on the fifth date and that was after two weeks. She’d only been looking for a good deal on a Nissan Micra that he’d got for a song, he thought in hindsight. Being used like that had left a bitter taste. It had shocked him, actually, that a girl would be so duplicitous. He’d thought Angie was really into him. What an idiot he’d been. As soon as she’d got her fat little mitts on the car, she had dumped him like the biggest hot potato ever. Even now, his stomach knotted at the memory. He’d been made a fool of, but it would never happen to him again. And he’d never let a woman lead him by the nose again, either. He’d make the rules in any relationship of his from now on. Women were not to be trusted.

  Heather Williams was a far nicer girl than that Hudson slag though. Maybe she was different, he conceded. She didn’t have a car, yet. Neil smiled to himself. He’d keep an eye out for a nice Fiesta or Starlet for her and help her to arrange the financing too. She could be one of his first customers, but naturally because they were dating he’d give her a good cut on the price.

  Whistling, Neil let himself out of the house and got into his pride and joy, a black Saab that gleamed and shone in the evening sun. It might be three years old, but it looked brand new. Once the business got going he’d change it for a new model. After all, if he was expecting people to buy new cars from him, he’d have to drive to impress. Maintaining the right image was crucial in business, any fool knew that. Angie Hudson and Lorna Morgan just watch this space, Neil thought jauntily as he sat into his car, gunned the engine and scorched down Larkin’s Lane on to North Road.

  * * *

  Carmen tinkled tinnily on Heather Williams’s mobile, causing momentary panic as she rooted in her taupe leather bucket bag trying to locate it. The ringing got louder and her rooting became more frantic as she delved into little inside pockets and compartments, cursing as she pricked her fingers on the sharp ends of a comb before finally locating the offending article. ‘Hello,’ she said breathlessly, expecting it to be Neil to tell her he was on his way. She was totally surprised to hear Lorna’s extremely friendly tone ask gaily, ‘Hi, Heather, are you coming? I’m pissed already, I thought you’d be here by now.’ There was no trace of yesterday’s ill grace. Lorna was her bright, breezy self.

  ‘Oh! Oh! I’m just waiting on Neil to collect me, we shouldn’t be too long.’ Heather was flustered.

  ‘It will be midnight before you get here, knowing him. He’s never on time,’ Lorna said tartly.

  ‘Look, I’ll be there when I’m there, OK,’ Heather snapped.

  ‘Well, just hurry, I’m bored out of my tree. It’s so not happening here. I was sitting with Derek’s parents and I had to behave myself and they’re awfully dim. Doctor Kennedy is as dull as dishwater, he kept making really stupid jokes and Mrs Kennedy just kept glaring at him, saying, “Be quiet, Douglas.” And Derek wouldn’t even talk to them. As soon as the meal was over we sneaked off and had a couple of doubles to cheer ourselves up and I’m pissed and ready for action. I’m going to bop my brains out when the music starts. Get your ass down here pronto.’ She giggled.

  I’m not holding her head over a toilet tonight, Heather promised herself as she listened to her cousin rabbiting on. Lorna was well on the way to being smashed. Tonight she could look after herself. Heather was going to enjoy herself with Neil and that was that.

  ‘Are you there?’ Lorna demanded.

  ‘Yeah, look, I’ll see you soon—’

  ‘Oh God, here’s Derek with two more drinks. Have to go, byeee,’ Lorna trilled and then there was a thud and a clatter and Heather could hear her cousin cursing her mobile phone which had obviously fallen out of her grasp.

  Heather shook her head. Lorna had no sense sometimes. Oliver Flynn’s wedding was not the place to make a show of herself. There’d be talk and her mother would hear about it and Lorna’s life wouldn’t be worth living and she’d whinge and whine for months. She hoped she wouldn’t start sniping at Neil when he arrived. They didn’t get on at all, and it was uncomfortable sometimes listening to them having a go at one another. All of a sudden the evening she had been looking forward to for the past few weeks was be
ginning to lose its lustre. She glanced at her watch and bit her lip. It was almost seven fifty-five and there was no sign of Neil coming to pick her up. Perhaps he wasn’t coming. He could be standing her up.

  She heard a diesel car coming along the road and raced to the window hoping it would be the familiar black Saab, but no. It was a red car and her heart sank to her boots. Should she ring him? she agonized. But then he might think she was being pushy. Two months wasn’t that long to be going with someone. He might take exception if she started demanding explanations or started giving out to him for being late.

  But maybe there was a good reason that he was late, she dithered as her hand hovered over the phone digits. Maybe he’d had a puncture or something. The least he could do was ring though, she thought crossly. He was never on time and it was rude to keep another person waiting. It suggested that his time was more precious than theirs. She was going to have it out with him once and for all. He had to learn to have a bit of respect.

  What was it with her? Men fell over themselves to please Lorna, but the blokes that she went out with never seemed to put her first. Heather scowled, remembering Colin Breen. She’d dated him for six months and there had been times when he’d be two hours and more late for a date. Whenever they went to the pictures it was always the picture that he wanted to see that they went to. Usually mind-boggling mental chewing-gum with Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone.

  Once he’d stood her up and when – furious – she’d phoned him up and eaten the face off him, he’d hung up and hadn’t called her for ten days. She’d been so miserable. She’d cried herself to sleep every night. Every time the phone had rung at home or at work, her stomach had clenched into knots and she’d prayed that it would be him. The disappointment when it wasn’t had been shattering each time. She’d almost called him a dozen times. In fact once she had, and when his flatmate answered, she’d lost her nerve and hung up. She’d been petrified that she’d never see him again and that she’d be left on the shelf. A shit boyfriend was better than no boyfriend, she’d reasoned. When he’d finally called her she’d eagerly agreed to meet him and had fallen into his arms when she’d seen him.

  Heather blushed scarlet at the memory of her wimpiness. She had behaved like such a doormat – even now she cringed, thinking of it. It hadn’t made any difference anyway, it turned out that the two-faced little ferret had been two-timing her all along and he’d ditched her unceremoniously one wet Friday night when she’d refused yet again to have sex with him, and called her a frigid cow.

  Now, it was a huge relief to her that she hadn’t slept with Colin. At least she hadn’t let him walk all over her in that regard. She might be a wimp and a doormat but she wasn’t a notch on Colin Breen’s bedpost and that was a small crumb of comfort in what had been a total and absolutely disastrous relationship which had wiped out every scrap of confidence she had.

  Heather studied her reflection in the big bevelled mirror over the hallstand. Chestnut hair with glints of auburn fell around her face in a smooth silky curtain. Heather wore her hair short, whereas Ruth wore hers wild and wavy, tumbling down her back. Heather wasn’t really the wild and wavy sort, she thought ruefully. The reflection of solemn hazel eyes fringed with thick dark lashes stared back at her. Her eyes were OK, she supposed. Her nose was too wide, lips normal enough, and now, because she hadn’t been dieting, her cheekbones were gone and her face wasn’t the slightest bit thin and interesting. At least she had a tan, she comforted herself. Tans always made you look better. She decided to dab a bit more blusher on her cheeks to try to give the impression of cheekbones. She was wearing a plum bustier over black trousers, and a silky black jacket. The bustier gave her a good cinched-in waist and a flattering hint of cleavage but she wouldn’t dare take the jacket off no matter how warm it got, her ass was far too big to be put on public display. Heather sighed deeply. Lorna no doubt was dressed to the nines, and not the slightest bit worried about her ass. Her cousin had a perfect figure.

  She heard another car coming down the street and peered out of the window anxiously, her palms curling. A green car whizzed past. That was it! She’d had enough. If Neil wasn’t here in five minutes’ time she was going to go to the wedding on her own and to hell with him. She was just sick, sick, sick of being treated like a doormat. Tears glittered in her eyes. Was it her, or were all men selfish shits? Angry, hurt, disappointed, she blinked rapidly to dispel the tears. A thought struck her: it was Neil that had been invited to the wedding, she was going as his guest. She couldn’t go on her own whether she wanted to or not.

  Well, she just would go, Heather decided resentfully. Who’d notice? She was damned if she was going to take off all her make-up and finery after going to such trouble. She picked up her evening bag, a glittery purse affair, pulled out her lipstick and re-did her lips with ‘Sensual Plum’. She’d have to stop biting her lips, they were in shreds, she noted forlornly. She tried to fit her phone in the bag, but it wouldn’t fasten and bulged in an unsightly manner. Heather hated small bags with a vengeance. She liked bags that she could carry her bits and pieces in, they made her feel secure. She wished she had her twin’s confidence, or even Lorna’s. She wished she was more like them in every way. They could carry off small, smart evening bags, they could reveal their asses to the world without a care. They had men falling at their feet, men who were on time, even early for dates and they didn’t take crap. She, at this precise moment, felt an utter and absolute failure.

  She heard a familiar diesel engine thrumming outside and once again she flew to the window, feeling a huge wave of relief wash over her when she saw a familiar black car. Thank God he’d arrived; she sent the fervent acknowledgement heavenwards in grateful thanks. He hadn’t stood her up after all. Maybe she wouldn’t have it out with Neil about his punctuality tonight, but the next time he was late for a date she was going to give it to him hot and heavy, Heather assured herself earnestly, as she gave her bustier one last tweak before opening the door with a smile on her face.

  6

  Lorna gasped with dismay as she felt a sharp stab of pain. ‘Oooh,’ she groaned against Derek Kennedy’s neck. Unfortunately Derek mistook her groan for a moan of passion and thrust into her even more frantically before collapsing on top of her, panting like a dog. Lorna’s jaw dropped. That was it! That’s what all the fuss was about. That’s what all the begging and pleading in the back seat of Derek’s car had been for, as date after date he’d urged her to let him have sex with her. She’d felt nothing, not even a tingle. She just felt sore, messy, uncomfortable and cheated.

  This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. She’d read She and Marie Claire and all the other glossy mags (even Cosmo although that was seriously dated) avidly. She’d studied numerous hints to satisfy HIM ’n’ HER and had looked forward to using them in a night of blissful pleasure and passion, but nothing that she’d read about had happened with herself and Derek. There’d been no touching and tasting and sucking and licking, no slow, sexy stripping, no massaging with oil, just Derek jumping on her, pulling off her panties. Then, two minutes later, it was all over. They hadn’t even snogged!

  ‘Get off me,’ Lorna slurred as Derek nuzzled her ear. He raised his head and looked at her, hurt.

  ‘Didn’t you enjoy it?’ he asked, his brown eyes gazing blearily into hers.

  ‘No, I didn’t, you idiot.’ She glowered at him.

  ‘Well, I did,’ Derek muttered and passed out.

  Lorna wriggled out from under him and felt like thumping him as he snored noisily. She staggered into the bathroom and slipped out of her dress. She needed a shower, badly. She reeked of alcohol and other unmentionables. It had been a fatal mistake to confide that she could use one of the hotel rooms if she wanted to. Staff did it all the time when the hotel wasn’t fully occupied. Derek had jumped at the idea, and half excited, half fearful, she’d led him up a back staircase, slipped into room 302, and then he’d pulled his He-man stunt and lunged for her. She’d been t
oo smashed to protest, and besides, she’d thought it was only a prelude to lovemaking. She hadn’t for one second thought that the whole thing would be over in two minutes flat, or less …

  Lorna felt like crying as she stood under the shower, trying to keep her hair from getting wet. She felt a little more sober now. Funny how you could sober up so quickly, she thought just a trifle woozily. At least she could now claim she’d ‘Done It’, she thought dejectedly as she averted her eyes from the blood between her legs and hosed herself down with the shower, frantic to get rid of all traces of her unsavoury episode with Derek. Her disappointment was so strong, she could almost taste it.

  The next time she had sex, if she ever had sex again and that was a very big if, she thought resentfully, she would make sure that she was stone cold sober and she would dictate the pace. She’d have her touching and tasting and sucking and licking and her sensual massage, by God she would. And she would have an orgasm come hell or high water. All those magazines couldn’t be wrong! She would moan and groan with pleasure the way she’d heard her mother moaning and groaning all those years ago, Lorna vowed, and fell to her knees sobbing under the hot, steaming jets of water as that old, old memory that she had kept buried for so long invaded her head until she thought she was going to be sick.

  ‘I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about it,’ she muttered wildly. ‘No! No! Mam, why did you do it? Why did you let me hear you and see you? It’s dirty, dirty, dirty.’ Lorna wept uncontrollably, great wrenching sobs heaving from the depths of her.

  Out in the rumpled double bed, Derek snored on. Oblivious.

  * * *

  Heather sipped her glass of tepid white wine and tried not to yawn. People were slow dancing to kd lang, but Neil was deep in conversation with some bloke about cars, and had been for the last half hour. Of Lorna and Derek there was no sign.

  ‘Hi, Heather, would you like to dance?’ Tony Mallin, one of Oliver’s builders, sat down at the table beside her and eyed her hopefully. Neil never even noticed.