Two For Joy (47 page)

As she lay in bed in one of the spare rooms that night, she wondered if she were making a mistake not staying with Oliver. Maybe they could leave the bad times behind them and make a new start. He'd been so kind when she'd told him about the abortion. It was such a relief to tell him. It had been a terribly heavy burden to carry all this time. Only Kay knew. Oliver's words had been a balm to her soul. God
was
love. And she loved Oliver. She wasn't in love with him but she loved him. How could she not? In her heart of hearts, she knew it wouldn't work. She'd feel too guilty every time she looked at her baby and there was no equality in guilt. She had to make a fresh start and so did he. Her child would fulfil her. And no matter what Oliver felt, some woman would fall in love with him and give him the life he deserved.

She rested her hand on her tummy. She'd been given a second chance; Oliver would be given one too.

*   *   *

Oliver tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Noreen's unexpected arrival and her subsequent bombshells had left him drained and shattered. It was hard to believe that Noreen had slept with another man and was pregnant by him. He felt gutted and totally rejected. He wouldn't, couldn't let Noreen see it of course, she had enough to contend with. Why couldn't she have told him about the abortion? At least he would have understood why she was so hung up on getting pregnant. And the irony was he could never have given her that baby. Maybe it was a sign that they weren't meant to be together. At least he knew the score now, knew why she'd left so suddenly. He didn't have to be torturing himself.

He'd wanted to rant and rave and ask what about him, but she looked so woebegone and was so distraught he didn't have the heart. But part of him was angry, damn angry. She'd asked him to marry her and now she'd left him in the lurch and no matter what nonsense she said about some women falling for him, he was never getting involved with one of the species again. They only brought misery, he told himself, as he pummelled his pillow into a more comfortable shape and lay staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

38

‘I'm sorry, Heather, we have no vacancies at the moment, but if one does occur and you're still interested, I'll certainly give you a shout,' Eddie Mangan assured her kindly.

‘Thanks, Eddie, I appreciate it.' Heather hid her disappointment and shook her ex-employer's hand.

‘You could try the hotel, it's coming into the summer season,' he suggested, tapping his long, bony fingers on his desk.

‘I might do that. It's an option anyway. See you.' She hurried out of the office, not stopping to chat. Maybe it wasn't going to be as easy as she thought getting a job in Kilronan. She bit her lip and walked along briskly, then on impulse crossed the street. Carleton Auctioneers and Estate Agents had had a revamp, she noted in surprise, approving the smart new navy blue façade. After her experiences at Brooke, Byrne & O'Connell she didn't really feel like working in the property market, nor did she particularly want to work for Clarence Carleton, a crotchety old buzzard if ever there was one.

She stood peering at the notices in the window, wishing she could afford to buy a place of her own. She missed having her own space. She wanted to wallow in her unhappiness but she couldn't really do that in front of her parents. It wasn't fair. Nor did she enjoy the experience of feeling like a child again, which inevitably surfaced when she lived at home and felt no longer in control of her own destiny. Living at home at her age was not a grown-up thing to do, especially after she'd been used to living on her own and standing on her own two feet. Not only that, her mother was intent on feeding her up, which was playing havoc with her figure.

‘Hi, Heather, thinking of buying?' She heard a friendly voice in the region of her left ear. She turned and saw Ray Carleton, Clarence's eldest son, smiling at her.

‘I wish,' she grimaced. ‘I like the new façade. Very posh.'

‘Do you think so? I've taken over the business and between you and me it needs a revamp badly.'

‘Have you? Has Clarence retired? I never thought he'd go.' Heather was surprised. Clarence was an institution in Kilronan.

‘Ticker's giving him trouble,' Ray confided. ‘And so's Ma.'

Heather laughed. ‘So you've come back home to take over. Do you miss Dublin?'

‘Not in the slightest,' Ray declared emphatically.

‘I used to work with Brooke, Byrne & O'Connell in their lettings department.'

‘Did you? They've an awful reputation.' Ray looked at her in surprise.

‘Tell me about it,' Heather said wryly.

‘I used to work for BWH in Dublin after I finished studying for my B.Sc. in Property Studies. What a shower of chancers. Their ethics were non-existent, especially selling property abroad. People thought they were a reputable company with their fancy name and logo and glossy brochures. They just took the money and left clients to their own devices, and lots of them had terrible problems out in Spain and Portugal. I was glad to get out of it, I can tell you. Some of those big estate agents and auctioneers are the lowest of the low.' Ray clearly was unimpressed with the big boys in the business. BWH were supposedly the biggest and the best. Brooke, Byrne & O'Connell were only in the halfpenny place in comparison, and had looked upon them with envy.

‘Will you come in and have a cup of coffee?' he invited.

‘OK,' she agreed, following him into the bright, airy office and display area, where a young woman sat typing busily at her computer.

‘This is Lia, my secretary, and I'd be lost without her.' He flashed her a grin.

‘He always says that when he wants me to make him a cup of coffee,' Lia retorted, but she smiled at Heather and asked did she want milk and sugar as Ray led her into an extremely tidy inner office, which housed a big antique table where his computer sat. Two easy chairs and a small coffee table made the office less formal for client discussions. He motioned her to sit down opposite him. ‘I keep my desk absolutely clear except for my in-tray otherwise I wouldn't be able to find my way around the debris. I take after my dad in that respect. His filing system was a shambles. So I have to be ruthless with myself.'

‘I'd say Lia could be fairly ruthless,' Heather remarked.

‘As tough as they come, thank God,' Ray agreed with a smile.

An hour and a half later they were still chatting. Ray had plans for his father's firm. He wanted to set up his own website, and he wanted to start up a makeover service for houses that needed it before they went on the market.

‘You see, some of these old cottages need a lick of paint, a few tubs of flowers in the yard, new lamps or throws just to brighten the place up and give a better impression. It's a service I want to develop, there's an opening for it. What do you think?'

‘I think you're spot on, Ray. It was always much easier to let a place that looked smart and presentable.' Heather felt a
frisson
of interest. This sounded good and she liked his enthusiasm. Her heart lifted, maybe he might offer a job.

‘There's just one fly in the ointment, unfortunately,' the auctioneer was saying. ‘You know Joan Nolan who worked for my dad?' he raised an eyebrow and made a face.

Heather nodded.

‘She's driving me around the twist. Everything I do that's different, she says, “Your father never did it like that. Your father did it this way.” She won't work on the computer and she gives Lia a dog's life. I'd love to let her go but she'd probably sue me for unfair dismissal or something. Dad would have a fit anyway, but it's a hell of a problem and unfortunately I can't afford to take anyone else on at the moment. She's really holding me back.'

Heather's heart sank. Ray obviously wouldn't be making her a job offer. She felt a dart of disappointment. It had been interesting talking to Ray. She wouldn't have minded at all, working for him.

A sharp rap on the door made Ray throw his eyes up to heaven. ‘Talk of the devil,' he grimaced, heaving a great sigh. ‘Come in.'

Joan Nolan marched in, gave a brusque nod in Heather's direction and plonked a file on Ray's desk. ‘We need to discuss the Marshall property,' she announced gravely.

‘I better go, Ray. Thanks for the coffee.' Heather stood up and gave him a little wink. ‘Good luck with the business. See you round.'

‘Thanks for dropping in, Heather.' Ray politely walked her to the door. Joan stood, arms folded, a wisp of grey hair escaping from her bun, with a face on her that would turn milk sour. Heather felt sorry for the auctioneer. What a battleaxe. And what a difficult position to be in. She dawdled along, wondering where else she could look for a position. It looked as if she was going to be staying at Fred's whether she liked it or not.

*   *   *

‘Oliver, are you sure you want to sell the house? Would you not wait a while before making a decision? You might change your mind after a while,' Noreen asked as she drank a cup of coffee in the bright, sunny kitchen that had been her pride and joy.

‘What do I want to be rattling around it on my own for? I don't need four bedrooms and three bathrooms,' he said and his tone had an edge of bitterness.

‘You might meet someone,' she persisted.

‘I told you, Noreen, I'm not going down that road again.' His face was grim as he stared out the window.

‘Where will you live?' Noreen demanded.

‘I might move into one of the apartments I'm building, the first block is nearly finished. I can bunk in there for a while until I decide what to do.'

‘You'd hardly go back to living with Cora?'

‘Nope.'

‘What about all the furniture and everything?'

Oliver turned to look at her. ‘Take what you want, Noreen. When you get a place to live, tell me what you want and I'll get it shipped over.'

‘That's not very fair. I don't expect anything from you. I know it's all my fault and I'm really sorry,' she said miserably.

‘Don't be. That's life, Noreen, and you're welcome to the stuff, what would I be doing with the half of it?' He drained his coffee and rinsed the cup under the tap. ‘Are you sure about going to live in London? You don't have to, you know.' He turned to look at her again, his blue eyes unwavering in their gaze.

Noreen stared back at him. She knew if she said she wanted to stay, that would be that and he would row in behind her and support her. But it would be a duty call. She'd seen the way he shouldered the burden of his mother. She would not add another burden to the ones he already carried.

‘I think it's for the best all round,' she said quietly.

‘Right. Let me know when you want to go to the airport, I'll take you. You're not taking the bus,' he said firmly, and then he strode out of the kitchen and she heard the front door close behind him.

Noreen sat at the kitchen table. She felt numb. She should tell her sisters, she supposed. Once she would have dreaded telling Maura, but motherhood had taken the smug pomposity out of her younger sister's sails and as for Rita, nothing would change her, so Noreen resolved to get the ordeals over and done with as soon as possible.

She rang Maura, who responded with an uncharacteristic warmth at hearing her sister's voice. ‘You're back from London, great. You won't recognize your nephew,' she declared. ‘Are you coming over?'

‘Just for a quick visit, Maura. I'm going back to London,' Noreen said calmly.

‘What! So soon? Does Oliver mind?' Maura was astonished.

‘I'll tell you all when I see you. Stick the kettle on,' Noreen said crisply, although her heart was in her boots. What on earth was she going to say to her sister? She'd have to tell her she was pregnant. She didn't want to keep her child a secret. She wanted her child to know its family, roots, and background. Confessing that the baby wasn't Oliver's was daunting. Once it was born it would be clear for all to see. Better for her to look like the baddie anyway. Oliver had to live in Kilronan, and she didn't want him being blamed for their break-up.

‘My God, Noreen, no one ever told me it would be like this,' Maura groaned half an hour later when Noreen arrived to the sound of John bawling at the top of his voice. ‘He's like a little bull today, listen to that racket,' her sister grumbled as she led the way into the kitchen, which was not in its usual pristine condition. Maura had been making up feeds and a container of dried milk lay open on the counter, little creamy flecks of powder all over the place. The breakfast dishes were still on the table and Maura was in her dressing-gown.

‘Will I pick him up?' Noreen asked, peering into the pram where her red-cheeked nephew lay howling.

‘You might as well or we'll get no peace,' Maura said wearily. She looked tired, the bags under her eyes puffy and dark.

‘How's it going?' Noreen asked sympathetically as she lifted her nephew and rocked him gently. His cries turned to a whimper and he nestled into her neck. She sniffed his lovely baby smell, longing for the moment when she would hold her own child.

‘God, you're good with him,' Maura said in surprise as she poured boiling water into the teapot.

‘Just as well,' Noreen remarked evenly. ‘I'm going to have one of my own.'

‘Noreen!' Maura exclaimed in delight. ‘That's marvellous. Is Oliver thrilled? They'll be great company for each other, the two little cousins. When are you due?'

‘Early December, but er … well, Maura, Oliver and I are splitting up. The baby's not his,' Noreen said baldly.

Her sister's mouth formed a perfect O. If it hadn't all been so heartbreakingly sad, Noreen might have laughed at the expression of pure shock on her sister's face.

‘Whose is it?' she asked faintly.

‘Someone I've known for a long time when I lived in London. That's why I'm going back to live there. He's Indian, owns his own restaurant. He's a widower in his early fifties.'