Two For Joy (28 page)

Doctor Lawson had thoughtfully provided some information for him to read. He'd drive home and park somewhere near the lake and have a glance at it maybe, although part of him wanted to ignore the whole thing. He finished his meal, paid his bill, tipped the waitress and trudged through the slushy snow over to the ILAC car park. The January sales were on, the ILAC Centre was jammers and he weaved his way through the throngs, impatiently. How anyone could voluntarily want to live in a city was beyond him. He couldn't wait to get out of the place. Noreen would talk about London longingly, sometimes. She seemed to have liked it when she was working there. Sometimes, Oliver felt she really missed her old life.

There was a queue at all of the lifts. Oliver didn't even give them a second glance. He loped up the five flights of stairs easily, located his car and heaved a sigh of relief as he finally reached the exit, drove past the hospital, which he dearly hoped he'd never have to set foot in again, and headed for home. It had started to snow again and by the time he got to Navan there was a full-scale blizzard.

It was a relief to drive into Kilronan as drifts of snow piled up on the wipers and he gave up on the idea of going to the lake. Noreen was still at the surgery and he felt relief that he didn't have to try to make strained conversation and be rebuffed. He raced upstairs and got out of his suit and shirt as fast as he could. Ten minutes later he had put a match to the fire and was sipping a cold, refreshing Bud, the stresses and strains of the day easing away from him as he lounged in his armchair, flicking through the information Doctor Lawson had given him.

It was a bit of an eye-opener, he had to admit, as he read that in 60 per cent of couples experiencing infertility a male factor was involved, primarily male in 40 per cent of those couples and in an additional 20 per cent a combination of male and female factors. They weren't great odds, he thought with a start. Oliver frowned, concentrating as he read on about something called varicoceles, which made him wince as he read the treatment. Manfully, he kept on reading about abnormalities in the seminal fluid, problems with the ductal system, obstructions of the epididymis, immunolegic infertility, testicular failure … it went on and on and the more he read the more worried he got. He drained his can of beer and went out to the kitchen for another. After reading that lot he didn't care if he never had sex again, he thought dolefully as he plonked back down in the chair and switched on the TV. The warmth of the fire, the stress of the trip to Dublin which had kept him awake half the night with worry, and the calming effect of the beer soon had him snoozing and before long his chest rose and fell rhythmically as Oliver slept and dreamed of horrible things happening to his bits and pieces.

*   *   *

Noreen drove home at a snail's pace as the snow swirled dizzily, making it almost impossible to see. She wondered where Oliver was. She was worried about him. The roads were treacherous, dusk was falling and she hadn't even asked him where he was going. He could be stuck anywhere. She inched along until she came to the turn off the main road that led towards the lake and their house. She could see the house in darkness through the gloom, but then, rounding the bend, saw that his car was in the drive. He could at least have put a light on, she thought crossly, annoyed that she had wasted time worrying about him. She parked and hurried into the house, the snow almost blinding her, and saw the flames of the fire flickering in the darkened sitting-room. She could see Oliver stretched out in his chair as she divested herself of her coat and scarf before going into the kitchen. When she saw that the table hadn't even been set for the dinner, she grew angry. The least he could do was set the bloody table, she fumed as she snapped on the light and began clattering knives and forks on the table. She turned the heat on under the hotpot she'd made earlier and buttered some chunky slices of Vienna roll to serve with it.

When it was ready, she marched into the sitting-room to call Oliver. He was snoring his head off now, which added insult to injury, and she was just about to give him a rough shake of the shoulder when she caught sight of something he'd been reading that had slipped down on to the floor. Curiosity got the better of her and she picked up the leaflet and slipped out into the kitchen to have a look.

‘Oh, Oliver,' she whispered as she read the material her husband had been reading. Here she was thinking that he didn't care and he'd gone to the trouble of getting information on male infertility. And gloomy reading some of it made too, she thought forlornly as she scanned the contents. She sighed as she replaced the pages beside him and gave him a little shake.

‘Oliver, Oliver, your dinner's ready.'

‘Wha … what!' He jerked awake as she switched on a side lamp, his eyes heavy and slumberous.

‘Dinner's ready.'

‘I'm sorry, I meant to set the table.' He rubbed his hand wearily over his face and yawned.

‘What's this?' she asked lightly, bending down to take the pages off the floor.

‘Never you mind,' Oliver said hotly, snatching it from her, a deep red flush creeping up his face and neck.

‘Don't be so bloody rude,' Noreen exclaimed, stung that he wouldn't share the fact that he'd been reading up about male infertility.

‘Oh, don't start,' he snapped uncoiling himself from the chair. ‘If you want to know I went and had that semen test today. So now are you happy?'

‘Why didn't you tell me? Who gave you the letter of referral?' she demanded, going straight into hostile mode at his surly behaviour.

‘What does it matter? It's done now. I did what you asked me to do, Noreen, so now can we forget it until the results come and let's go and eat our dinner.'

‘I'm not hungry,' she muttered, walking out of the room and up to her bedroom, despairing of the gulf that seemed to deepen daily between them. He'd gone and had the test, had gone through that ordeal on his own and never told her so she could have been with him to support him. She knew how shy he was. It must have been torture for him to talk to strangers about such a private matter, let alone go to a hospital and give a sample. He would have been cringing. She knew in her heart and soul how difficult it would have been for him. And yet he preferred to go through it on his own without her. That said it all about the dismal state of their marriage. She slipped to her knees beside the bed and bowed her head. ‘God, please,' she beseeched, ‘let everything be all right with Oliver, please don't let it be his fault that we can't have a baby. I'm sorry, Lord, I should never have put him through that. Please, please don't let it be Oliver's fault.'

22

‘Did you have a good Christmas?' Carina inquired as she dumped her travel bag on the floor and flung herself into an armchair.

‘It was OK. I came back to Dublin on Stephen's Day. I was going to come back after lunch on Christmas Day but I got a bit smashed and couldn't drive. It was
so boring
at home. It did my head in,' Lorna admitted.

‘Really? I'd a great time. I wasn't in bed before five any morning. I really need to detox.' She arched an eyebrow in Lorna's direction. ‘Any drink in the place?'

Lorna grinned and held up a glass. ‘Cider, there's some left in the fridge, help yourself.'

‘Ta, I will. I'll detox tomorrow,' Carina assured herself. ‘What was work like today?'

‘The pits. Half staff. Guests complaining because their rooms weren't ready on time. I hate this time of the year.' Lorna made a face. ‘And there's a staff meeting tomorrow. Something's going on. Freddie Murphy looked really worried today.'

‘He's the manager. It's his job to look worried,' Carina drawled.

‘Something's up,' Lorna reiterated. ‘You'll see.'

‘You were right,' Carina whispered the following morning as the manager made the shock announcement that the hotel was being taken over and would close for at least three months for renovations, after which staff would be notified if they were to be re-employed by the new company. They were being given two weeks' notice as of today.

Lorna listened to the speech and felt totally irritated at being out of control. It bugged her that unknowns had the power to make decisions that affected her life. She couldn't say that she was desperately upset at leaving the hotel. She'd been feeling bored lately and since her disastrous relationship with Bryan she'd felt the urge to start afresh somewhere else. She wouldn't mind living somewhere nearer town, around the IFSC or the new docklands developments, she thought dreamily.

‘Well, bugger this,' Carina scowled. ‘I've had enough. I'm going to New York. A friend of mine is out there and she's making a fortune waitressing—'

‘Waitressing!' Lorna turned up her nose.

‘Don't be a snob, Lorna. Who cares when the money is great? Are you coming?'

‘But don't you need visas and all of that stuff?' Lorna felt a flicker of excitement. New York! City of dreams. What could be more exotic than living in New York? Fifth Avenue, Tiffany's, Gucci, Armani, Saks! So her. She was sure of it.
And
she'd have someone to go with, she wouldn't be on her own. She didn't think she'd ever have the nerve to go to New York solo.

‘You can stay for three months on a tourist visa. I'd stay there longer if I could but Fiona, my friend, said that after 9/11 they've got really strict on illegals. A friend of hers came home and couldn't get back in. But just think, we might meet two millionaires and marry them.' Carina grinned. ‘Park Avenue, here we come.'

‘I'd love to live near Central Park—'

‘Get real, Lorna, we won't be living in Manhattan, we'll be commuting,' interjected Carina dryly. ‘Unless you're in a rent-controlled apartment, and they're like gold dust, renting in Manhattan isn't for the likes of us.'

‘Maybe we could live in Greenwich Village or TriBeCa or somewhere like that. It doesn't have to be the Upper West Side,' Lorna suggested.

‘Lorna, you can go and pay a fortune on rent and come home penniless if you want to. I want to make a load of dosh and have a good time. Yonkers will do you fine. It's one of the suburbs. Are you coming or what?'

‘I'm coming, I'm coming.' Lorna felt scared and excited at the same time. Maybe she might meet a Wall Street trader who'd fall madly in love with her; maybe this was where she was meant to be all along.

‘Right, I'm going to email Fiona and then you go check out flights,' Carina ordered.

‘I don't have a lot of ready cash,' Lorna said doubtfully.

‘Sell your car. I'm going to sell mine,' Carina retorted. ‘Your mam and dad will give you something, I'm sure. Say it's a loan. They never expect you to pay it back. My dad's always helping me out.'

‘Good thinking,' Lorna agreed. She'd sell the car for sure. When she got back from New York she'd have enough for a nice jazzy, sporty soft-top at least. She'd probably have a deposit for a place of her own too, she thought happily as she surfed the net to get flight details.

Two weeks later she was jobless, and homeless. She and Carina had had to leave the apartment. Both of them were staying at their respective family homes for the next two weeks. They were flying to New York in the first week in February. Lorna was dizzy with excitement. ‘See you in a fortnight,' she waved gaily as she loaded her belongings into the boot of her car. She looked up at the apartment. She'd miss it. She'd liked living in it. One day she'd own one a thousand times as posh, she assured herself. Every time she watched
Sex and the City,
or any programme with clips of New York, she felt she couldn't wait to get there. As she drove out of the Marina and headed for home she felt as if her life was truly beginning. Living in Dublin was chickenfeed compared to what it was going to be like in New York. Let Heather moulder away in Kilronan with her hick boyfriend. They'd never amount to anything. Not like her. This was her big chance. Dublin hadn't worked out for her. But New York would be a hell of a lot different. Lorna was going to make it big in the Big Apple.

23

Heather hummed to herself as she sorted a batch of new VRFs. Neil had had a delivery of six brand new cars and she was completing the paperwork on them. The sun was streaming into her office and she was as happy as Larry.

She could see Neil out on the forecourt inspecting his new babies. She smiled. He was ambitious for his garage. It was great to see, and he couldn't thank her enough for sorting out the business side of things. He'd badly needed sorting though, the place had been in chaos. He hadn't even got a proper filing system set up. It must have been hard going trying to do everything. She was constantly on the go, answering phones, dealing with customers, arranging services, paying bills and wages and doing the dreaded VAT, but she'd never been as happy in her life, she thought happily, remembering their lovemaking of the night before.

In the space of a month her life had turned around completely. She was back home in the place that she loved. She was in a job that she enjoyed and that challenged her. She was practically her own boss. Neil was more or less living with her, spending less and less time at his dad's place. It was like a miracle. Everything had fallen into her lap without any effort on her part. God had looked most kindly on her, she thought, gratefully offering up a little prayer of thanks.

‘Aren't they beauties?' Neil barrelled through the door, eyes bright with satisfaction. ‘This is what it's all about, Heather. I want you to send out the brochures to all our customers. I was thinking we could officially open Brennan Motors with a launch party. Invite local businessmen—'

‘And women,' interjected Heather. ‘Half your customers are women, you should target them.'

‘Good thinking,' agreed Neil. ‘What do you think? It would be a good excuse for a hooley, and I could do a special offer on the night for trade-ins.'