Two For Joy Read online

  ‘Why not?’ Heather said recklessly. She hoped Neil would get good and jealous when he saw her dancing a slow set. The evening had started off extremely promisingly: he’d been very attentive for about an hour but then he’d gone to the bar for more drinks and stayed chatting to some bloke for half an hour, leaving her like a lemon on her own, and now he was talking to another guy and she might as well be on the moon.

  She followed Tony on to the floor and they started to dance. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ he asked as his hands slid down to her hips.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she responded, disconcerted. He was being far too touchy-feely for her taste.

  ‘If I had a lovely girl like you as my date, I wouldn’t sit gabbing with a bloke,’ he murmured, nuzzling her ear. ‘That top you’re wearing is dead sexy.’ He drew away for a moment and gazed admiringly at her cleavage, before pressing himself close against her. She could feel his erection. Heather had just about had enough.

  ‘Do you mind, Tony Mallin. What do you think I am?’ she demanded furiously, twisting out of his grasp. ‘Go grope someone else,’ she snapped, marching off the dance floor leaving Tony with his mouth open in surprise.

  Neil had never even noticed that she was gone. He was still engrossed in his conversation. Heather felt volcanic-size resentment engulf her, as she nibbled on a cold cocktail sausage, part of the finger food served to the evening guests. Her boyfriend guffawed at something the other man said. Heather grabbed her bag. ‘I’m going to the Ladies,’ she hissed.

  ‘Fine, fine.’ Neil didn’t even bother to look in her direction. Heather stalked out of the room to the strains of ‘I Can’t Get No Satisfaction’. ‘Tell me about it,’ she muttered. The Ladies, mercifully, was empty as she went into a stall, pulled down the loo seat and sat on it, biting her lip furiously. Neil was behaving really badly. He was being so disrespectful, ignoring her while he touted for business. Heather knew and understood that it was important for him to network. He had a client base to build up. But surely, she reasoned, good manners alone dictated that he look after his date for the evening – that was, she thought with sinking heart, if he felt anything for her at all. Maybe it was best to nip it in the bud now, she thought unhappily. There was no point in going through weeks of misery the way she had with Colin.

  A tear trickled down her cheeks. She’d had such hopes of Neil. She’d thought that he was different. When they were alone, he told her all about his dream to open a big garage on North Road and then, when that was up and running, another one in nearby Navan. Eventually his dream was to open one in Dublin. She had helped him with his costings, had typed up his business plan for him and had been delighted to be part of it. It was exciting, exhilarating, and she felt that she’d contributed to and shared the dream. Until tonight. Tonight she felt totally excluded, unimportant, a nuisance even. And then being mauled by Tony Mallin on the dance floor. He could have raped her for all the notice her so-called boyfriend had taken.

  Heather wiped the tears from her face and stood up. Neil could build up his client base, she was going home. Better to be manless than witless and wimpy. At least she could live with herself knowing that she hadn’t behaved like a doormat this time. She heard someone come into the Ladies and silently cursed. One more minute and she could have slipped out and made her getaway. She ran her fingers through her hair, straightened her jacket and opened the door.

  Lorna was standing with her back to her at the sinks. She was applying lipstick to her mouth but her hand was shaking. ‘Where’ve you been all evening?’ Heather asked dully, thinking that her cousin was probably pissed. She looked a bit rough. Her make-up was streaked and her flimsy slip-style dress was very creased.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Lorna snapped.

  ‘OK, ’night,’ Heather retorted.

  ‘What do you mean ’night? Are you and loverboy leaving?’ Lorna inquired truculently.

  ‘No, if you must know. I don’t have a loverboy any more. Neil Brennan can go to hell as far as I’m concerned. ’Bye.’

  ‘No, hold on, Heather, what’s wrong? What’s happened? I saw Neil out there and he seems to be having a ball.’ Lorna turned to face her. She looked ghastly. Pale, red-eyed.

  ‘Are you OK, Lorna? You haven’t been taking E’s or anything?’ Heather blurted.

  ‘No I haven’t, Heather. I … I … Oh Heather, it was horrible!’ Lorna’s face crumpled and she burst into tears.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Heather looked at her in dismay.

  ‘Let’s get out of here. I don’t want anyone to come barging in. We’ll go down the back stairs, there’s a laundry room that will be empty. I need to talk to you, Heather,’ Lorna said urgently, grabbing her cousin by the arm and propelling her out the door. They hurried down the corridor and pushed open the big heavy fire-doors to the back stairs. Two minutes later, Lorna led the way into a large tiled room full of big industrial washers and driers and steam presses and ironing boards. It smelt faintly of damp and washing powder.

  ‘What’s the matter? Where were you all evening? Where’s Derek?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about that bollox! Oh, Heather. I was going to pretend it was wonderful and boast to you that it was the best experience of my life, but it was disgusting and…’ She started to howl.

  ‘For God’s sake will you tell me what’s wrong with you, Lorna!’ Heather shook her cousin.

  ‘I did it, Heather. I had sex with Derek and it was revolting and I think I’m frigid,’ Lorna bawled.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not frigid. Let’s face it, Derek’s not exactly Colin Firth now, is he?’ Heather said stoutly. She was a bit shocked that Lorna had had sex with Derek after all the giving out she’d done about him.

  ‘I suppose not,’ hiccuped Lorna. ‘I mean, Heather, he just jumped on me and it was over in a minute. I was so disappointed!’ Her lip wobbled. ‘I didn’t feel anything, not horny, not tingly, or quivery, nothing.’

  ‘Forget about it,’ Heather advised, giving her cousin a comforting hug. ‘At least you can say that you’ve done it. As far as I can see I’m going to end up an old maid.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you and the mechanic?’ Lorna sat on a stool and lit a badly needed cigarette.

  ‘I don’t think he’s really interested, to be honest. He spent most of the evening trying to interest new clients for when he’s set up in business.’

  ‘Huh!’ snorted Lorna. ‘That will be the day. He’s all talk and no action.’

  Now that she’d got it off her chest and confided in Heather she was feeling a bit better. ‘Look, I just need to go back to a room, I left my pashmina there. Why don’t we go home? I can stay the night and we can have a good moan. Better than sitting in this place.’

  ‘OK,’ agreed Heather. Even Lorna’s company was preferable to being on her own tonight. ‘What room were you in?’

  ‘After I fixed myself up after Derek I went into 601, it was empty and I’d borrowed one of the maid’s pass keys earlier. I didn’t feel like rejoining the party I can tell you, so I just lay on the bed and I must have fallen asleep. Probably shock,’ she said self-pityingly. ‘Derek’s in 302. I’ve a good mind to log him in on the computer as a guest and then he’ll have to pay the room rate,’ she added viciously. Her eyes brightened. ‘Come on, we could raid the mini-bar, take everything and he’d have to pay for all that too, the dumb bastard.’

  For a moment Heather was tempted. She felt like getting skulled, but visions of Lorna puking all night – she not being able to hold her drink – put a halt to her gallop. She didn’t fancy cleaning up after her cousin tonight, she had a broken heart to nurse.

  ‘No, come on, he’s not worth the hassle. Let’s get a chippie on the way home instead,’ she suggested hastily.

  ‘Oh! OK then,’ Lorna said sulkily. She wanted to cause Derek as much grief as she possibly could. She stubbed out her cigarette, put the light out and followed Heather into the corridor. This time they took the lift to the top floor to re
trieve Lorna’s pale lemon pashmina. Minutes later they were in the foyer, passing the large reception room where the wedding reception was still going strong. Out of curiosity, Heather peered in to see if she could see Neil. He was at another table, chatting to a couple, not missing her in the slightest.

  ‘Fuck you,’ muttered Heather and followed Lorna through the big swing doors. The breeze was sharp as they walked down the gravel driveway, the pebbles biting into the thin soles of their evening shoes.

  ‘I’m sick of this place. I’m really and truly sick of it,’ Lorna said vehemently. ‘There’s not one decent man in the place. Well, apart from Oliver Flynn. He’s a fine thing even if he is a culchie,’ she said grudgingly.

  ‘Yeah, Oliver’s nice. We’re his accountants. He’s doing well too … for a culchie,’ Heather said tartly.

  ‘I wonder what he sees in her. That Noreen one. She’s a bit of a battleaxe. You should have heard her giving out last night because she wasn’t happy with the table linen. She told them that she wanted peach table napkins to match the trimmings on the cake. We only have cream of course, but she gave out stinko about it and said she’d requested peach napkins the day she booked the wedding. There was a right royal rumpus.’

  ‘I bet Oliver Flynn wouldn’t ignore his date all night,’ Heather said bitterly.

  ‘I wonder what he’s like in bed?’ mused Lorna.

  ‘Noreen will find out tonight,’ grinned Heather as they passed through the pillared entrance to the hotel and headed towards Fred’s Fast Food Emporium.

  ‘Come on, I bet she’s done it before now, she’s in her thirties. She’s ancient,’ scoffed Lorna.

  ‘If I get to do it before my thirties I’ll be lucky,’ said Heather mournfully, feeling extremely sorry for herself.

  Lorna stopped dead. ‘Look here, Heather. This kip of a town is a dead loss for men. I’m always telling you that. Let’s cut our losses and head for Dublin. Let’s get a life for once and for all.’ She stared at her cousin, willing her to say yes, her blue eyes bright and determined under the orange ray of the street light.

  Heather hesitated. That would mean giving up Neil. She’d been hoping too, that perhaps she might ‘Do It’ with him. She’d felt he was the right one for her.

  ‘Come on. Did he even come looking for you? Did he? He’s no better than that Breen low life!’ Lorna pushed.

  Heather took a deep breath. Her cousin was right. They needed a fresh start. All men couldn’t be totally self-centred. Could they? At least in Dublin there’d be a lot more choice. Neil Brennan could build his poxy garage without any help from her. There was no point in her staying in Kilronan. She’d be too depressed for words. She turned to face Lorna. ‘OK then. Let’s do it. Let’s go to Dublin.’

  ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!!!’ Lorna punched the air. ‘You won’t be sorry, honest you won’t. We’ll show them what we’re made of, Heather. Let’s get out of this kippy town as fast as our legs can carry us. Believe me, this is the best move you’ll ever make.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Heather said with false cheer. If it was going to be the best move she ever made how come she felt so dispirited?

  ‘Come on, let’s make plans. We’ve to decide where we want to live. I think we should go for a glitzy apartment—’

  ‘We’ve to get jobs first,’ Heather pointed out.

  ‘We’ll have no problem. Certainly not in the hotel trade and I bet you’ll have no trouble getting into an accounts firm. Think positive, Heather. We are two gorgeous women, single and free. We can do whatever we want.’ Lorna was on a high, memories of her disaster pushed firmly to the back of her mind. Going to live in Dublin had been her goal for so long, she wasn’t going to let her cousin spoil it with negative vibes.

  Heather laughed. When Lorna was in this mood she was unquenchable and her gaiety infectious.

  ‘OK then, we try for jobs tomorrow and then we look at all the properties for rent. Let’s go for it, girl.’

  ‘You bet your ass.’ Lorna waved her pashmina over her head like a flag and danced exuberantly along the street. Nothing and no one was going to hold her back now.

  * * *

  Noreen slipped the deep ruby negligée over her head and settled the pencil straps on her shoulders. Normally she didn’t go in for such fancy nighties. But this was her wedding night and she wanted it to be special. The ruby brought out the colour in her eyes and suited her sallow skin. She lifted her breasts so that the seam of the cups settled more comfortably. If only she had another inch or so on her boobs, she thought wistfully, looking at the small neat pair that nature had endowed her with. That top that Heather Williams had on at the dance had been gorgeous, she thought ruefully. She’d never be able to wear a bustier. She’d nothing to fill it with.

  She yawned, dabbing some Chloe on her wrists and at the nape of her neck. She was tired. It had been a long, long day, but it had gone exceptionally well, as well as she could have hoped for, she thought contentedly. The drive up to Dublin after they’d run through the archway of friends and family, showered with confetti and good wishes, had been peaceful and quiet. There was no traffic to speak of, and she’d sat beside her new husband making the odd comment here and there, but mostly content to sit in silence and listen to the soothing music of Lyric FM, and relax.

  They had booked a room in the Airport Great Southern and Oliver had ordered two brandies from room service for them, which they had sipped companionably, chatting over the events of the day. This time tomorrow they’d be in Malta, Noreen thought happily. She’d chosen Malta because she’d nursed a patient who’d come from Valetta and told her how beautiful the port was, and what a lovely wild, rugged, historically fascinating place his native country was.

  Rita and Maura had gone to Greece and the Canaries on their honeymoons, on package holidays. Staying in Malta in a five-star hotel was certainly not a cheapie package honeymoon, she thought smugly, giving her teeth a quick clean. She actually felt as horny as hell. Must be after all the excitement. And besides, she hadn’t had proper sex for a month. She didn’t trust condoms and she certainly didn’t want people in Kilronan counting on their fingers, should she have conceived after coming off the pill. Well, they could count all they liked now. Everything was in order. She was Mrs Oliver Flynn and if she had a honeymoon baby, that would be the icing on the cake. Noreen opened the bathroom door and padded into the bedroom in happy anticipation, only to stand stock-still in disappointment as she saw Oliver, limbs spread-eagled, chest rising up and down rhythmically in a deep sleep.

  That was good money wasted on a negligée, she thought grumpily as she slid into bed beside her husband and switched out the light. She lay beside him wide awake, staring into the darkness. The dull roar of a jet taking off broke the silence. Noreen sighed and turned over, putting an arm around her husband. She slid her hand under the sheet. He was naked. ‘Oliver. Oliver,’ she whispered. She slipped her hand between his legs and began to stroke him. He sighed and turned over on his side with his back to her, still sleeping soundly.

  ‘Some start to a honeymoon,’ Noreen said crossly, then felt mean. Oliver had worked his butt off before the wedding so that everything would be sorted before he took his two weeks off. They had their whole lives ahead of them. It was a pity though, she was ovulating right now and it could have been a night to conceive. She smiled in the dark. She’d waited this long – one more night wouldn’t make any difference.

  7

  A Year Later

  Noreen snuggled deeper under the bedclothes. Vaguely, a long way away she could hear a voice calling her. She roused herself to consciousness. Oliver was standing, fully dressed, in front of her holding a breakfast tray. She blinked rapidly, rubbed her eyes and sat up. ‘Happy Anniversary, Noreen,’ her husband said as he laid the tray on her lap.

  ‘Mornin’, Oliver. This is a treat,’ she said, smiling up at him, delighted that he had remembered without any hints from her. ‘Happy anniversary to you too. That year flew. Didn’t it?’ She leaned over
and took a small box and card off her bedside table and handed it to him.

  ‘There’s something for you on the tray,’ he said gruffly. Oliver always got embarrassed giving her a gift, even after three years of togetherness and one year of marriage. He was a strange fella, she thought affectionately as she unwrapped the slim, awkwardly gift-wrapped package. She opened the black case to reveal a beautiful string of white pearls nestled against red velvet.

  ‘Oh Oliver, they’re beautiful.’ Noreen’s eyes sparkled with delight. She’d almost doubted that he would remember and the fact that he had made the gift even more precious. ‘They’re absolutely gorgeous, Oliver. Thank you so much.’ Wait until Maura and Rita saw these, she thought, delightedly. They’d been asking her for weeks now did she think Oliver would remember their wedding anniversary. She’d been more than anxious, to tell the truth, but she deliberately hadn’t given any hints. She wanted proof that he loved her. Remembering their anniversary would be a sign that he did, she’d assured herself. Oliver wasn’t one given to sentiment. She’d had to make him go and buy her a Christmas card on Christmas Eve when one hadn’t been forthcoming.

  ‘We’re married now. What do we need to be giving each other Christmas cards for?’ he’d demanded grumpily. ‘It’s pure nonsense.’

  ‘No it’s not, and I want Christmas cards, birthday cards and anniversary cards and presents to go with them,’ Noreen had insisted. ‘It’s the little things like that that are important in marriage. Don’t go taking me for granted. I want you to be the way you were and as attentive to me as when you were wooing me.’

  Oliver threw his eyes up to heaven. ‘That was then, this is now, Noreen. I was getting to know you then. You women have the strangest ideas.’

  ‘We have and don’t you forget them,’ warned Noreen.

  To give him his due, he hadn’t forgotten, she thought happily, fingering the pearls gently. And what was more, his presents to her were always ones that he clearly put thought into. His choice of jewellery and perfume always impressed her, for a man who liked to give the impression that he was no good at romance.