Two For Joy (33 page)

Her head throbbed and she swallowed two Panadol, wishing she'd at least drunk water the previous night as she sometimes did when she'd been on the tear. She'd slept with Neil Brennan, Heather's boyfriend, she thought with a vague sense of astonishment as she gazed at herself in the mirror. Her cornflower blue eyes were puffy and red. Her hair, which hadn't been dried properly with the hotel hairdryer, was not its usual sleek bob. It was too late to do anything with it now, she thought grimly as she rubbed gel between her fingers and tried to calm her flyaway fringe.

It was her own fault for not going home. Imagine having dinner in the hotel and then going to a room with Neil. It would be all over the town. She must have been mad. Still, Heather wouldn't be stuffing that relationship nonsense down her neck again, if she ever found out. Lorna was still smarting at her cousin's smug jibe. Her mother knocked on the door and peered in. She looked as if she'd just stepped out of
Vogue
in her smart Louise Kennedy trouser suit.

‘Ready?'

‘As ready as I'll ever be.' Lorna wrinkled her nose.

‘We'd want to go. Say goodbye to your brothers.'

‘I'm not waking them up, they'd kill me,' Lorna said indignantly. ‘Tell them I said goodbye when you get back.'

Gerard appeared at her door. ‘Let me take those cases. Go and get in the car.'

If only she hadn't got the mother and father of a hangover, this would be the most exciting moment of her life. Leaving a dark, quiet backwater town for the bright lights of the most famous city in the world was a once in a lifetime experience and she'd ruined it by drinking too much. By the time Gerard's Volvo had cruised past Neil Brennan's showrooms, her hangover was really kicking in, and she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

She did sleep, in fits and starts, and as there was little or no traffic on the road at that hour of a Sunday morning, her father made good time to the airport so that she was standing in departures at nine thirty peering around for Carina. ‘Look, you go on, we'll probably have coffee after we check in and then we've got to go through immigration. There's no point in you hanging around,' she said to her parents.

‘We'll wait until Carina arrives,' her father told her firmly. ‘Imagine if she didn't show up and we had to turn back from wherever we were to collect you.'

‘There she is. Now go,' Lorna ordered as she saw her friend struggling with her case at the entrance. ‘Thanks very much for the money, Dad,' she added. Her father had given her five thousand dollars in traveller's cheques.

‘It will probably only buy you a pair of trousers in Armani's or wherever, knowing your taste in designer labels,' he teased, ‘but have a good time and don't become an illegal. Come back when your time's up.' He hugged her tightly and to her dismay she felt a lump rise in her throat. She swallowed hard and turned to her mother.

‘Mum, see you soon. I'll check everything out as soon as I get there and phone you. Give me about six weeks to get settled.'

‘Have a great time. I'll be dying to hear all about it,' Jane said animatedly. Her father was right, Lorna reflected. She'd never seen her mother so sparkly about anything.

‘Go on now, I hate long drawn out goodbyes,' Lorna said gruffly, giving both of them a little shove. She turned her back on them and walked towards the monitors where Carina was looking for their check-in desk. When she turned to look back her parents were gone. That was the best way to have it, Lorna thought with relief. Sentimentality was not her style.

‘Hi.' She marched up to Carina. ‘Did you come here on your own?'

‘My dad dropped me at the set-down, I didn't want fond farewells.'

‘I know the feeling,' Lorna said ruefully. ‘I hope to God it's not a bumpy flight or I'll puke. I've the mother and father of a hangover.'

‘Me too,' groaned Carina. ‘I'm never drinking VRBs again.
Ever!
' she added vehemently.

‘Wait until we get to New York. I believe the cocktails are toxic! They serve them neat.'

‘I'm staying on the dry,' Carina retorted. ‘I wonder is the bar open yet?'

‘Let's have a coffee,' Lorna suggested weakly. The thought of alcohol made her queasy.

They found their check-in and joined the long straggly queue. Everyone seemed to have huge amounts of luggage and it seemed to take for ever before they were hauling their cases up on to the conveyer belt and assuring the ground hostess that they had indeed packed their own cases.

‘I think we should have our coffee in the departure lounge, we've to do the immigration stuff too.' Lorna glanced at her watch.

‘OK,' Carina agreed wearily. ‘Look at us! Like two wet rags, we should be shot. I couldn't bear the thought of duty free. I've bought a whole load of vacuum-packed rashers and sausages in my case for the gang in Yonkers. That will have to do them, we can get drink on the plane for them. I think I just want to die,' she moaned.

‘I know, me too,' Lorna agreed as they trudged to the security check before going airside.

‘It's a bit shabby down here,' Lorna murmured in disappointment twenty minutes later as they filled in their immigration forms in the transatlantic departure area.

‘And the fucking coffee bar's closed,' Carina swore.

‘I thought it would be really jet setty and glamorous.' Lorna gazed around, unimpressed by the drabness of it all as she queued to give her card to a bored immigration officer. ‘The departure lounges for Europe and the UK are far superior. Still, I suppose we're lucky we can go through immigration at this side instead of having to do it when we get there. I'll run upstairs and get us a coffee.'

‘OK.' Carina collapsed on to a hard chair and closed her eyes.

Lorna made her way upstairs, after an argument with one of the immigration officials, who told her in no uncertain terms she should stay where she was.

‘Look, buster, the coffee bar's not open. My friend and I have hangovers to die for and if you don't want us puking all over this kippy hole you'll let me go upstairs for coffee.' Lorna was in no mood to be trifled with.

‘OK, lady, just this once.' He backed off hastily.

‘Yeah, well, if your coffee bar was open I wouldn't have to go to the trouble of going upstairs,' Lorna snarled.

‘Nothing to do with—' but Lorna was gone, leaving the man to protest to thin air.

The queue to the self-service upstairs was out the door and Lorna nearly cried in frustration, twenty minutes later, as a foreign tourist in front of her spent ten minutes sorting out loose coins to pay for her big fry-up. Lorna practically shoved her out of the way to pay an arm and a leg for two mugs of coffee and two Danish.

‘What a rip off,' she panted as she finally plonked the tray in front of Carina, who looked a bit green around the gills. ‘Here, drink this, it will sort you.'

They had to gulp the last of their coffee as the gate opened to board and as she finally made her way on to the huge Airbus she couldn't help the way her heart pounded with excitement. She was going to New York and one day, she promised herself, she'd never turn right into economy on an aircraft again. It would be left and first class all the way.

They sorted themselves and their hand luggage and sank gratefully into their seats. ‘Get a bottle of vodka and a bottle of gin, if you're allowed, and wake me when we get to New York,' Carina instructed as she tucked her little white pillow under her head and promptly fell asleep, before they'd even taxied off the apron.

As the huge jet rose into the air, Lorna felt tense with excitement. This was it. Life was giving her a chance to make it big and she was going to take it. All around her there was a buzz of excitement and anticipation that she'd never experienced on a charter flight to the Med. This was
so
different, it was thrilling, she thought giddily wondering how Carina could sleep through it all. She flicked through the in-flight magazine and the duty-free brochure. She wanted some Yves Saint Laurent Touche Éclat, she needed it badly, she thought ruefully.

What a night. What a morning. In her wildest dreams she'd never thought that she'd end up having sex with Neil Brennan and, what was more, half enjoying it. Maybe she wasn't as abnormal as she thought. Hopefully her hang-up about sex was disappearing. She could put that memory of her mother out of her head once and for all. If she could enjoy sex with Neil, she could enjoy it with anyone, surely. He could come to New York for a dirty weekend if he wanted, she'd enjoy that. But that was it, she decided. Heather could have him. She had new fish to fry. Big fish to fry. The adventure was just beginning.

27

Heather shivered and sleepily stretched her hand out to feel for Neil. He wasn't there. She lay, puzzled for a minute, before memories of their row flooded in. Her heart gave a painful little lurch. He hadn't come home at all. She glanced at the small luminous clock on the bedside table. Seven thirty. She'd slept well considering, she thought in surprise as she reached down and turned on the electric blanket. Lorna would probably be on her way to the airport, she remembered. She'd been a bit abrupt with her yesterday, she thought guiltily, nor had she wished her well for her trip to New York.

The heat of the blanket infused warmth into the bed and she snuggled under the duvet. In the distance she could hear the lowing of cattle, so different from the harsh roar of traffic she'd woken to in Dublin. A few months ago she'd been living in the city and hating it. And, until yesterday, she'd been the happiest girl in the universe, until Neil had made his horrible crack about getting tips from Lorna. He couldn't have picked a more hurtful remark if he'd spent hours trying to think of something to say to wound her.

Why had he said it to her? Had he stopped fancying her? She'd seen him eyeing Lorna appreciatively in the gym. All the time they'd been living and socializing together, Heather had got used to men only having eyes for Lorna. That was one of the reasons Neil was so special to her. He'd never made her feel she was inferior to her cousin. Until yesterday she'd always felt confident with Neil. Now he'd ruined it.

If the relationship was over, she could hardly stay working for him, she thought glumly. And she'd have to go home and live at her mother's, but she was damned if she was going back to Dublin. If she had to get work as a housemaid in the hotel she'd do it, to continue living in Kilronan.

Stop being dramatic, it's only a row, you'll get over it, she told herself. Trust her to think the worst. She fell asleep again, as the wind whistled outside and the eastern sky began to lighten.

*   *   *

Neil showered and dressed at a far slower speed than normal. His head was thumping. He had expected to wake up and find it was all a dream. He couldn't believe that he'd shagged Lorna Morgan. He'd certainly been a more than satisfactory lover, he thought proudly, remembering the way she'd writhed and moaned beneath him, telling him over and over to do it to her. He wouldn't have minded going again with her this morning, he thought longingly as he began to stiffen. Remembering her words about the night porter, he reluctantly put all thoughts of her out of his head and finished dressing.

‘Morning, Dan,' he said brazenly as he walked through reception. There was no point in skulking around as if he had something to hide. He was beginning to realize that he'd been far from discreet. If Heather ever found out that he had spent the night with Lorna that would be the end of them. She'd flip bigtime. He hadn't behaved very well, he acknowledged, but how many men would not take an opportunity when it was presented to them on a plate? And what an opportunity Lorna was. Any red-blooded male would have done the same.

It had all been so unexpected, he thought ruefully as he got into the car and wondered where to go. He really wanted to go back to bed and sleep his hangover off. He could go to his dad's house if he wanted to, he supposed. Tell him he'd been on the batter and there'd be no questions asked. It was probably his best option.

As he drove past the garage he could see that Heather's curtains were still drawn and the place was in darkness. He remembered too that the showrooms were in a sorry state and would have to be cleaned up before opening hours the following morning. Neil groaned. Later, he'd worry about all that later. Right now he felt as though red hot pokers were being twisted up inside his skull.

His father chuckled when he said he was dying from drink and told him to get up to bed and he'd do him a big fry-up later on. Ten minutes later, Neil was snoring.

*   *   *

When Heather woke up the second time, weak sunlight filtered through the curtains. It was still windy, but the rain had stopped. She was hungry. She glanced at her clock. Ten thirty. Half the morning was gone. She'd bought roast beef for dinner but she was damned if she was going to cook Neil Brennan a roast dinner after his cavalier attitude. She wondered dully where he'd spent the night.

She wrapped her dressing-gown around her and went into the kitchen and made herself tea and toast. She sat forlornly at her breakfast counter, smearing butter and marmalade on to the hot toast, lonely for Neil. She'd got so used to having him around. It was nice not having to eat meals on her own. Sunday mornings were always particularly nice. He'd get up and go over to the deli and get croissants and Danish pastries and they'd have them in bed, reading the Sunday papers. When they'd showered and dressed they'd go for a walk around the lake, if she could persuade him. Neil hated walking and did it to humour her.

She'd go on her own, she decided. She could do with some fresh air anyway.

An hour later, dressed in a tracksuit and runners and with her big lilac scarf wrapped around her neck and ears, she set off briskly. Great gusts of wind buffeted her and she was half sorry she'd come, as she almost slipped on a mucky patch. She was even sorrier when a single magpie landed in front of her. What a bad omen, she fretted, anxiously scanning the skies for his mate. Not a sign. Trust her to find the only solitary magpie in Kilronan. After fifteen minutes battling against the wind she turned and walked back the way she'd come. It wasn't as bad going home. The wind was at her back, which helped enormously. She saw a man trudging in her direction, shoulders down, hands thrust into pockets, head bent into the buffeting wind, and recognized Oliver Flynn. He looked as pissed off as she did.