Authors: Paddy Cummins
Ken's golf had improved greatly in ten days. His driving,
pitching and putting had all become razor sharp. He looked forward to showing off his new skills on his local course at the weekend.
The flight was silky smooth, and with seven hours flying in
front of them, most of the passengers, including Ken and Jenny were sleeping peacefully. After a couple of hours, Jenny found herself awake, refreshed, and with nothing to do except admire her handsome, sleeping husband beside her, and do some thinking. The poor fellow, she thought, is exhausted. He certainly
didn't spare himself - showed great stamina. All that golf every day, the socialising in the evenings - dinner, cabaret, dancing, drinking - then the strenuous love-making every night, brilliant passionate sessions that would
drain any man. Not Ken though; he proved a real champion. She was proud of him, felt blessed to have him as a husband. She hoped and prayed his sperm deficiency would be rectified, not only for herself, but for him too. She knew
it was getting to him - she could see that now - it was even more apparent since her accident.
She could sense his new determination. Their love-making recently, especially those last few days in Florida had a new intensity. Dr
Lucas has certainly given him hope. Those new experiments, positions, techniques, must have come from his consultant. He didn't divulge, she wouldn't ask, just enjoyed it. It might have worked, who knows? We'll know in a couple of weeks. It might be a forlorn hope. Still, all that beautiful sex, that
intensive, passionate love-making, surely can't be for nothing. Perhaps inside her at this very moment is the flicker of a little heartbeat. No. It was too early for that - not too early for fertile hope and imagination though. She
held her breath, held her body still as she gazed across lovingly at her sleeping husband. If only she could feel the slightest sensation of life within, it would be a whole new world for her, for both of them - for the three of them.
She hauled her mind back to reality. She had better be prepared for disappointment. That way, it wouldn't be as bad, wouldn't be the end of the world, she could handle it, put Plan B into operation, get on with her life. But what about poor Ken? He would be devastated. She knew exactly how
he felt, would love a child, be a proud father. It would surely effect their relationship too. That's probably Ken's biggest worry. She could see that he was pre-occupied with this fear already. He was becoming a bit possessive and
protective. That's something she couldn't suffer. A little baby would prevent all that, would sort it all out. Amazing what little babies could do, she smiled to herself, as she dozed off again.
* * *
It was Saturday morning, exactly a week after Mrs Dilworth's tragic death. The shock and sadness of the people had abated a little. Bart was still suffering - Garry knew that - could see it in his face. He seemed to have aged a lot in only a week, not walking as tall or as erect as he always did,
even a slight stoop in his shoulders becoming apparent. His heart went out to him, such a nice man, so good and generous to everyone - he doesn't deserve this.
It's hard to fathom religion, Garry thought. The good seem
to suffer while the not so good enjoy life with hardly a care in the world - it didn't seem fair. No doubt the Rector would have a good explanation for it. Happy to suffer on Earth, a kind of endurance test, a cleansing exercise - all
worthwhile in the end.
'Suffer little
children
to come unto me'
He wondered, wasn't sure. He hoped it was true - for Bart's sake.
'The mare is looking great ... you're doing a great job,
Garry,' Bart was looking in over the half-door of the stable while Garry was renewing her bed and giving her a brush over.
'This mare always looks great,' he said, patting her admiringly on the neck, 'I'll need to start riding her out next week or she'll
get too fresh ... she's already getting a bit full of herself.'
'I see that,' replied Bart, 'all that feeding and no exercise, I suppose.'
'Yeah, but you can't blame her, she'll be grand when she
gets out and about ... use up some of her energy.'
'I was thinking,' said Bart, seriously, 'would 'Goff's Sales' be the best place to sell her?' I was looking up their dates ... there's
a sale next month.'
Garry was surprised by the question. He had thought about the mare's future, wondered what Bart would do.
'Oh yeah, 'Goff's would be fine. She should sell well there ... plenty of customers for a mare like her.'
'Yes.' Bart paused thoughtfully. I suppose you'd be a customer yourself, Garry?'
That question caught him a bit unprepared.
'Ah, not really,' he replied hesitantly, 'Oh now, don't get
me wrong ... I do love the mare ... it's just that right now ... I couldn't really afford her for myself ... and also ... I haven't an empty stable at present.'
He immediately regretted the last part of his answer - the
'no empty stable bit.' It just slipped out, was stupid, probably ruined any chance he had of getting the mare. He didn't want to sound too eager in case Bart would feel guilty about sending her to the sales. The truth was, if there was any way that he could get her, an empty stable wouldn't be a problem - he'd build one overnight for a mare like that.
'Well, we'll do that then. I'll ring the sales company and enter her, and sure you'll prepare her for me, won't you?'
'Yes of course I will ... you can leave her to me ... I'll have her ready.'
Garry knew that the decision was now made; no going back. He felt sad and miserable, cursing himself for his stupidity. If he had handled it
differently, some arrangement might have been worked out with the Rector - he had his chance, and blew it.
He left for home, frustrated, but trying to shrug it off with an old saying of his mother's -
sure
it might
all turn
out for the best.'
* * *
Thank God, exclaimed Jenny to herself, this week is almost over. It was almost five on Friday evening. She had completed what really amounted to three week's work in one. The backlog of complex files - built up
during her trip to Florida - had to be cleared, the current ones seemed to be never-ending, and being the last week of the quarter, the various reports had to be done.
Poor Sheryl was jaded too - all that typing - and she didn't
have the benefit of a holiday in the sun. The weekend break would be a welcome respite. They couldn't wait to get out of the office to inhale the freshness of the evening air. The phone rang.
'For you, Jenny.' Sheryl had that knowing look, pointing
upwards, indicating who it was, so that Jenny would be prepared.
'Yes Don?' She was determined to cut this as short as possible.
'That Bailey case ... how far have you gone with it?'
She knew the one. This was the third time he had enquired about it. She wondered why. True, it was a large case - one million pounds 'Mortgage Term Cover'. Serious work - wasn't near finished yet.
'I expect to be in a position to make a decision on it early
next week. There are still three medical reports that I have to study. It's not a straight forward case. That Diabetes that Mr Bailey has is the problem - we've got to be cautious.'
'Damn it! I promised Tom Bailey I'd have word for him this evening. He's ringing me at eight o'clock. All I want is a yes or no. We can complete the documentation next week. There's a big property deal hanging on it - he has to know this weekend or it falls through.'
She sat listening, getting angrier by the second. Sheryl was watching apprehensively as Jenny's face was changing colour, knowing that she was about to explode. She didn't. She held her temper.
'Don, have
you
some connection with Mr Bailey?'
She wanted to get that straight first. Why was he so concerned? He knew well that these big cases take time. He's the one that wouldn't bend the rules for anybody. Why now? Why for Mr Bailey?
'Oh, no connection at all. It's just that ...' he paused. 'It's substantial business ... we need it all.'
'Substantial business, yes, but it could also be very bad business. This man has Diabetes. No other company would even consider him for
that level of cover.'
'Oh now Jenny, hold on. His diabetes is a thing of nothing ... he's the healthiest man in Ireland!'
'Oh is he? And how would
you
know that, Don?'
He lowered his voice, as if to impart a 'State Secret.'
'I just happen to know them, Jenny. His wife is an old friend of mine ... I know them both for many years.'
Jenny had her answer - she might have guessed. She wondered what category of friend she was, platonic?
Platonic my eye - another of his bits on the side.
Now she knew why he was pushing this case.
'Look Jenny, do me a favour. Read through the three reports,
make a provisional decision, some sort of holding arrangement, something I can tell him tonight, that's all.'
'That's all! Do you know the time it is on a Friday evening?
Do you know the week's work I've been through? Not one week's work, but three!'
'I know, I know. Just this once.'
She calmed down, gave a massive sigh.
'I'll ring you in an hour. I'm not guaranteeing anything. If
there's any doubt about this cover, I'll refuse to underwrite it, and it certainly won't be going to our re-insurers.'
'Thanks Jenny ... you're a star.'
Jenny and Sheryl exchanged tortured looks that said:
He won - the bastard!
Their exit to the fresh evening air would have to wait at least another hour.
Sheryl placed the Bailey file on Jenny's desk and continued
typing the reports. Their desks were at opposite sides facing each other. Jenny was reading silently. She was almost through the second medical report. Sheryl noticed something odd about her. Clearly not herself, she was uneasy in her chair, looked agitated and exasperated. Lenihan's handiwork, Sheryl figured.
Nice time on a Friday evening to upset her. She kept a watching brief without making it obvious.
Jenny's flushed complexion was rapidly turning pale. Suddenly, she gave a muffled groan, holding her stomach with both hands. Sheryl
jumped up and rushed across.
'Are you okay, Jenny, what is it?'
Jenny just raised her hand, dismissing Sheryl's anxiety, indicating that she would be alright in a minute. Her acute pain was easing
off, leaving a familiar ache in the pit of her stomach. She didn't mind the discomfort, knew it would go, but was devastated by the message it brought. After all the hopes and endeavours, she had again failed to conceive. Sheryl
helped her up.
'I'm okay now. Thanks Sheryl. Must go to the loo.'
Sheryl's suspicions were now confirmed. She was relieved it wasn't anything serious - some repercussion from the accident.
Jenny was back from the toilet and about to resume at her desk, but felt she couldn't. The pain in her belly had subsided a little, but the ache in her heart had intensified. Her mind was in turmoil. She couldn't look at another file. Don Lenihan and Mr Bailey would have to wait, whether
they liked it or not.
'I'm going, Sheryl ... I have to go.'
She gathered up her papers, prepared to leave.
'When I'm gone, Sheryl, ring Don Lenihan. Tell him I had to
go. You can explain about me suddenly becoming unwell. Tell him anything you like ... but mind your ear. He'll explode, but don't mind him. Don't take any shit from him ... It's nothing to do with you ... I'll fix him on Monday.'
'No problem, Jenny. You go ahead ... I'll handle him.'
'I know you will, Sheryl ... I don't know what I'd do without you.'
'Mind yourself, Jenny.'
'I will, thanks, bye.'
Ken wasn't used to being home so early on a Friday evening. It was a pleasant change, courtesy of Dr Wynn returning one of the many favours Ken had done for him. He was whistling to himself as he bounded into the house.
Surprised not to find Jenny busy preparing the dinner - he hadn't noticed the absence of her car from the side of the house - that's strange, he thought, she's always home early on a Friday evening. Switching on the jug kettle, he
made a coffee and got stuck into his favourite read: 'The Irish Independent.' She can't be too long.
The phone rang in the hall. Maybe that's her now. He jumped up, hurried out, allowing the phone just two rings.
'May I have a word with Jenny, please?' a middle-aged masculine voice asked. 'Larry Lyons here - building contractor.'
'I'm afraid Jenny isn't here at present. I'm her husband ... would you like me to take a message for her?'
Ken wasn't being inquisitive, just trying to be helpful. He was in a good mood and this man seemed to have a genuine friendly air about him.
'Well, you see,' he hesitated, 'I want to speak to her about
the stables. I told her I wouldn't be ready to start them for about a month. That has changed now. Another job has been postponed. I could now make a start for her next week.'
Ken listened, perplexed.
'Are you sure, Mr Lyons, you have the right number?'
'Yes, I think so. Mrs Jenny Howard/McKevitt.'
'That's her alright,' sighed Ken in a deflated voice, stunned, bewildered, his mind in overdrive trying to make sense of it.
He had to think fast, act calmly. He didn't want to heap his anger on an unsuspecting Mr Lyons, who was no doubt, acting in good faith. He would have to trash all this out with Jenny, get to the bottom of it, find out
what was going on behind his back.
'I'll tell you what, Mr Lyons, would you mind ringing back in the morning? Jenny will be here then and you can make arrangements with her yourself.'
'Sound as a pound! Tell her I'll ring her about half-eight.
Thank you very much. Cheers.'
'Thank you very much, Mr Lyons,' muttered Ken, replacing the receiver slowly and thoughtfully.
For a few minutes he just stood there, squeezing his face
between his fingers and thumb, desperately trying to comprehend this whole business. Jenny was off on a solo run, that's for sure. Planning and building stables without saying a word to him. It's crazy - what's got into her? This must be going on for months. He never suspected - she never said a word. Why?
Thinking intensely, he began searching deeper. Deceit and deception. That's what it was. She wouldn't mention it for fear of my objection. Get it stared first, and then it would be so advanced, I wouldn't be able to
stop it. It was a gamble. It might have worked too if he hadn't taken that call. He'd probably come home some evening and those stables would be half built. This was ridiculous. His mind shifted to another sinister aspect of the
whole affair. She's determined to go back to horse-riding - perhaps to an even greater degree than before, despite her serious accident, despite his repeated warnings, despite everything. She'll listen to nobody, especially me, her
husband - I seem to be completely irrelevant.
He was now really upset. Into the sitting room, flopping down on the long couch, staring into space, he began preparing his mind for the verbal attack he would unleash on her when she arrived. He felt entirely
justified - it simply wasn't fair. He was being ignored and humiliated. This was his property as much as it was hers. He was entitled to know what was being done and his agreement sought. He didn't agree to stables being built. He would
put his foot down, would not agree and end it at that. It was for her good - might even save her life.
He re-assured himself that he was right in the stance he was taking. He wasn't doing her any wrong. It was him that was being wronged. He
calmed down a bit, now that he had worked it all out. He wouldn't be too hard on her, tell her gently but firmly:
No stables - end of story!
The feeling of home warmed Jenny as she drove through the
big piers and up the tarmac drive to her parking spot at the gable end of the house. It was great to see Ken's Honda - strange for him to be home before her. She hoped he was in good form. He would need to be. The news she had for him
would shock him, set him back, wound his pride again. She would have to impart it gently, try to get him to accept it. See that it wasn't the end of the world; they would just have to get on with their lives.
Entering through the back door, she dropped two bags of
groceries on the kitchen table. She noticed the open newspaper and the mug of cold coffee, which seemed to have been made and abandoned - this was puzzling.
'Ken,' she called out. No reply. She called again as she
entered the hall to hang up her coat.
'In here.'
The voice was coming from the sitting room. It was Ken's, but it wasn't his usual tone - cold, stern, brusque. Why didn't he answer her first
call? Apprehensively, she entered, not sure what she would find. He was sitting back on the couch, staring in front of him, a troubled look on his face. His hands were clasped behind his head, reminding her of Don Lenihan sometimes, when he would be mentally constructing an onslaught designed to wound and
humiliate. It was weird. Her first guess was the Clinic - something happened to him there.
'What's the matter, Ken ... are you okay?'
He turned slowly, their eyes met.
'We have to talk, Jenny. I had a Mr Lyons on the phone ... you'd better explain.'
Her head suddenly dropped.
'I see.' She paused, inhaled a deep breath. He waited,
staring accusingly. She felt cornered, exposed, challenged. Suddenly she activated her brain - Explanations? Answers? Rapidly. Her old motto flashed in her head:
Problems are made to be solved - the best defence is attack.
She sat down on the nearest chair, her hands folded on her
lap.
'It's no big deal, Ken.' I was just exploring the possibility of putting up a few little stables in the top corner of the field, well away from the house. I rang Mr Lyons ... just to find out what it would
cost. I would have told you all about it when I got the details. That's all it was ... I can't see what you're so upset about.'
'Now Jenny,' he leaned forward, his hands on his thighs, staring straight into her eyes to convey his deep inner torture, 'I'm not
saying you're telling me lies, but you're certainly not telling me the whole truth.'
'That's not fair, Ken! I never lied to you.'
'I didn't say you did ... but you're not telling me the
whole story. That man is coming here on Monday to start building. He must have been given plans. He must have given you a quotation. You must have given him the order. Are you telling me that this man is just casually coming here of his
own accord?'
She was under real pressure now.
'Look Ken. There must be some misunderstanding. Mr Lyons said he wouldn't be free for at least a month. We were to discuss details, plans, prices etc in the meantime. I was going to tell you about it and get you
involved when I'd have some details ... this very week-end. I don't see anything wrong with that ... nothing was decided ... you're jumping to conclusions, Ken ... you're very unfair.'
'Unfair Jenny,' he exploded. Who's unfair? You did all the scheming behind my back. You treated me as if I was nobody ... just a lodger here. You wouldn't tell me because you thought I'd object. You know that I strongly disapprove of you risking your life on those horses. You saw what
happened at Punchestown. I had to pick up the pieces. Now you're starting again. Who's being unfair?'
She was shocked at this rare outburst from Ken. She never saw him so agitated, so angry, but also so wrong in his accusations against
her. She would fight her corner.
'You're the one that's being unfair, Ken. You know very well that I love horses ... I grew up with them ... they're part of my life. You knew that when you married me. You're not going to change that ... you can try,
but it won't work.'