Two For Joy (26 page)

None of them loved her. Not her father. Not Pete, and certainly not Oliver.

20

Lorna was bored out of her tree. She didn't bother to hide a yawn as the choir broke into a rousing rendition of ‘Adeste Fideles'. She hadn't wanted to attend Mass on Christmas morning with her family. She hadn't really wanted to come home at all, if truth be told. Nothing was going right. The plan had not been for her to be standing on her own in church on Christmas morning. The plan had been for her to swan up the aisle on Bryan's arm, flashing a stunning new piece of jewellery for the whole parish to see and talk about and then, after Christmas lunch, to get back to Dublin as fast as they could.

Attending Mass with her family was so uncool. It embarrassed her even to think about it. She'd be the talk of the parish, she thought mournfully, as Mrs Campbell, the chief soprano, hit a woeful high note, wobbled dangerously but regained control at the ‘Venite adoremus'.

Imagine living in Dublin over a year and still being manless. It was mortifying and she wasn't admitting it to a sinner. To all intents and purposes she had a boyfriend and no one would know otherwise. Her shameful secret was safe now that she was no longer living with her cousin.

She wondered idly if Heather were at Mass. Maybe the Williamses had gone to midnight Mass. She hoped she wasn't here. She didn't fancy meeting either of her cousins after the way they'd behaved when they'd bumped into her in Temple Bar. The hymn ended and she sat down gratefully. She had a fierce hangover. She'd helped herself to a few shots of vodka when she'd arrived home the previous evening, to find that her parents were gone to a dinner party at a friend's house.

Some welcome home, she thought crossly as she read the note propped up on the hall table. Her two younger brothers were out, and the house was like a morgue. There wasn't even a dinner waiting for her and she felt extremely hard done by as she raided the fridge, helping herself to the remains of a macaroni cheese and some trifle.

She'd wished she was talking to Heather. At least she'd have been able to go and have a drink with her cousin if they'd been on speaking terms. She'd been tempted to phone her and offer her a lift home, and possibly would have if Bryan had still been on the scene and she could boast about him, but she didn't want Heather spreading it all over the town that her big romance was off.

She scowled, thinking of Bryan. He really was a let-down. She'd been all prepared to let him eat humble pie for a week or two and then take him back. He'd breezed into Gibney's on the Tuesday after he'd stood her up, as if nothing had happened.

‘Hi, doll.' He winked.

‘It's you,' she said coldly.

‘Don't be frosty.' He gave her a boyish grin and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I've got an invite to a big corporate bash at work. Day at the races, meal, free drinks, the works. Do you want to come?'

Lorna struggled with her pride. She had several options. She should tell him to get lost … and never see him again. She could play it cool and keep him dangling for an answer, or she could play it safe and agree to go, and tighten her grip on him in preparation for Christmas.

‘When is it?' she drawled.

‘Next Saturday.' Bryan ran his hand down her thigh. ‘Come on,' he urged. ‘It will be a blast!'

‘And if I say yes, how do I know I won't be left waiting like I was the other night. I
do
have a life, you know!' she added pointedly.

‘I know, sorry about that. I got skulled with the lads. Won't happen again,' he assured her silkily.

‘You can say that again,' she retorted, but she let him buy her a drink and that night she stayed at his place and pretended to enjoy his passionate lovemaking. Lorna sighed at the memory. As usual the sex had started out well and she'd been eager and anticipatory, but once again the quivers had fizzled out to nothing and she'd put on an Oscar-winning performance, writhing and moaning in a way that had Bryan secretly congratulating himself on being a world-class lover. She'd lain awake as he snored beside her and despaired of her abnormality.

She'd dolled herself up to the nines the following Saturday in her black leather trousers and a black bustier and had been rewarded by the look of pure admiration in Bryan's eyes when he'd arrived to pick her up. The day was a blur of drink. She'd even been tempted to indulge in a spot of coke when Bryan had snorted some, but self-preservation held her back. She wasn't sure how she'd react to it in front of all these strangers. She might even puke, knowing her, and that would
totally
ruin her image. And to Lorna, image was sacrosanct.

She found the racing boring but pretended to enjoy it, placing bets on horses she hadn't a clue about, but as Bryan got steadily more high, his eyes glittering brightly, she felt uncomfortable, especially when he pressed her to have sex with him behind a horsebox.

‘No, Bryan,' she hissed as he tried to unzip her trousers.

‘Come on, you sexy bitch,' he muttered. ‘Come on.'

‘No!' She pulled away from him, and tottered back to the crowd with her ridiculously high heels sinking into the mucky ground. He didn't speak to her for the rest of the evening and when they got back to town he turned to her and said coldly, ‘You can piss off, I don't want to see you again.'

One of his colleagues said, ‘Steady on, buddy. You're not in the right mind to be making decisions like this.'

Lorna was horrified at being dumped so publicly. And she was as mad as hell that
he
had dumped her and not the other way around.

‘Do you think I want to see
you,
cokehead?' she retaliated stoutly. ‘You're a sad bastard! Believe me, Bryan, the feeling is mutual. And another thing.' She pointed a shaking finger at him. ‘You think you're God's gift to women. You think Casanova has nothing on you. You don't even know when a woman's faking it! Pathetic git.' She stalked away, head held high, feeling she had reclaimed the high ground.

Tears brimmed in her eyes at the memory. She'd messed up once more. What was it with her? Why couldn't she get it right? Lorna swallowed hard as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.
Stop it,
she ordered herself frantically. If people saw her crying in Mass it would be all over Kilronan. Her street cred would be
ruined!
She blew her nose and to take her mind off her heartache she scanned the congregation to see who she recognized. All the usual faces. To her right she saw her Aunt Anne and Uncle Marty and then with a funny little lurch she saw Heather smiling up at Neil Brennan.

So that was all on again, she thought, half dismayed and half annoyed. What on earth did her cousin see in that culchie? Although she had to admit that he had smartened himself up considerably,
and
the grey suit that he wore looked well on him,
and
he'd lost a bit of weight,
and
his hair suited him better cut tight. She saw Heather slip her hand into his for a second or two and saw him smile back down at her and realized immediately that they were lovers. She'd seen couples totally engrossed in each other too often not to know the signs. It looked like her cousin had finally done the deed and she looked exceedingly happy too. Heather had an unmistakable glow about her and Lorna could not suppress the surge of jealousy that ignited like rocket fuel.

Are you mad to be jealous of her, you idiot? Just because she's dating a country bumpkin.
Lorna shook her head at her stupidity and once superiority was regained she felt a little better.

At least she's got a man on Christmas Day.
The unwelcome thought popped into her head.

A man!
Lorna gave a mental snort remembering the unedifying sight of Neil Brennan arse up to the sky when he was bending over the bonnet of a car, the tip of two pasty white cheeks escaping from the top of his jeans.
A man,
she echoed silently.
I think not.

It was a relief when Mass was finally over and she made her escape quickly, not wishing to talk to her relatives. Once lunch was finished she was going to go back to Dublin. She'd far prefer to spend Christmas on her own in the apartment, watching films on TV and reading, than spend another day in this dead-end hole. She drove home angrily, annoyed at seeing Heather's happiness even if
she
wouldn't touch Neil Brennan with a ten-foot bargepole. She slowed down as she passed the gleaming glass and chrome showrooms, impressed in spite of herself. He had made something of his poky little garage, she grudgingly admitted. Brennan Motors was a classy addition to the main street. She noticed that curtains hung in the upstairs rooms over the office and wondered was that where he was living now. At least he'd have somewhere to entertain Heather. Envy seeped through her at the thought of her cousin enjoying a stress-free sex life.

‘You scooted off very quickly,' Jane Morgan chastised later as she walked into the sitting-room where Lorna was curled up on the settee flicking through a magazine. ‘You could at least have stayed to wish Anne and Marty a happy Christmas.'

‘Oh, give over, Mum, I had a headache,' Lorna said sulkily.

‘Two minutes is all it would have taken, for heaven's sake. Go and set the table for me in the dining-room, please. Your father's gone to visit Malachy Sinclair, he's never here when you want him, and that other pair,' she scowled, referring to her sons, Eoin and Aidan, ‘have gone to have a drink with the Buckleys. They're far too young to be drinking beer but will they listen, and your father's hopeless with them.' Jane grumbled as she tied an apron around her slender waist and walked into the kitchen followed by Lorna. ‘I hope this bloody turkey's OK. Your father can deal with it. I'll take care of the veg and potatoes. I wanted to go away to a hotel but he wouldn't have it.'

She threw a couple of carrots into the sink and began to scrape them. ‘You never told me that Heather had moved back to Kilronan,' she remarked as she began slicing the peeled carrots.

‘What!'

‘She's moved back to Kilronan. She's working for Neil Brennan and living over the offices. Oliver Flynn turned the upstairs into an apartment, according to Anne. You never said. She's been home over two weeks now.'

Lorna was stunned.

‘Well … I…' she blustered.

Jane turned to look at her. ‘Didn't you know? What's going on with you pair?'

‘Nothing,' Lorna fibbed.

‘Are you two having a row? That's why you didn't stay back after Mass? Well honestly! What happened?' her mother demanded crossly.

‘I moved out of the flat and she got into a huff,' Lorna said irritably.

‘But you told me she was going to live with Ruth!'

‘That's why she went to live with Ruth. Honestly, Mum, we're not tied at the hip. I'm not her minder, she wouldn't go anywhere or do anything and I hated living in that flat, so get off my case.' Lorna felt a surge of irritation at having to explain herself.

‘I see.' Jane frowned. ‘Well, there's no flies on her, she's landed a very eligible bachelor if the way they were looking at each other during Mass was anything to go by. Why don't you go and get a nice ambitious, professional chap for yourself? I thought you would have found an eligible bachelor in Dublin,' Jane remarked.

‘Is that right, Mum? Was he a nice ambitious professional who screwed
you
while Dad was at work?'

Where it came from she would never know, but it burst out of her with a pent-up force of anger and bitterness that was stronger than any other emotion she had ever experienced. Her eyes glittered with fury and contempt as she stared at her shocked mother.

The blood had drained from Jane's face. ‘I don't know what you're talking about,' she said weakly, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle of the small knife.

‘Don't you?
Liar!
I'm talking about the man that was in our house, having sex with you, when I was a child, and you didn't even bother to make sure we were out of the way. I thought you were being attacked. I hid under the stairs because I was terrified. But you didn't care about that, did you? Did
YOU
?' she screamed hysterically and ran out of the kitchen sobbing uncontrollably.

‘Sacred Heart!' Jane muttered, horrified. She stood, stunned, her heart racing wildly. How did she deal with this? she wondered helplessly.

Lorna flung herself on to her bed and howled like a baby, her grief and sorrow coming from some place deep inside of her. She couldn't stop crying. Nothing was working out in her life and now that she had confronted her mother with the secret that had held her in bondage for most of her life she didn't know whether she was glad or sorry.

‘Lorna?' she heard her mother call her name hesitantly from the doorway.

‘Go away!' she wept.

‘Lorna, we have to … we should talk—'

‘I don't want to talk. I just want you to go away.'

Jane started to cry, a harsh choked sobbing that startled Lorna. ‘Please don't tell your father, Lorna, that's all I ask,' she pleaded.

‘I'm not going to hurt Dad. Don't worry, your sordid little secret is safe with me.' Lorna managed to compose herself.

‘Lorna, please don't be like that. You don't understand.' Jane pressed her hand to her trembling lip.

‘No I don't. All I know is that you're my mother and it wasn't right that I saw you and heard you. Do you know what that's done to me? Do you? Do you? It's mucked up my head. That's what. I can't enjoy sex. I think it's dirty and disgusting!' She started to cry again.

‘You have sex?' Jane said weakly.

‘Oh, get real, Mum,' Lorna sniffled.

‘I hope you take … precautions,' Jane managed.

‘Don't worry, Mother, I'm not going to disgrace the family name.' Her tone dripped sarcasm and Jane blushed.