Two For Joy (6 page)

It was a huge relief to be able to verbalize her anger and even though Oliver was practically a stranger, she'd felt he understood. ‘Do you think I'm being totally selfish?' she asked curiously.

He'd studied her with his direct blue-eyed gaze. ‘Not in the slightest,' he'd said reassuringly. ‘But, even though it might not be much of a comfort at the moment, at least when your mother does pass away you'll have nothing to reproach yourself with. Your sisters might not be so lucky.'

‘I suppose so,' she agreed, not having thought of that particular aspect.

By the time the extension was completed – to the highest standards of course – Oliver had become quite relaxed with her and she enjoyed their chats and nightly bottles of beer so much that she said forlornly as she wrote out the cheque for the outstanding balance she owed him, ‘I'm going to miss our chats and beer, Oliver. I've kinda got used to them now.'

‘We could always have the odd pint in the Haven,' he said diffidently and she saw the faint hint of a blush curling around his shirt collar.

Noreen was touched. He was a nice, decent bloke, even if he was a few years younger than her. She liked him. ‘That would be nice, Oliver. I can try to get one of my sisters to come and spend a few hours with my mother when she comes home,' she responded easily.

‘It's important that you get out and about, Noreen. Make sure those sisters of yours pull their weight a bit,' he said gruffly. ‘I'll be in touch. See you.' He smiled at her and again she was struck at how much a smile changed his countenance, making him appear younger and more relaxed than his usual serious, watchful demeanour.

Noreen watched him get into his car and wondered why he wasn't married. Was it his shyness that kept him from being in a serious relationship? He was currently single, he'd told her, when she'd asked outright. He'd been surprised at her directness. She was nothing if not direct, she thought wryly. And bossy with it. Hadn't Pete called her a bossy bitch during one of their many rows? Maybe she was bossy, she conceded. It had stood her in good stead when she was promoted to Sister. She liked to call a spade a spade.

‘And what about you? Is there a man waiting for you in London?' he'd queried back.

‘Not any more. I lived with someone for five years, but it was over before my mother got sick.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that, I hope it wasn't too rough on you.'

‘I was a bit shattered to say the least,' she said quietly.

‘These things happen,' he murmured, but she saw sympathy in his eyes and felt strangely touched by it.

He phoned a week after he'd finished the extension. ‘We'll sort out that drink in the Haven if it still suits you, Noreen,' he said crisply and she exhaled a long breath. She'd been half afraid he wouldn't ring.

Noreen smiled at the memory. She'd had to organize all their dates from then on. She'd even had to take the bull by the horns after two years of courtship and ask him to marry her, or she'd still be going for walks around the lake and drinks in the Haven.

She would have preferred it if Oliver had proposed to her. She could still remember the startled look in his eyes when she'd bluntly said, ‘Look, Oliver, I think it's time we got married, don't you? Will you marry me? We've been seeing each other for two years now and we're not teenagers any more. My mother's dead. I need to make plans for my future. If you and I don't move on, I feel I should go back to London.'

For one heartstopping moment she'd thought that he was going to refuse her but he'd sort of gulped and composed himself and muttered, ‘I suppose you're right. When do you want to set the date?'

It certainly wasn't the proposal she'd ever dreamed of, but that was the way of it and she knew a tiny part of her would always wonder if he
truly
loved her and would ever have got around to asking her himself. Certainly there was no way she'd ever admit to her sisters or anyone else for that matter that she had done the proposing. It didn't seem right somehow, no matter how liberated women were. He should have asked her, then she'd know he'd really wanted to get married. It was the only thing that bothered her coming up to the wedding.

‘Are you sure you want to get married?' she'd asked Oliver once when they'd been edgy with each other about the arrangements and he'd flatly refused to wear a top hat.

‘Sure enough,' he'd scowled and she hadn't pressed him on it.

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 beginning 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.